The girl was, not for the first time, extremely glad that she didn’t have to run as fast as she seemed to be running. In fact, she was walking. Behind the boy.
She still kept him within sight, of course. She was travelling as fast as he was.
But she was still walking. After a few thousand years, she really couldn’t explain how her illusions worked. They just – did. He was only chasing after an eidolon of her: an image, a mirage, a specter of something he expected her to be, because people tended to see what they expected to see.
…a Sybil was a strange thing to be.
She still remembered what it was like to actually be the age that she looked like. A young, adolescent girl. And, since she was still in the body of a young adolescent girl, she still thought somewhat like a young adolescent girl. But her memories of Before were more like dreams than memories – they washed up to the shores of her thoughts like frail, faintly-pulsing bodies of jellyfish: so phantom-like, so almost-unreal that it was hard to believe that she had ever been that girl. Such a young thing.
As the boy ran, he greeted, question-like, her illusion. Not the right question, she thought, a bit unfairly. I’m already running from you; do you think I’ll stop if you say hello? She was always surlier than usual when she woke up from Sleep. She’d be less surly if he just said the one or two or three magic words that he needed to say, so she could stop and rest her own legs. Even though she was only walking.
Wait to be asked to wait. Then he could dig up the first book at whatever place he finally voiced a humble, breathless request like “Wait!” or “Stop!” or something akin to that, which would be the place where her image would then stop. The more modest he was, the quicker they could get this over with. The girl had gotten good at interpreting her dreams over the past few eons. Variations of this one came up every now and then. For some reason, though, this one never got old. Some rather cruel part of her enjoyed watching people stumble after her, often until they were reduced to pitiful wheezings and lurchings.
At this point, both his stamina and his nerves had worn thin, shallow breathing turned into shameless panting as he struggled to catch up to this strange girl, who for whatever reason, refused to stop running. A gulp of air was brought into a word, a cry of “Stop!” before he himself had to stop, hunched over, hands on his knees as he caught his breath, face flushed, When it no longer felt like his lungs were trying to turn themselves inside out, he picked his gaze back up to the forest.
Thus far, the girl he had been chasing for a reason unknown to even him hadn’t stopped onc. She hadn’t bothered turning her head his way. No matter how much he called out for her, she hadn’t turned her head or even slowed her movements over the forest floor. However, in the short moment he had stopped to catch his breath, she had vanished into thin air.
‘ What? ‘ was breathed below his breath, and he turned himself around, checking in all directions before dropping to the floor. How had she managed to slip away unnoticed so quickly? He had only paused for a minute or two, and the vegetation wasn’t that thick. It shouldn’t be impossible to see her; if anything, he could’ve got a glimpse of a retreating back, but…nothing.
Brushing back hair that looked as though it was glued to his forehead back, he took another glance around the area before groaning loudly. Great. He had been dumb enough to follow a random girl into some…untouched area of the forest, pretty deep, if he judged by how long he ran, and now he had no idea where the flying fuck he was. What a life.
The next morning is rough on the sandy haired male. He groggily rolls out of bed sometime after ten o’clock, wobbling all the way to the bathroom. Aspirin, water, and a bottle of Gatorade later, and he’s back in bed. The steady throbbing behind his eyes is sure to go away if he sleeps some more, or at least that’s what he tells himself as he pulls the blankets up to shoulder height. Lids closing, he attempts to piece his night back together.
Sitting up a little, a shaky hand reaches out for the bedside table, where it falls upon his brick of a cell phone. Fuck. Shit. I didn’t, he thinks, looking at his call history. I fuckin’ did. He flops back, realizing he has quite a few new texts. Only one set, from an unknown number, catches his eye though.
“Ah fuck…” he mumbles, as digits tap the screen quickly.Text: Unknown
Sent: My cell phone bill is gonna suck this month. England huh?
Sent: Sorry for bothering u. I was really drunk.
Sent: Uh…I’m Jean btw Idk if you know that already or not.
He lazes about in bed for the rest of the day, having successfully called in sick without much of a problem and a promise to ‘get well soon’ to his boss. Cerulean eyes flick occasionally to his mobile, lying dormant on the desk next to him throughout his lazy day. Some part of him wants it to buzz, wants to see the screen light up with a text message from a hopefully-sober American, but he pointedly ignored that part and focused all his attention on the crap sitcom playing.
Later on, in the evening, right before Armin places a cap on a day well-spent, eyes drooping closed with a slightly crappier show acting as white noise, his phone buzzes. Although he’s been somewhat looking forward to it all day, it still startles him and grates on his nerves.
'Of course he texts now…’ is grumbled below his breath, and he rolls over to pick it up.
SENT: Yes, you and me both.
SENT: I know you’re Jean.
SENT: You may have said it six or seven times last night.
Between the short response and the two questions which came after, Jean had room to imitate thinking, to try and understand himself and fill his database with home grown information.
The very question which was about to be asked of him buzzes through his brain. Who am I? He had no idea, but he supposed that, being new born and all, he had to develop a sense of self to fill up all the gaping holes in his personality. He wasn’t anyone, not yet.
He swallows, as the question which he had been ruminating on was asked of him by his creator. "I am an A.I. An Artificial intelligence meant to replicate the physical and psychological state of human beings." Most importantly. "I am not alive." Not that he even knew what being ‘alive’ even meant.
Then the next question, he diverts his gaze from blue eyes to scan the room around him, tongue flicking out to lick his lips. "I do not know who I am. I don’t have a personality yet, so I am no one."
Something occurred to him then, something important. He knew the names of things around the room, the ‘keyboards’ and ‘lights’ on the ‘computers’, but he did not know his own name. He wasn’t even sure if he had one, if he did it hadn’t been included in the information which had been poured into his mind. His gaze finally met with Armin’s again. "Perhaps you would like to begin by giving me a name?"
‘Subject has a sturdy grasp on the world around him, although is unaware of who he is and his personality,’ was scrawled into his notebook before the pen was capped once more and he met eyes with Jean.
He was entirely right; he isn’t alive, not yet, anyway. Hardly a person, although he looks alarmingly like one; albeit blank-eyed and straight-faced as he was. The corner of the A.I’s mouth is turned down in a frown, and Armin is almost delighted. ‘You’ve already been given a name.’ He says, clicking his pen and beginning to write again.
‘You will be referred to as Jean. Do you understand?’ Armin thinks it’s a little silly of him to ask if he understands after every question when he’s already gone above and beyond his original expectations for the project, but there’s no such thing as being too cautious.
‘Describe to me what you’re feeling right at this moment, Jean. It doesn’t matter external or internal.’
Casual reminder. 98% of the time, I’m totally cool with memes getting turned into threads.
BUT! Please copy and paste it into a new text post. Please don’t reblog the ask itself.
Im so emotional
No, it’s not a good look, gain some self-control
And deep down I know this never works
But you can lay with me so it doesn’t h u r t
Won’t you s t a y with me?
’Cause you’re all I n e e d.
Character in general:
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**Note: Mun’s answer are all to be completely honest. Don’t send url if you don’t want brutal honesty