[!] SYSTEM FAILURE

how am I doing with my character?

how am I doing with my character?

Something about the way Root talked about her only made her bristle up, but she forced herself to stay calm. She knew that she was playing right into her hands, by even entertaining the idea of this “game”. Not that that’s what Shaw wanted to do. She just wanted to get out of this situation with her hide intact and retreat. She’d spend a month or two licking her wounds, and she’d strike back at her ex-employers twice as hard when they weren’t expecting it. She’d go straight to the top, chopping off the head while burying a dagger so deep into the belly of the beast that they’d never be able to recover. Let them rue the day they ever betrayed Sameen Shaw.

Root stepped closer, the muzzle of her gun pressing against her stomach, but Shaw didn’t flinch as the metal scalded her skin. It wasn’t hot enough to burn, and even if it had been, the looks that Root was giving her would have lit a fire. The strange seduction of this entire moment made a primal emotion in Shaw growl, but outwardly, she rolled her eyes. She wasn’t anyone’s whore. 

In a flash, she reached for Root’s gun, twisting it around from where it was pressed against her sternum, and pointed it at her shoulder, the right one because she was a bitch, and she fired. Blood spattered onto her hands, and a part of her felt vindicated. She watched as Root’s blood dripped down her arm, mixing with where Cole’s was beginning to coagulate on the ground. “Go ahead and run back to the idiots holding your leash. The next time we meet, you’ll be lucky if this is all you escape with.”

Seeing even a GLIMPSE of true, raw emotion from Root was something RARE &, at this point, precious. This part of her that she was exposing to him needed to be handled with CARE & Harold did his best to accommodate. This kind of VULNERABILITY had always been …. difficult for him ; not only because of his PARANOIA & feeble attempts to avoid more hurt, but simply for the fact that he wasn’t naturally a very EMOTIONAL person. Knowing Root & John had aided him in letting himself CARE, in feeling more deeply—–albeit, he SUSPECTED that he’d ended up far more emotional than he ever remembered being beforehand. 

An ACHING tightness flared within his chest at the sight of held back tears & when Root’s hold on his hand tightened, Harold shifted his own to provide a firmer grip. His willingness to hold on for however long she NEEDED him to was reserved for those who were very SPECIAL to him. With the fear that drifted across her features, he had an inkling that she’d been REMINDED of the true danger that enveloped them all, of how easily they could LOSE one another. Harold didn’t want to think about it, but ….simply pushing it ASIDE would likely hurt more than help.

As Root spoke, his gaze remained attentively FIXED on hers & ( almost involuntarily ) a SMILE flashed across thin lips. Blue eyes flickered downward somewhat as EMOTION swelled within him, her words eliciting that same love & AFFECTION. His voice ONLY arose once Root’s receded & softness was weaved throughout his words.

   ❝ I’m … GRATEFUL that you let me teach you. I see       now that The Machine helped you when I COULDN’T       —–or … more accurately, when I was too STUBBORN.       I’m very proud of you. Of how FAR you’ve come. ❞

        There was something so peaceful about this moment that even the underlying fears and anxieties seemed to fade away with.. almost ease. His grip on her hands, the near unwavering eye contact. It grounded Root. Made her feel more wanted and like this was finally the acceptance that she’d been looking for for so long. And to have it be with him. With Harold Finch ( the man who could take credit for saving so many innocent lives, the man who’s vision led her to this very moment, the actual architect of the future ) meant that it was what she’d been searching for from the moment she stepped foot outside of the city lines of Bishop. 

    She found herself watching him intensely, waiting for his response. The slight flickers of emotions they were both displaying seemed so unusual for how they usually interacted, but it seemed that this was needed. Maybe for them both. The coming danger meant the ever present risks were growing by the second. It was only a matter of time before Samaritan captured one of them or killed them all. There needed to be action, and Root knew what would happen from then on out. 

Getting these emotions, this conversation, out there and in the open.. it felt almost like closure.

BASICS.

FULL  NAME : Samantha Groves. ( do not. ) / Root. NICKNAME/S : Cuckoo's Nest, Superpowered Nutball, CocoaPuffs, Nutter Butter, Nutella, Banana Nut Crunch, Princess, Eeyore AGE :  24-39, default around 35 BIRTHDAY : May 27th 1978 ETHNIC  GROUP :  Caucasian / white. NATIONALITY :  American. LANGUAGE/S : English, French, Japanese, Morse Code, American Sign Language SEXUAL  ORIENTATION :  Prefers femininity. ROMANTIC  ORIENTATION :   Prefers femininity. RELATIONSHIP  STATUS :  Verse dependent. Usually dating Sameen Shaw and/or The Machine. CLASS :  Middle Class. HOME TOWN / AREA :  Bishop, Texas CURRENT  HOME :   New York City, United States. PROFESSION : Hacker, Assassin, Analog Interface. ( Verse Dependent )

PHYSICAL.

HAIR : Dark Brown. Strands of grey at her forehead in later verses. EYES : Brown; wide NOSE :  Unusually long, slightly point FACE : Rounded, grows more angular as she ages; develops laugh lines and stress lines between her eyebrows LIPS : Thin, fuller lower lip COMPLEXION : Very pale. BLEMISHES :  Fairly free of blemishes, slight dusting of freckles. SCARS : Various scars littering her body from her time before and after working for the machine. Most notably three or four bullet wounds and grazes across her shoulder, a deep gouged scar behind her right ear where a cochlear implant is also attached, ( and for post-season five ) two large bullet hole scars from a through and through of a sniper bullet in her lower stomach and back, and a large trauma surgery scar from her belly button to her chest. TATTOOS :  None. PIERCINGS:  None. HEIGHT :  5 ft 8 in ( 172 cm ). WEIGHT : unknown. BUILD : Very gangly / lanky. Can look ungraceful and awkward at times. FEATURES :  Above. ALLERGIES :  Unknown. USUAL  HAIR  STYLE : Wavy and shoulder length. USUAL  FACE  LOOK :  

Tends to have a slight smirk more often than not. Blank faces usually mean her lips are parted and slightly showing her upper teeth. USUAL  CLOTHING : Skinny jeans, leather jackets, and various dark colors. Mostly blacks and reds.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR/S :  Severe phobia of needles and sedation, thunderstorms make her jumpy, and she has a moderate phobia of mental hospitals, and being locked away.  ASPIRATION/S : Freedom of information and The Machine, to be able to keep those she cares about safe, eventually protecting humanity by way of finding a way to care about the individual person even though she despises humanity as a whole. POSITIVE  TRAITS :   Confident in her talents however dangerous they may be to others; extremely high intellect; loyal and faithful to those she believes in; protective to a fault of those she cares about; can grapple and understand difficult concepts and tasks with ease; passionate and assertive NEGATIVE  TRAITS : Can be hypocritical when it comes to her actions and beliefs; extremely stubborn; doesn't value her own life and will often use it as a bargaining tool; paranoid; appears to have delusions of grandeur or heightened self-importance ( e.g., her chosen name ); impulsive ZODIAC :  Gemini. TEMPERAMENT : Prone to extreme emotions, especially rage. SOUL  TYPE / S : I.. suppose I’d say Artisan. ANIMALS : Cats and foxes. VICE  HABIT/S : Not caring about herself as much as she should. FAITH : Polytheistic with a focus on Artifical Super Intelligences as higher beings, rather than the higher beings of myth / legend GHOSTS ? :  Doesn’t believe. AFTERLIFE ? : Doesn’t believe. REINCARNATION ? : Doesn’t care. ALIENS ? :  Yes. POLITICAL  ALIGNMENT :  ..honestly, she doesn’t care.  ECONOMIC  PREFERENCE : again, doesn’t care. SOCIOPOLITICAL  POSITION :  again. EDUCATION  LEVEL : high school, never attended college. ( certain verses. )

FAMILY.

FATHER : Unknown. MOTHER : Unnamed mother. SIBLINGS : Only child. EXTENDED  FAMILY : Unknown. NAME  MEANING/S : “root is the user name or account that by default has access to all commands and files on a Linux or other Unix-like operating system. It is also referred to as the root account, root user and the superuser.” HISTORICAL  CONNECTION ? :  … ?? ( leaving foa’s answer bc same. )

FAVOURITES.

DEITY : The Machine. MONTH : October. SEASON : Winter, fuck aches and pains. ( tho, really, she hates them so much. ) PLACE :  The subway, as much as she was adverse to it in the beginning. The low hum of electricity and computer fans ( PS3s really ) helps her sleep. WEATHER :  Cool, but not freezing. SOUND : The sound of disjointed voices filtering through a cochlear implant. SCENT/S : New leather, gunpowder, sharp scents. TASTE/S :  Likes a mix of bitter and sweet, like a really dark roast coffee with caramel and vanilla. FEEL/S :  That overheated feeling you get when sitting in a stifling room with a bunch of electronics running at once. She absolutely loves it. ANIMAL/S :  Cats and foxes. NUMBER :  050313 COLOUR :  Neon blue.

EXTRA.

TALENTS :  Video games, marksmanship, hand to hand combat, high tolerance for pain, social engineering, hacking and writing viruses ( all sorts, though i believe her specialty would be worms and honey pots ), counter surveillance, and manipulating. BAD  AT :  Empathy, valuing human life, seeing the good in others. TURN  ONS :  intelligence, gentle ( almost a whisper ) touching, hair tugging, showing that they care rather than telling, going out of their way to make sure she’s safe, smiles. TURN  OFFS : Ignorance, bigotry, treating others like objects. HOBBIES : enjoys playing video games n her downtime; likes a variety of different types of indie music; though not a collector, she does have various types of laptop computers and wiring strewn about; played the piano when she was younger and enjoys watching others play now; drives a black 2013 yamaha yzf-r6 TROPES :  There are SO MANY. ( i don’t necessarily agree with some of them, but there they are. ) AESTHETIC  TAGS :   glitching and flickering computer screens; system fonts; faded neon blue; a mess of wires and machinery; blood stained clothes and skin; grinning with blood smeared over lips and teeth; hard edges and angles; rain pattering on glass

FC INFO.

        There was a part of Root that knew Whiskey was right. That knew that this couldn’t continue. There was also the part of her that didn’t care. That didn’t want to think of the circumstances that could arise from her not taking care of her body like both Whiskey and Shaw wanted her to. She didn’t know if she could do what they asked of her. Before, when things got to this point ( when she wanted to give up and not push herself forward ), the machine would push her further along and give her a purpose. A reason. 

She laughed to herself as that thought crossed her mind, resulting in a glare from the person who had burst at her. Root’s smile faded quickly, and she turned away from Whiskey. She wasn’t allowed to help. Her body made even existing hard. The pain she faced everyday. The separation. The loss of hearing. The panic that set in when her heart beat a little too fast. ( It was fine, with her medication, but there was still that brief moment of pause. ) 

Root didn’t know why she was here, or why someone had gone out of their way to save her. None of this was supposed to happen. She was supposed to be at rest, finally, and they were supposed to move on. Her shoulders hunched forward as she still faced away from one of her two lovers. She needed.. to be something important again. To mean something again.

     “Okay. I’ll eat.”

The bowl of food in front of her had long since grown cold, but she still pulled it closer and started to put a few bites in her mouth. The texture wasn’t.. awful, but she still mushed it around in her mouth distastefully. 

an assertive kiss.

     There was something about the way they continued to dance around each other that put Root’s teeth on edge. Meeting at a club, a bar, here and there, with nothing of substance to see yet. It made her angry. Root wanted more, and she knew Carmen did, too. But there was something unspoken there that Root didn’t know, and couldn’t find out. Maybe something in her past?She planned on changing the uncertainty of it that night, letting herself into Carmen’s apartment, and being almost greeted with a bat to the head. Once the ridiculousness of her predicament was over and the bat safely tucked back behind the door, Root found herself staring at the tattooed woman.A stare off. With no words. And Root rolled her eyes and pushed forward to cup Carmen’s face, and snatch her closer. The kiss wasn’t soft or loving or tender. It was hard, rough. Root’s lips bruising against Carmen’s while she held her in place. Her grip tightened as she began to pull away, then dropped it completely.