A Place to Post

I got tagged by @sunnyhomes​ which I love, but... I can’t settle with a fav character to save my damn life, so I’m gonna go with 

The Apocalypse is Eminent. Build your battle team.

1. Ellen Ripley - Aliens (yeah yeah, the second movie. We're talking battle after all.)

2. Minimus Ambus, in every armor level. Every. - Transformers

3. Benjamin Sisko - Star Trek 

4. Bilbo Baggins - Lord of the Rings

5. Radar - M*A*S*H

6. Irene Adler - Sherlock Holmes

7. Jean Pargetter - As Time Goes By

8. Vimes - Discworld

9. Abbie Mills - Sleepy Hollow

10. Milly Thompson - Trigun

This must be what playfulness is, Samuels decided — frustrating as it was to have Ripley not so subtly dodging around the circle of doorways in their habitation, clutching a rather large boxful of things from his sight as he followed after her. He was nowhere short up on the energy to pursue her, nor had any willingness to more sensibly sit aside and wait to continue querying.

Nor was she having any willingness to more sensibly or cautiously sneak them in during his absence.

"It's just some pieces I needed for the projects!” she called impatiently over her shoulder.

"What pieces? The supply bays are completely stocked, and there's absolutely," he frowned as she darted right through the same doorway a second time, "No need for any additional materials. Certainly not in our quarters."

"Just little pieces. The things that always get forgotten about or lost," she sped through doggedly again, "It's nothing I'm going to leave in the halls!"

Watching her direction, he turned quietly and waited for her next lap. Holding his arms out expectantly, he caught her as she with a short yelp, half-plowed into him. Gripping the box to stabilize her, he met her defensive glare as he reached into the box, with a slight bit of triumph. Yes. It must be playfulness.

Fishing out a complete pack of circuits, he eyed the collection of basic components that stood amply ready for need in storage. At least there were no combustibles. 

"Little pieces."

After a moment of visible internal debate, Ripley stubbornly tugged the box back into her full grip, "There's something extra I'm making, okay? And don't want to dent the resources."

"A substantial build, for you to be setting aside even more supplies."

Walking right past him to the lockers, she packed her clothing into even tighter rolls, shoving them into the next shelf above. He stood patiently in silence, until she firmly set the box inside, closing the door. 

"Is this a surprise or a preservation tactic?"

"Preservation?" she deadpanned.

"From, as you titled it, my sensibility steamroller."

"It isn't that dangerous."

Well, that certainly deduced it. Following her towards the workshop, he waited for a snap or a short rant. Instead, with a defiant sweep of her arm, she escorted him in. 

A large frame suspended from the crane, the engine on a cart beneath, but even in the limited state of assembly, with several components flanking the sides of the workbench, he identified the type of vehicle, if not the specific model. 

"A terrac? Is the scavenging rate down?"

"No. It's fine. I just…" she folded her arms, staring at the frame, "I wanted to get out, get far away from all the work, all the tasking, do something else, be somewhere else. Just a break."

A vehicle for terrain exploration, meant for two riders, one for steering and power, the other for navigation and balance. With the second seat partially readied for removal, but the connection pieces had a thin layer of dust, as if removal has begun, then paused.

"You seem to be making some decided customizations. Particularly of vehicle operations."

She seemed to catch sight of his gaze, before narrowing her own, "Navigation, yeah. It's a two-for job when you're dealing with rocky ground, but I can narrow it down for flatland," she shrugged, "And if it rolls… that's what the harness is for. Not that risky."

"It is more risky to navigate this alone, even with your adjustments. And quite frankly I see no reason to remove dual navigation. Or the further exploration of higher ground."

Ripley's steely armed stand quickly fell as she realized what he said.

"You're serious?"

"Very. I could even assist with assembling," he offered half-seriously this time, knowing what the answer would be.

"No way. I know what happens when you get ahold of a welder, and it's alot of nothing."

"It's simply the spark range from your rate, it makes for a slower rate but—”

There it is folks.

The visual metaphor of Convoys.

"Amanda?"

"...hey."

"I had started to worry when you didn't come back, a drink of water hardly took twenty minutes."

She shifted slightly where she leaned against the counter, arms still crossed tight around herself, but at least looking at him.

"Sink broke," she tried for a light sarcastic distraction, but only fell out as a bitter bite. 

He slowly came over and leaned against the counter beside her, waiting for her to stir off. At her stillness, he asked softly, "What happened in there?" 

"Bad thoughts."

He remained silent, letting the timing of variances in her breath guide him.

"Just didn't think that would be such a… casual thought for an AI. Just. Erasing something already there, and rewriting in someone else. Done. No second thought to it."

"I doubt when it came down to it, they would so easily discard one consciousness for another."

"Easy enough to laugh it up about it."

"I'm quite sure it's become established my processor is not one to be desired at all. Or the frame for that matter."

"I'm dead sure they'd considered how unrecoverable their blocks would be by the time I was done," her quiet tone remained casual, but the undercurrent of cold promise flowed beneath.

A moment passed between them both silently staring ahead in the dimly unlit service kitchen, the raucous din of the theatre room raising up in a loud chorus of quote-along-with, before Ripley breathed out a low note.

"Not what I was thinking about anyway. More like… what it would take... to need to do that."

Another moment passed, while everything suddenly outside of them came to an absolute stop of perception, the trail of her thought suddenly all too clear.

"I… I don't know if I could withstand that, Amanda. Knowing someone else was ended, so that I might continue, in their frame."

"I don't know if I could keep going while you ended, that time."

"It's not worth others' existence, Amanda. We both know this. Especially not yours."

Another long raise of rowdy yells echoed into the room, cutting off into one by one bounces of slight argument over the next movie. Finally pressing herself up, Ripley reached for a cup. 

Noticed there hadn't been a doc created with the chunk I cut from the previous chapter.

Haha silly me well I'll grab it from the clipboar-

It's not there.

TT_TT 

1) Go on and on with this damn chapter, making it at least twice the size of any other fucking chapter, making it a damn marathon to read thru.

2) Split it at the place it very naturally would split, and post with the Worry for annoying the audience of how little Ripley/Samuels interaction there is.

Another section of Salvager's Rights :

"Ripley," he called over the torch.

She snapped up, immediately turning and whipping the mask off her face. 

Ripley. Her breath hitched as she hurriedly dove into the plan already made up in her mind. Close the door. Leave what's finished behind.

"Samuels. You're up a bit early."

The fallback into his original designation hit him like a dropped crate. This had started wrong, Everything about this was going wrong. He felt a deep stab of regret the instant he saw her face. She looked panicked, pained, then resigned. He was letting it slip, he could not let this slip. 

All that caution had done was rebuild a wall he never wanted to see again.

Just as much as he never wanted to be called Samuels again.

"The final pieces went in quite smoothly,” he paused a moment, before finally throwing it all to the wind, “My name is Christopher."

"Right… right, fuck. I’m sorry," the apology came with an audible blend of true remorse and frustration, as she quickly turned and delved into tightening of a bolt on a completely separate project from the welding she'd been working on, "How's being up and running?"

"Quite relieving, actually. Especially for more reliable processing. Which... I do believe we agreed to speak about, well, many things at this point of time."

“Only if you’re up for it,” she pulled the wrench down to a point of slowing.

“It’s beyond that, as we both said this is… important.”

She gave the bolt another tightening turn, pressing hard against the resistance, "Look, we don't have to go by all what was said before, let’s just go with what you want to do now."

Either she suddenly lost all ability to read by action, or looked for a way out, without it being noticeable. Trying to retreat from him, when by all previous actions she did the exact opposite. Why? This couldn't be a reaction to his return to full function and reasoning, but were that the case… 

She did call him Samuels.

It read as a test, as though everything that happened in the past 184 days, 16 hours, 32 minutes before the initiation of his restoration could completely vanish.

 "What I want, is for you to listen to me, Amanda."

Goddamnit, why hadn’t she just started this as soon as he’d signified he wanted to talk about it, Ripley cursed herself. Why couldn’t she have taken it on, right then and there, with assurances she didn’t hold him accountable for anything he did while malfunctioning, about how his now much more functional self would never in a thousand years be held up to some asinine standard of performance.

Shoving her entire weight onto the bolt that would likely never come out again without being melted, she straightened up and tossed the wrench into the tool caddy with a loud clatter. 

Just rip off the bandaid and get it done and over with. 

“I’m listening.”