Work Text:
Despite what some people (namely a long-time friend who you are currently working with) might think — you do actually have common sense. Or at least you have some level of situational awareness.
Which is why the things you have learned here leave you feeling a little bit… perturbed isn’t the right word, but “thrown-off” isn’t much better. You feel weird. The memories you’ve stumbled into recently have been very personal and they leave you feeling… weird. You’d been expecting Moth to sympathize when you mentioned it — they’re usually going on about how you throw yourself into recollections with no thoughts for your safety — but this was the one thing they seemed to be okay with. Because you’re still learning things that could be useful. Even if you’re snooping on a stranger’s personal life to do that.
And it’s not as if you hadn’t been doing that before. But before it was all clearly things with direct relevance to what happened to the Obesks on Earth. Now you were looking into fond memories with friends, private moments that were clearly carefully protected and preserved. You had to go out of your way to find these. Not that you didn’t have to do that already — you did — but this left a sour taste in your mouth.
The fact that you want to know more doesn’t help. You can’t help being curious. It’s why you do contract work, mostly. Settling down on one thing is boring. You like having the ability to jump around, to piece things together. You like throwing yourself into situations to figure out how they work. Games are at their most fun when the gameplay is a puzzle for you to solve.
And the thing is: you want to solve the mystery behind Akizet. Why her corrucyst was at the bottom of the ocean, abandoned. What happened to her and the team she left the spire with? What the hell was actually up with the Okidoia? You don’t have satisfying answers for any of that, which is driving you a little bit crazy. So you can’t help but poke and prod at things.
“Buddy?” Moth asks, startling you. “Have you just not been moving or is the Mindspike freaking out?”
You huff. “It’s fine. I’m thinking.”
“Sure.”
You were. Moth knows you were, they can read your Mindspike data. It was just a jab. You don’t really care, honestly, but you’ll have to keep that in mind for later. You do not exactly walk through the corrucyst, but riffling through it can feel like that. You don’t know if that’s because of the framing device or just your own imagination. Regardless: you’re making your way back to the lucid thoughtforms of Jokzi Ozo. Mostly to give Isabel a thank you. You wouldn’t have gotten the last memory in the Embassy without her mask. Or Geli’s. Geli would probably just laugh if you thanked it.
…You wonder, vaguely, if Isabel knows about that memory. The Aquarium. You wouldn’t have found it without her, but it was hidden away. Maybe it wasn’t hers to remember. The Isabel in the memory seemed much more toned down than the thoughtform was. But maybe that was part of the territory. You wouldn’t know. Even if you probably should.
You greet the Council with a vague nod as you stumble your way into the disorienting brightness of their hidden corner of the cyst. They regard you with a dizzying wave that you pointedly do not look at for very long. They say a cacophony of words to you and you pass them by.
The Effigies of Akizet greet you before Isabel does. They dance around you like a mirror image of the Council. You wonder if Isabel did that to them on purpose. You wonder just how indulgent these things are. It makes you curious, but not enough to grill her on it. Eventually, the Effigies make enough noise to draw her attention. She waves, tilting her petaled head slightly at your approach.
“Interloper!” She says pleasantly. “It’s good to see you.”
“Yep.”
“Can I do anything for you?”
You shake your head, “I’m good. Thanks for the mask.”
She seems… taken aback. You guess that’s fair. You don’t really thank people. You’re not sure why you’re thanking her. Given the weird discomfort you have with what things the mask has led you to. For a second, you think she’s going to laugh at you. Eventually she just clasps her hands together, smiling as much as something without a mouth reasonably can.
“Of course. I’m glad you’re getting use out of it! It has been helpful, right?”
“It’s how I found the Akizet thoughtform.” You say, sidestepping her question.
“Oh!” She says, seeming a little bit shocked, “I’m… glad.”
You nod.
And you leave. Without much more conversation than that. Because you’re not really a conversationalist. You don’t have any reason to be one. You’re sure eventually that’s something the thoughtforms will get used to. You’ll be dodging full conversations with them often enough.
…Assuming you even get a chanse to finish exploring this thing. Or to get half-way. You’re not entirely sure if you’ve done that just yet. The deadline for when you were supposed to be done has long-since passed. You might have it lifted from your hands at some point and there’s not legally much you could do to stop anyone from doing that. Which you hate. You’re interested in seeing this through, you don’t want to have to deal with it being snatched up by some snooty stranger.
You really are glad you have those masks now. You can get more information than anyone else can. You’ve done enough work for the thoughtforms in this cyst that you don’t think they’d tolerate it from anyone else, honestly. Other than Funfriend, but they’re desperate for any help possible. You’re not sure anyone else would do a good enough job playing Akizet’s part, anyways. You know what happens when you break character and you’re good at staying on task when you want to.
As you wander the cyst, aimless, you wonder about how much of what you see when replaying her memories is accurate to the kind of person Akizet was. How much of it was her own perception. You’re literally in her thoughts — you think what she thinks — but that doesn’t account for the gaps. The things Funfriend has to fill in to keep things moving. Is she as similar to you as it feels when you’re acting as her? Or is it just your own bias telling you that?
You are not Akizet. Obviously. But…
It feels weird. Knowing all you know about her now. That’s all.