nexus_crossings | +1 Cylon to the Nexus

+1 Cylon to the Nexus

There is a man standing near the vending machines in the Plaza, dressed in a well-tailored, peacock blue suit. He looks like he could get you an excellent rate on your second mortgage, but you'd be wise to double-check the fine print before you sign anything. As he fixes himself a cup of coffee, he glances periodically at the people who pass by, his expression perfectly neutral. Although the more astute might pick up on the way he tugs at the cuffs of his sleeves impatiently, as if wishing he were somewhere else.

Finally, he sighs. "Okay. Listen up. Adia asked me to come here because she thought it'd be good for me to make some friends, so if you see her, you can tell her that we chatted and save yourself the actual trouble. All right? I'm sure we're all very busy people."

He takes a sip from his to-go cup and grimaces. "On second thought, can anyone tell me where I can get a decent coffee around here? I can't believe she's been drinking this stuff for the past three years.."

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Faris is not certain if Caspar is interested in how they look, or their cultural mindset. His peoples have had a little more exposure to the latter, he feels. "They are aggressive and hateful. No attempt to reason with them has resulted in anything less than the deaths of those who have tried. Their persistence has chased us vast distances across the stars, and I fear that only using this place to relocate the fleet to another realm will keep us safe."

A moment's pause as he considers that perhaps Caspar did mean their physical appearance. "They are... difficult to describe," he admits. "I do not know of any other species with similar appearance to compare them."

The description twists at his gut a little. In some ways, they sound so much like the Cylons. Did Adia find comfort in the comparison? Or did it only fuel her fears, that her own enemies would never cease their pursuit, not rest until every last human was dead and gone?

He frowns and tries to push away the shame. It's not the same war. It doesn't sound like the K'Da did anything to provoke these other aliens. And the Cylons tried for compromise. Once. If the Ones hadn't been so hellbent on getting their twisted revenge on the Final Five, maybe it could have even worked.

"It doesn't matter," he says. "What they look like, i mean. So long as they don't show up here." He brings his gaze up once more. "What'd Adia tell you about the Cylons?"

The K'da is quiet a moment, looking consideringly up at Caspar. There is something odd about his expression, but Faris does not know why. "She told me that the Cylons come in different forms, and that two factions warred against one another recently. One faction allied with the refugee fleet and proved their sincerity by making all Cylons mortal. Though some humans of the fleet find it difficult to trust those who were once enemies, she has mentioned peaceful cooperation in the building of a new home on Earth."

That expression does not leave his face, although his jaw twitches at the mention of being made mortal. A reminder that he indeed has no more second chances, his consciousness forever tied to this body.

"She was being generous," he murmurs. "There's a lot of work to be done to rebuild trust between humans and Cylons. Adia is an exception, she creates this little bubble of peace wherever she goes. You can't help but want to be the best person you can be when you're near her."

He looks over the alien again. It feels duplicitous of him, but he can't help but ask, "Did she tell you what happened to the other faction of Cylons?"

Faris does not understand magic, but he has seen enough of it to know that it exists, and wonders briefly if this 'bubble of peace' is more than it seems. Perhaps even something that Adia herself does not know. Or it is a mere turn of phrase, no matter how very true it seems. It matters little, in the end; she is a good human to befriend regardless.

He tilts his head slightly at the question. "Not in great detail. Only that they were defeated, for what can be assumed to be the final time."

Caspar does not believe in magic -- not in his universe, anyway -- but even he might agree with Faris. She is special -- always has been, to him, even when he was stupid enough to deny it.

"They were," he confirms. "Their base -- their final colony -- was knocked into a black hole. And the ones that boarded Galactica all died."

He pauses a beat, eying the K'da with mild trepidation. Here goes nothing.

"Except me."

Faris' only outward reaction is a twitch of his tail, his green eyes sweeping over Caspar. Adia Costas had said that some Cylons appear human, so it is not entirely a surprise to learn such a thing, but he has not noticed anything physically different about this man. Then again, he has met other bipeds that look very human yet are not, and he cannot always tell the difference between them either.

So, Caspar was a member of the hostile Cylon faction. Yet here he stands, unaccompanied, seeking beverages and making at least a small effort to be social. For Adia's sake.

That does not sound much like a prisoner, nor someone who does not have at least some measure of trust. Even the cooperative Cylons were once seen as enemies. Change grows from a single seed that is planted, and must be nourished if it is to bloom.

To lose brothers and sisters, no matter if one agrees with them, is still a loss. "I am sorry that none of your people could also be saved. Are you all right?"

He keeps his mouth shut while he's looked over by those alien eyes, his face impassive. He's faced judgement before, countless times, from Cylon and human alike. What does the judgement of this dragon-like being matter? If there's any nagging concern that he might risk the ire of a friend of Adia's, he keeps it to himself.

The sympathy surprises him. He blinks, and for a moment looks uncertain. "I'm..." He clears his throat. "I'm fine. It's, um... it's weird, being the only one of my model, but I'm managing. The Ones were psychopaths, we're better off without them." His jaw tightens. "I miss the Fours. Except the one that hit Adia."

Has anyone else expressed their condolences over his fallen brothers? None except Adia.

"I don't suppose you know where I can get a good cup of coffee?" he asks Faris, turning to finally toss his cup of mostly untouched beverage in the trash. "Do you need to eat or drink? You said you were a symbiote, right?"

Edited 2017-12-06 21:23 (UTC)

Faris watches those changing expressions flit across Caspar's face, and though the surprise is not unexpected to see, the K'da feels compassion for him. Does not everyone deserve a chance to right their wrongs, and make amends for their crimes?

He feels no need to question the Cylon further on his loyalties. Adia has encouraged him to come to the Nexus, and that is enough for Faris.

"I do," he answers, giving another small K'da smile. "There is a cafe nearby. It is..." He pauses a moment, uncertain if the area is still in disarray from the party, and the interruption that changed a festive evening into a horror. "It is likely reopened," he decides, as he does not know what other specific places might sell the beverage. He has had coffee before and found it interestingly bitter, though not enough to drink it with every meal, as some humans seem to. "I would not mind seeking a beverage also."

Though he doesn't show it, he's grateful when Faris drops the subject of his loss. It's something he's barely processed himself, even after weeks recovering from a gunshot wound, only the rebel Cylons for company. Now that he's been reunited with Adia, he'd rather not dwell on it at all.

He'll regret it later, but for now he manages the smallest of sincere smiles at the alien's offer. "Sounds good. Tell you what, it's on me. What are you planning to get?"

On him? Why would Caspar want to put the beverages on himself? Faris decides to assume it is meant to be metaphorical, rather than literal. Humans - and those similar to them - seem to enjoy their figures of speech. If it is not... well, he shall be surprised, then.

"I am fond of flavored waters," he says, using a tilt of his head to encourage Caspar to follow before he sets off in the direction of the Crossroads Cafe. "But I have been told there are seasonal drinks that I should try. Perhaps I will try an eggnog." The word is strange on his tongue, and he cannot help but wonder if it will taste of eggs. But what is a nog?

It's for the best that Faris keeps his musings to himself, or else he'd get nothing but a shipload of sarcasm in return. Like Caspar would ever put a beverage on his suit. The dry cleaning bill would be outrageous.

He follows without further direction, although the image of a dragon-like alien trying eggnog is surreal enough for him to trail a little behind for a moment, a bemused expression on his face. "It's rich," he says. "And heavy because of all the cream. I never liked it that much."

"I am told my tastes are unusual by many species' standards," Faris replies, sounding faintly amused. He has yet to find another species here that understands the appeal of a small amount of engine oil drizzled over one's meal. It may not be nutritious, but it is delicious.

"Do you have a recommendation?" After all, he has not firmly decided on a drink to purchase, and he is still learning about the wide variety of human-preferred foods, which make up much of the menus in the Nexus places he has discovered.

In that sense, Caspar is indistinguishable from humans, except in how picky he is about food overall, in particular its quality. "Good for you for wanting to try it, I suppose... what's your typical diet?"

He gives Faris' question serious thought. It's not every day that an alien asks him for a drink recommendation. "If you're looking for something warm, a hot cider isn't a bad choice this time of year. It's sweet without being cloying."

Faris is a fairly adventurous eater, by K'da standards. Such a thing was certainly necessary when he became stranded away from the fleet, and he has seen no reason to not try new things. How can one know if they like a food or not unless it is eaten? That said, he does have preferences. "I favor meat or fish over vegetation, though I prefer sweet and bitter seasonings for the meal. Caramel or chocolate are good additions to hamburger." He glances over his shoulder at Caspar, his long tail flicking side to side in amusement. "Industrial lubricants also."

Warm drinks are not typically consumed on the fleet, but that is no reason to dismiss the option. "Cider... that is made from fruit?"

The preference of meat does not come as a surprise. The condiments for his burger do, however, and Caspar doesn't bother to keep the grimace off his face. He's still learning to read the alien's body language, but he's pretty sure Faris is anticipating that as a response.

Better to move on to a food item that doesn't put him off his coffee. "Yeah, it's made from apples. Adia likes it a lot." In case he doesn't trust Caspar's drink recommendation.

Caspar's paranoia about the trustworthiness of his advice is misplaced, but Faris feels all the more confident knowing that Adia Costas enjoys it as well. "She has not yet led me astray. I will have a cider, then."

He would think fondly of learning to toast marshmallows over a fire, if not for the chaos that enveloped the party soon after. Even if it is the smallest tragedy to have such happy memories ruined by worse events, he still regrets the loss.

"Do you prefer hot beverages?" he asks curiously. Coffee, now cider... there are others, he is fairly certain.

That gets a brief smile out of him. "What else has she introduced you to?" he asks, blissfully ignorant of the Halloween party and the horrific events that followed.

"It's the time of year for it," he replies. "I don't need it to warm up, but it's comforting anyway." He tugs primly at the cuffs of his jacket sleeves, not yet troubled by the distinct chill of winter coming to the Nexus. "I don't need the caffeine in the coffee, either, but I can still appreciate a good cup."

"At our last meeting, she taught me how to roast marshmallows over flame," Faris says, wishing that that had been the extent of the excitement that evening. "She also spoke of a food called ambrosia that I would be willing to taste if the occasion presents itself."

The cafe is just ahead, most signs of the party cleaned up and removed from view. There is a strange little lantern that was not present before, not that Faris had noticed anyway, but it seems less important than confirming that the cafe is open for business. "Flavor is one of life's pleasures," the K'da agrees, pulling the door open with a forepaw. "One needs not gain any other benefit to enjoy a meal. Although it helps," he adds in mild amusement.

The laugh that comes out of his mouth is unexpected, even to Caspar. "Roast marshmallows? Is that a thing here?" How easy to imagine his girlfriend teaching such a sweet, human activity to her alien friend. "She must have been so happy, it's not like we could do that on the Chiron... and oh, yeah. Ambrosia. She's told me about it, it's a popular dish on Leonis..."

One she can't have again, not the way her mother made it. The guilt gnaws at him, harder to stifle this time. It wasn't his decision to blow up the Colonies, he reminds himself. He didn't even know he was a Cylon this time.

The café is a welcome distraction. It seems nice enough anyway. He pays no mind to the lantern, either. His mind is different from a human's, but not bent towards the supernatural. "Cylons don't need to eat or sleep as much as humans," he explains as he steps inside. "It makes it more important for me to enjoy it."

It is difficult for Faris to read the changing expressions on Caspar's face, but there is clearly a good deal of turmoil. Perhaps about his role in the war, or simply the reminder of the fate of the colonies. Whatever the case, the K'da does not intend to make it worse, particularly when they have arrived at their destination.

"Not as much, but still required?" Perhaps that makes them more efficient, but it seems rude at best to ask if there is a reason. "It is good that you may still enjoy the experience. Do you have a favorite type of food?"

Faris has been making an effort to learn written English lately as well, so he cranes his long neck to examine the menu board, slowly reading over the available options as practice. Most customers seem to be getting their beverages in cups, but the K'da feels confident that he should have no trouble getting his in a bowl. It is much easier to drink that way.

Another subject left behind. Caspar is a little disappointed in himself; he used to be able to talk about anything without letting his emotions get in the way. He's content to lay his feelings bare for Adia -- she deserves that much -- but to be so conflicted while speaking with a stranger?

It's as bad as the guilt.

"Yes, still required," he answers. "We can't entirely escape the confines of our biology." He gives Faris a brief smirk before stepping up to the counter to order a plain coffee, dark roast. He pulls his wallet out of his inside jacket pocket. "And whatever he's having," he adds, nodding his head towards the K'da. Perhaps this is what he meant about the drinks being on him.

Ah, Faris has seen wallets before, a time or two. Caspar's words make it clear that he intends to pay for them both, and the K'da bows his head slightly in thanks. "I will have one bowl of hot cider, please."

"The variety of food and drink available here is quite impressive," he adds, while they're waiting for their drinks to be poured. "If one tried to eat a new thing every day, a lifetime could be spent doing nothing else."

The barista does not bat an eye at the request for a bowl. They take Caspar's money and then fix both drinks, setting them on the end of the counter.

"Some things wouldn't be worth trying," he muses, picking up his cup. He doesn't move to a table just yet, curious to see how Faris will manage with his bowl. He managed to get the door open, but he only needed one foreleg for that. "You'd be able to tell as soon as you smell it." Why would a robot need a sense of smell? Who knows, but Caspar takes advantage of his to avoid anything that is remotely off-putting.

At times like these, it would certainly be useful to be a biped, or to have a host willing to help carry it. Ordinary objects are easy to carry in one forepaw when one does not need to worry about spilling their contents, but a bowl of liquid is an entirely different matter.

Fortunately the bowl has a small lip around the edge, and Faris carefully encloses it between his teeth, holding his head at a slightly awkward angle to keep it level. He may have to walk quite slowly, and the hot liquid laps at the tip of his snout with every step, but his scales protect him from anything more than mere discomfort, and he is in no hurry to reach their destination.

It is nevertheless a relief to place the bowl on their chosen table, and free his mouth to speak once more. After licking the cider from the end of his nose, of course. "One cannot enjoy everything," he agrees.

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