[ An automated voice speaks because someone hasn't bothered to set up a proper voicemail. The only part in her voice is her name. ] You have reached Agent Texas. Leave a message at the tone.
[It's been a couple weeks since he said he'd deliver. Sometimes shit happens, guys get busy seeing their best friend leave suddenly. The usual blue team antics.]
Hey, you said you wanted to see this.
[He sends over a video file, a little rough being transferred from his suit storage to the comm but serviceable enough.]
[Her Complicated Man, the other AI formed from memories of a man and a love affair. Was it loneliness? Grief? Some ache he couldn't understand from their origins? He takes another thoughtful sip, enjoying the enlivening burn to it.]
Hm. There is another by the name of Lucy, a very sensible lady of stature. I'm not sure if they'd needed more.
... the idea of allergy to magic seems strange, but I suppose it is a rejection all the same. Possible, his very constitution is one of willfullness.
[The frames of the figures roughly sketched, now and then he slides a longer look at Tex, finding the lines of her cheeks, or the shape of her chin, darkening lines in a resemblance.]
[ She snorts and motions for the bartender to pour her another beer from the tap. The glass gives her something to keep her hand on while the other grips the edge of the counter. ]
You could say that. As soon as we return, we're blasted away by an EMP. [ Did they even have those in his time period?
A small sigh then, ] It's an electromagnetic pulse that wipes out all data in range and stops anything electronic in its tracks.
[There's no music, no conversation in the bar, not this early. Their only company are a few dedicated drinkers, determined to be obliterated before the evening crowd even got out of work.
It's easy to hear his indrawn breath at that, sudden and sharp. He was familiar with EMPs... they'd just phased out recently in his time, made obsolete by Betan hardware casing that now came standard in almost everything.]
[ She waves a hand vaguely and keeps her gaze on her glass. This place is far too public for her to let herself be consumed by her emotions, entirely the reason why she's here, but a light glaze forms over her eyes.
[The next time he picks up the pad and resettles it to keep a good angle where his wrist isn't smudging the graphite, it just so happens to settle again in a good angle for her to see.]
Just to be contrary? Hm. I'll say that's Cordelia's side.
[He looks back to his scotch carefully giving her privacy. They sit in silence for some few minutes after, the air a bit heavier, both working a bit on their drink... Aral considering how to say what he wants.]
[ It's a simple answer and she declines to tack on the I don't need to part. Heading somewhere else would be just as good a distraction as wasting her money at the bar.
She finishes off her beer rather quickly and glances over at Aral. ]
You don't want to take care of mine. [ She may not be able to get drunk, but the stench of alcohol on her makes it pretty obvious how much she's had while being here. ]
I can't get drunk unless I want to simulate it. [ Lucky for him, the bartender already has her card on file and she motions for the guy to close her tab out. ]
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