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Who: Meyer & Daneel
Where: Near the edge of the woods
When: Day 101, also known as happy fun blackout times
What: They're both gathering firewood (gotta keep productive during unexpected blackouts, after all!) and run into each other.

Meyer had been wary of the woods ever since the incident with the tiger. It strikes him as something isolated, something statistically unlikely to occur again, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't give the denser clumps of trees wide berth, aware that some kind of large animal could be lurking within them. There's good reason to be on the edge of the woods this afternoon, though, and that's because of the blackout; more firewood will be needed soon enough, and gathering it makes him feel as though he's doing something productive.

He's alone, for the moment -- he'd convinced the freshly returned Charlie to stay back, to get some rest, still not entirely convinced that Charlie is as physically healthy as he seems, still not sure what those days of disappearance had done to him. Pausing for a moment in his meticulous gathering of any sticks that look usable for the large fire, he takes a second to light a cigarette (an indulgence which he wouldn't normally allow himself, not when supplies are low, but which seems appropriate at the moment) and takes a long drag on it, surveying the woods with an intent eye, ready to go for his gun in case anything suddenly leaps out at him.

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Daneel is on a similar mission -- himself, he has no need of firewood or warmth. Ned does, though, as do other people here, and there should be a good supply laid in, just in case. Whether this is a permanent situation or a temporary one, he must be prepared.

He knows there's someone nearby. The woods are a dangerous place -- he'll come here himself but the thought of anyone else here worries him -- so the only thing he can do is go check, though he's laden down with firewood.

"Hello, Meyer." He offers the greeting politely.

He's not so focused on staring into the trees that he doesn't notice Daneel approaching, so when they finally get within speaking distance and Daneel greets him, he offers him a small smile, a far more genuine one than the one that he's been plastering on his face for the last few days around everyone (everyone except Ned, that is, and look at how well that had turned out...)

"Hi, Daneel," he replies, flicking some off the ash off the tip of his cigarette. "Looks like we had the same thing in mind."

His own pile of firewood is a bit smaller than Daneel's, but then, he's been taking a break to smoke and to contemplate, so perhaps he can't be blamed.

"A wise precaution." He bows his head in acknowledgement. "If this outage lasts any amount of time, we will need this, and far more, but this is a start."

To say the least. Daneel put his firewood down, more out of politeness than because his arms would tire. It does interfere with conversation. "I have heard that your friend has returned. I hope he is well and hasn't suffered during his absence."

"I'm hoping it's just a minor inconvenience."

An uncharacteristic amount of optimism, for someone who generally takes a skeptical view of the world, but his upswing in mood is due, in part, to Charlie's return, which makes it seem possible that there are bright spots in the otherwise dreary town. He nods at Daneel's comment.

"He's back, yes. As far as we can tell, there's no damage done, but he doesn't remember anything about being gone."

That, at least, seems typical of those who had disappeared and returned. It's concerning, but at least it's not a unique and startling symptom.

"A common occurrence, unfortunately. I'm glad he is well."

And he is. He hasn't met Charlie, perhaps, but he still wouldn't want any harm to come to him.

"I have had friends here disappear and not return. It is... distressing. Though I cannot wish that anyone remain here against their will, there is a comfort in knowing they are safe rather than merely having to hope that they are."

"If there were some kind of assurance that those who'd disappeared had gone home, it would've been better if he hadn't come back, but..."

He trails off with a shrug. He's sure Daneel takes his point. Painful as it would have been to be without Charlie and be stuck in this place alone, if he had known that the vanished had been returned to their homes, he could find some kind of solace in it.

"I'm sorry about your friends."

And he is. He may not have made many friends here himself, but he can see from the way others have responded to disappearances that forming friendships here is the norm.

"I hope they are safe," Daneel says quietly. "Tony spoke to me once of a year's worth of memories of home when he vanished from here for a time. It is... an encouraging fact, but nothing I can take as a certainty."

The transience is difficult. Humans in general have a transient nature, a short-lived vulnerability that he finds troubling. This is merely more of this same problem, but more intense, more immediate.

"Do you have enough supplies for the current situation? I am attempting to ensure that Ned will be comfortable."

"There're no certainties around here, as far as I can tell."

Of course, there aren't anywhere else, either, not really. This place, however, seems to make that far more obvious than most do. Back home, there had been some feeling of normalcy. Around here, it's like they're constantly waiting for another catastrophe. It grows tiresome extremely quickly.

"So far, we're okay. Ned showed me how to make bread the other day, which was appreciated."

"That was good of him. I am glad he did."

Without a jealous thought in his head, Daneel is only too glad to "share" Ned's attention and time, if Ned can do good for the community at large. Bread is a staple, everyone should have access to it, and he's aware that the act of teaching could very well have provided comfort.

He has a notion, besides, that the process is good for Ned, as well.

"Ned mentioned to me that he was concerned for you."

"Ned has been extremely generous with his time, yes."

He's in a position, perhaps, that he's not used to -- he's aware that Ned and Daneel are in a relationship, aware that neither of them consider it to be something worthy of hiding, but unsure of whether Daneel might be jealous of the time Meyer spends with Ned. Admittedly, Ned is one of the few people in the town that he can consider himself 'close' to in any way, Charlie aside, of course.

"And, I suppose, generous with his concern."

It's an unusual feeling, knowing that someone's concerned about him. He's not sure whether it's flattering, or vaguely worrisome.

"If he wishes to help, then he should." Absolutely sincerity on Daneel's part. Though he is faintly worried when Ned is out of his sight -- in this place, it's hard not to worry about anyone he can't see.

"Ned is very important to me, but it would be unfair of me to insist that I consist of the entirety of his emotional dependence. I strongly doubt that I can fill that role and not do him harm by my failure to be everything he needs to be emotionally fulfilled. You appear to be a friend of his, judging by the way he speaks of you, and that is good. Therefore, though I would already be concerned for your safety, your well-being is now tied to Ned's own, as he would suffer if harm came to you." This logic is very clear to him. "If he wishes to spend his time ensuring your safety, it is something that I can understand very easily, and I support it wholeheartedly. I certainly hope you find it equally agreeable."

It's an interesting perspective, one that Daneel seems to have given some thought to. He can certainly appreciate the logic behind it, perhaps because he doesn't often find that most people apply logical to their relationships so much as base their reactions entirely on emotion.

"I enjoy his company, certainly, although it's been... somewhat frustrating, the amount of looking out for me he's been doing."

The tiger attack. The immediate effects of Charlie's disappearance. The aftermath. It frustrates him, that he's seemingly dependent on other people in this place.

"I can speak to him, if he has been overenthusiastic."

Not a conversation he would really be eager to have with Ned, but the idea that Ned might be making others uncomfortable is not pleasant, either. He'll make the offer, at least.

"Although I must say, since he was concerned for you during the disappearance of your friend, he will likely give you more space now that Charlie has returned. So it seems to me, as the source of his concern will now have been removed."

He chuckles quietly, a little amused by Daneel's thought, and then shakes his head. "It's not at all that he's been overenthusiastic. It's that there's..."

He had really thought that anyone would immediately take his point, that being looked after could be both gratifying and make one feel as though they should be far more competent, but perhaps Daneel doesn't see it that way. "Sometimes," he replies, "it simply seems as though I should be returning the favor for him more than I am."

That makes far more sense to Daneel than might be suspected. He, too, often has that feeling of not entirely being able to return what he receives from Ned, when the very nature of their relationship is so very new to him.

"I am often concerned that he gives of himself to me too freely, and that I harm him by my inability to return it in kind," Daneel says, very seriously. "He offers me one thing, and I return another, but I'm not sure that the exchange is appropriate or fair. I only am attempting to do my best."

He nods, relieved to see that Daneel seems to understand. Of course, the nature of their relationships are different, and he doesn't know exactly what goes on between Ned and Daneel -- mostly because he has no interest in prying into either of their personal lives quite so dramatically -- but he can see easily enough that he's not the only one who feels he can't return what he's been given from Ned.

"I think he'd say that he genuinely enjoys being able to help, at least in your case," he muses, "but I can't help but feel... indebted to him."

Daneel considers this problem for a moment. Indebted implies an eventual return.

"Do you fear that Ned will ask for something you find unpleasant or distasteful, and because of his past assistance you will feel obliged to agree to his terms anyway? I cannot believe Ned would ask such a thing of you if you were truly unwilling."

"No, somehow I doubt that Ned's the type of guy to ask anyone for anything unpleasant."

Ned strikes him as honestly kind and caring, and that's not necessarily something he knows how to process. It's not as though he doubts Ned's genuineness, but he's sometimes at a loss for how to handle it.

"It's more that I feel like he won't ask for something, even if he needs it, and I'll never be able to return the favor."

Ah. Again, Daneel understands this far too easily. Debt is one thing, something perhaps a little alien to him, but he knows his own particular flavour of it.

"Do you mean that you are concerned that you will never be able to grant him what he needs or wants? This is something that often concerns me. Either through ignorance or inability, I will leave him lacking."

"Sure, something like that. If he needs help, am I going to be able to offer it to him?"

In a certain way, he knows, he could. Physically speaking, he could defend Ned if he were in danger. He'd been teaching Ned to play poker, which might not necessarily be needed, but certainly seemed to be something Ned enjoyed learning. On the other hand, he's not particularly practiced at offering anyone emotional support, and when Ned's friends had disappeared and Ned had been so upset, the only thing Meyer had known how to do was play cards with him and attempt to distract him.

"He doesn't seem to find you lacking in any way, from what he's said about you."

Daneel bows his head solemnly. "So he says. Still, he is possessed of a strength of feeling towards me that I fear does not make his judgement unbiased. It is very possible that my own judgement towards him is equally suspect."

He isn't used to having to doubt his own judgement; that's a troubling side effect.

"It is not possible to protect humans from all harm that may come to then, as much as I wish it were. Nor is it always wise to; sometimes suffering in small amounts is necessary to prevent greater suffering later. The difficulty lies in recognising which is which."

Strength of feeling sounds an awful lot to him like a discussion of the fact that Ned is apparently in love with Daneel, and that whole conversation has been known to make Meyer feel extremely awkward. It's not that he disapproves -- on the contrary, he's pleased for Ned, in a strange sort of way -- but it's that relationships and feelings aren't particularly a topic of discussion in his life, and it still startles him how people are so seemingly open about it here.

"I doubt that our judgement is ever entirely unbiased when it comes to people we're... close to. You strike me as a logical person, though."

And that, to him, is a compliment. Logic is something he finds sorely lacking in many people, although occasionally he's forced to recognize that his own calculating brand of logic can be a hinderance when it comes to forming close connections.

"I cannot help but be what I am. While the pathways of a positronic brain are similar to a human's brain in many respects, they are not identical. That is not to say," Daneel adds, "that a robot can't grow beyond what it was originally intended for, but there are certain guidelines that govern human behaviour, and different ones for robots.

"Part of that is my reliance upon logic, rather than emotional reasoning. Certainly I do possess and experience what I must describe in terms of emotional responses, but they are not the same as human feeling, merely analogous."

He's earnest, in his own quiet way. "But they are not something I can make decisions upon alone."

Should Meyer be concerned that the way Daneel describes the robot brain sounds very much like his own brain? Perhaps, but he doesn't know any other way of being. What Daneel says makes quite a bit of sense to him -- he, too, doesn't rely on emotional reasoning, although he imagines that it's slightly different for the two of them. He's human, after all. Daneel isn't. Regardless, he sees some similarities between them.

"I don't think anyone should make decisions based on emotional responses," he replies, shrugging. "They're often illogical at best, and downright dangerous, at worst."

"And yet, humans often do. In some ways, it's considered superior to logic-based reasoning." Daneel frowns a little. "I might wish to do something because I find it brings me pleasure, but it is difficult to justify that choice when I have no other reasoning."

And yet, if he is to consider himself a person, then he has every right to make exactly that choice. It's... perplexing.

"But you are human, and you choose logic over emotion when you can? What would you do if faced with that sort of choice?"