kore_logs | What little's left

Thinking on this for a moment, she turns her glass in her hands.

"Memories are interesting things. They can be false, they can be forgotten, they can be shared. I'm not surprised that he can't remember. I wonder if -- well, whatever species our captors are, it's not impossible for them to have the ability to change memories, or take them entirely. I wonder what they do with them if they do take them."

Collectors of memories, of knowledge... she's heard of stranger things, and she carries a Cipher of Prothean minds herself, after all.

"It might be better not to remember."

He's torn on that front. There's an importance to having all of the information possible. To have that big of a gap in memory is concerning, considering that there could be any number of useful facts within it. However, if something truly horrible had happened to those who had disappeared and reappeared -- and he feared that it had -- maybe those people are better off without those traumatizing thoughts.

"They may take them and alter them somehow. To gain information of their own, maybe."

"That's... not impossible."

Shiala looks at him a moment, her expression solemn. "I... knew a situation. There was a device, several of them, that were attuned to the mind of a species long dead. In order to understand the message the device carried, it was necessary to think like a prothean, but the protheans are extinct, so how could this be possible?

"But another creature was found, a sentient plant that had absorbed protheans once, long ago, and carried the workings of their minds in its own. I became... I became a sort of vessel to retrieve that memory, and to pass it on to those who needed it."

She'll... leave out the fact for now that she was mind-controlled into helping one individual do it, and gave the same information to Saren's enemy later.

"I can all too easily imagine that they could want our memories. I can't explain why."

It's amazing, how a couple months ago, he'd have scoffed at the story she's telling now. It sounds impossible. It should be impossible. But then, most of what he's seen here should be impossible, and he's come to accept that things aren't the same here as they were back home. What she's saying had, apparently, been perfectly possible in her home world. Maybe it's possible here, too.

"If they want our memories..."

He toys with his glass of water, turning it around in his hand and staring at it for a moment before finishing his thought. "... then why don't they take all of us and study our memories? Why only certain people?"

"Who can say?" Shiala shrugs. "Perhaps there are certain things they want, and they must wait for them to happen. Perhaps that's not their goal at all and they merely don't wish us to know things."

It's not much of an explanation. She wishes she had better.

"Either way, there's something distinctly unsettling about taking a memory. Sharing is simple enough, but stealing entirely, leaving nothing behind? It's a... violation."

"It's possible that memory loss is simply a... side effect of whatever else it is they're doing. If they're drugging those they take, the drugs they use to keep their prisoners sedated for their... experiments..."

He practically shudders at the word. There's little worse in the world he can think of than Charlie being experimented on.

"In any case, their purpose for taking people and sending them back is unclear. And that doesn't even address the question of what happens to those who disappear and never come back."

"Indeed. It's difficult to remember what happens while unconscious."

She leans an elbow on the bar, and her chin on her hand. "I wish I could say I was surprised by it, but... I'm not. There will always be unscrupulous people, but... still, I haven't seen anything quite on this scale, before."

"I find it frustrating," he says, taking another sip of his water. It's not as though he really even wants to drink this water, but he feels the need to do something with his hands, and since he doesn't have a cigarette, holding the glass will have to do. "We know very little about our captors. In general, I'd have thought that kidnappers might be a little more communicative about what they want from their victims. They've been relatively quiet."

"Whatever they want," Shiala says, "they don't need our cooperation, other than that we stay here quietly."

She grimaces. If she could think of a better option, she'd love to hear it.

"This is hardly pleasant conversation," she adds, wryly.

He chuckles quietly, shaking his head. "I know," he agrees, "But it seems to be the topic of conversation no matter what any of us do. It's the only thing on everyone's mind."

He gestures around the bar. "That's probably why the both of us are in here looking for alcohol, because this conversation could drive anyone to drink."

"Very true. I've known people to turn to drugs for less."

Shiala sighs, leaning back in her seat with glass of water somewhat precariously balanced in her hand. "We need happier conversation. Tell me of Earth, in your time. I'm curious."

"Talking about Earth in my time might just be another exercise in depressing conversation, but I can give it a shot."

There are, of course, negative aspects of any time period, but he's so mired in his own that he can't help but speak of it a little cynically. He sets down his water glass and shrugs expressively.

"Alcohol's illegal, as of fairly recently. The Great War just ended. Speaking of turning to drugs, a lot of people are, no matter how illegal all of it is. Crime is on the rise--" helped along by him, of course, but there's no need to bring that up, "-- and corruption is on the rise, too. Like I said, it's a tough time. The contemporary music's good, though."

The Great War. There's something almost quaint about any war confined to one planet being described as "great," but she's tactful enough to not say so. Likely it seems significant to the people involved. Any war is; she's a soldier, she knows that.

"Any war significant enough to be described like that requires a healing period afterwards," she says. "But... well, I knew some humans could be straight-laced, but I had no idea you had actually outlawed alcohol at any point. Alcohol has always seemed... rather universal. With local variations for biology, of course," she adds. "Never drink anything a turian can drink, for one, and krogan beverages should be enjoyed very cautiously by anyone, regardless of their biology -- very potent.

"Music, though. I don't suppose you play? Or sing, even?" She smiled. "I'd love to hear."

He knows that people in the future refer to the war from his time as World War I. He knows that World War II isn't far off, that things he can barely begin to imagine will happen during that time. Ned had explained world history briefly from 1923 into the 2000s. It's almost impossible to fathom, so he generally doesn't think about it.

"I don't know it's that we're straight-laced. Sure, I think a lot of the politicians claim that they're doing it out of some sense of morality, but on the other hand..." He shrugs. "Turns out that outlawing alcohol just made smuggling a hell of a lot more profitable."

At her question, there's a slight smile. "I don't play anything. I can sing okay, but I usually don't. Not unless you get a couple drinks in me, and even then, it's debatable."

"A shame," she laughs. "If I did find us something to drink, I could hear you."

She misses music. She misses having the extranet and all its entertainment within reach. Life here is so grey, so dull in comparison. Oh, the books of the library are very fine, but... it can't be everything.

He laughs quietly. It's rare, to elicit laughter as a response from him. More often, even when genuinely amused, it's that small, guarded smile. It's more genuine than his broad, toothy smile, but still, laughter is rare. It's nice to be able to do it, even here, where nothing particularly strikes him as amusing.

"What about you? I don't think I'd be inclined to sing all alone."

She shakes her head.

"Sing? No. But in my younger days you could find me dancing in a club when I needed to lose myself a little."

Music, low lights, warm bodies -- she remembered well the hedonism of her sixties and seventies, and truthfully long into the decades to follow. Some things you don't grow out of. Shiala stands, stretching to the ceiling, and for a moment she shuts her eyes and dances to music only she can hear, graceful and lithe.

"Do you dance, at least?"

He regards her for a moment, then shakes his head.

"Do I dance? When I have to. It's not something I've ever been particularly inclined towards."

He's far too tense for dancing, for the most part. It's not that he's bad at it, per se, he's just never felt the desire to do it except in polite company, when it's absolutely required. Certainly, he can muddle through it just fine, but it would be rare indeed to see him dancing for fun.

Shiala shakes her head. "Why? I can think of few pastimes so rewarding as losing yourself in the music like that."

She sits again, unselfconscious. "I know it isn't humans in general. I've seen more than enough of you in the clubs on the Citadel."

"I don't generally enjoy clubs, unless I'm in them on business."

It's really an extension of his personality in general: the idea of losing oneself in anything doesn't sound pleasant to him, whether it be music, drinking, or drugs. For someone so tightly wound, who always has to stay in control, dancing doesn't offer much allure.

"You're right, there're a lot of humans who like to dance. Probably a lot of them here, even."

"And you don't?"

It's a strange concept to her, the sort of thing that merely seems old, the sort of position a staid old matriarch might take. Meyer is... definitely not an asari matriarch.

Abruptly, Shiala shifts closer, extending her open palm towards his face, her fingers slightly curled. "Asari often share memories between friends," she says. "As a keepsake, or a gift. I'd like to show you something."

"No, I don't."

He's what might be laughingly described as 'uptight' even in his own time -- Charlie's always giving him hell for being too anxious, for overthinking things, for never quite relaxing -- so he can only imagine that to someone from the future, where things are likely even less formal, he appears unbearably boring.

There's a little startle as she extends her hand towards his face, partially because he generally doesn't quite know what to do when someone indicates their intention to touch him, but curiosity wins out over discomfort. He's curious about this ability to share memories, and he nods slightly. "What do you want to show me?"

"A memory. A place I once danced." She's calm; this is completely normal for her, after all. "Empty your mind. Embrace eternity."

Shiala reaches to touch Meyer's face; she shuts her eyes, and when she opens them again, her eyes have turned from green to black, even the sclera is black, and the iris ringed in white. When her fingertips make contact with his skin, there's the faintest of electrical impulses, the gentle connecting of nervous systems through the skin.

From Meyer's perspective, he might see a flash of white, and when it clears, the two of them are standing in a club. The music is pulsing, throbbing, almost primal, the light dim with holographic colours climbing up the walls in an eye-catching display. The patrons of the club are decidedly not human, as this memory dates from well before humanity was known in the galactic community. Rather, they are other asari, blue-skinned and lithe and limber, or the silvery plate-skinned turians, or even a few amphibious, vaguely frog-like salarians. At least some of the asari, at least, are clearly the club's hired dancers, scantily-clad and flirtacious with the patrons. The atmosphere is wild, abandoned, careless. Shiala herself appears somewhat different in this memory, her skin tone distinctly not green and closer to purple.

In this memory space, she turns to Meyer, smiling, relaxed. "I danced here often, when I was young. I had a lover, for a while, who I met here. I miss her, still, sometimes, but it's long since over now."

When she'd said sharing memories, he hadn't been quite sure what to expect, but one thing had been for sure -- he hadn't expected to find himself some place else entirely. Certainly, he understands that they haven't really gone anywhere, that they're still sitting in the bar, but he's actually within her memory, rather than viewing it as he'd imagined he would, like a movie.

Looking around, taking in the atmosphere of the club, the colors, the sounds, the other patrons, a faint blush rises to his cheeks as soon as he notices some of the more scantily-clad dancers. Certainly, seeing scantily-clad individuals is nothing new to him, but he's never had the ease with it that most of his friends have.

He turns back to her before he stares too long at any of the other patrons, none of whom are human. "This is very... different than what I'm used to."

It's not a particularly eloquent expression of just how strange it feels to be within someone else's memory, but it will have to do for now.

For a moment, Shiala just lifts her arms up and dances, moving with the pulse of the music. It's been so long since she could do that. She was so young when she came here, still not a commando, certainly not full of Thorian spores and Reaper indoctrination, just a young asari, just out on her own, trying to find her way. But it's only a memory, an echo. It's an image that can be seen, and not much more, and they can't linger in it. It can only be seen, observed.

She gives a sigh, and a faint smile, and then they're back in the bar, lowering her hand. Her eyes are green again, as they are normally.

"That was a long time ago," she says. "I was very young. It would be nice, still, to go back."

It's strange, suddenly going from the inside of her memories back into the bar, and he has to blink a few times. He'd been in peoples' memories, in a sense, when the shared dreams had plagued them, but this is different, since they're both awake, and since she'd consciously taken him into her mind. And it's strange, too, that it hadn't been an entirely unpleasant experience.

"You don't look that old to me now," he observes, but of course, he has no way of knowing how old she really is; though there are aspects about her that certainly look human, he knows she's not. "I can understand why you'd want to go back. It seemed very... carefree."

He's skeptical of things that are carefree in general. That doesn't mean he can't understand why it might appeal.

"I am three hundred and fifteen." Her smile is a trifle sly, amused. "Which, I should say, isn't old by asari standards, but it is about when people start expecting you to enter your Matron stage and settle down, have a child, that sort of thing."

Shiala settles back in her seat, taking a sip of her water. "I was young, sixty or seventy, just out on my own and without direction, so trying everything at once. Innocent."

"Do you want to settle down?"

It could be interpreted as a rude question. Some people don't like to be interrogated about their lives, especially not about things like that. His curiosity, though, knows no bounds, and while he hates people questioning him about his own life, about his own mind, he has no qualms about finding out about the lives of others. As politely as possible, of course

"I don't know." She shrugs easily. "Maybe I've been beginning to. I'm not sure if I should have children, myself."

With her condition, she means. Asari are not green, and who can say if the effects of the Thorian spores would be passed on to her daughters? She can wait for the human colonists to have children, but their experience was not precisely hers, either.

"Most asari want to have children with other species, but I wouldn't mind being a father, maybe. Not now, but maybe."

"A father..." he muses, clearly a little surprised by the idea, until he remembers that, of course, for her species, such a thing is entirely possible. It's hard to wrap his head around how different the worlds they come from must be, but he's starting to get a handle on it. At least, somewhat.

"I guess you don't have to decide that for awhile, since we're all trapped here for the indefinite future."

"This is true," she agrees. Theoretically, anyone here could father a child for her, but that would be foolish for any number of reasons. "I wouldn't want to bring a child into this place. I'd likely only be dooming her to an early death."

Shiala shakes her head. What a depressing thought it is, too.

"I'm not in my matron stage yet, anyway. I see no reason to rush."

"I wouldn't want to bring anyone into this place. I'd rather figure out how to get us out. Or, at the very least, figure out how to get us some more alcohol."

Depressing is absolutely the right word for being stuck here. Still, making jokes about it, even dark ones about needing to drink to handle the place, is a lot better than giving into despair entirely. He's been in situations that, while not identical to this -- nothing like this had ever happened back home, thankfully -- had been equally difficult. He'd handled them just fine.

She closes her eyes momentarily.

"What horrifies me is the idea that I may outlive you all. Asari live a thousand years. Most of you... don't. This isn't a place I would want to be alone."

"No, most of us certainly don't. Most of us are lucky to make it to seventy five or eighty. Back home, I'll consider myself lucky if I make it to thirty."

Even here, he'd consider himself lucky. It's a dangerous life he leads, though he doesn't always try to broadcast it. The idea of being stuck here alone, though, isn't one he'd ever considered. At least, not through the simple fact of everyone aging and dying off. "I imagine we'll be gone from here long before that becomes a concern."

Because there's no other option. They're not going to be stuck here for years. They simply can't be.

"Mm. I know that feeling. For a long time I felt certain I'd never see two hundred."

Okay, it's a little different, and yet not so different, merely on a different scale.

"But I do hope you're right."

"Of course I'm right. And long before we break out of here, we'll find more alcohol."

Or make it. Food is likely more important, but they'd both been scrounging the bar for alcohol, so obviously they both prioritize it, too.

"I suppose there are things that ought to be higher priorities, but I wouldn't say no." Shiala shakes her head. "But I have to say... if there's one species I had to be stuck here with... humans are not a bad one."

"I guess I'll take that as a compliment. Humans can be pretty awful, a lot of the time, but they're what I'm used to."

Surprisingly, though, he's adapted well to having other types of people around, not just humans. He had never imagined being able to sit and have a drink -- or at least, attempt to have a drink -- with someone from an entirely different time and planet, but being here has expanded his horizons a bit.

What little's left

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