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Entry tags:
[Fic] Saso2017: Manami & Machine [ywpd/poi au]
original post
Major Tags: spoilers for Person of Interest (vague); mention of past mental institutionalisation (very small and vague)
Other Tags: person of interest / ywpd au
Word Count: 657
Featuring Manami in Root's role, Miki as the Machine.
***
Bike
A large narrow, angular package arrives at Manami's then apartment. It takes them a while to recognise the shape, in which time they'd prowled and poked around it warily. Then they do. Oh.
Manami hasn't cycled in ages. Moving around as much as they did, Manami doesn't hold on to much in terms of worldly possessions. A bicycle is bulk and stands out. An identifier. They'd sloughed that off, away and gone with the rest of the traces of unnecessary humanity they'd tried to leave behind.
They unwrap the package anyway. It's a gift from the Machine, after all. They'd never deny her.
Despite everything, it is familiar, setting up the frame, attaching the axle. It is here, that the Machine insistently intervenes, however. Her voice guides Manami's hands, a chiming that soars and dives in alternating frequencies, making her unspoken words known: adjust the saddle's angle here. lower the handlebars' height there. Tighten the chain just so.
The loyal vessel enacts the deity's will precisely.
Finally she pings in seeming satisfaction.
Stand back and survey your work. It's a beautiful machination. Brand-new and gleaming polished still, parts all coming together in cohesive form. The machine has given such care in choosing the components, of this vastly smaller, but industrious machine.
A machine creates a machine. Now that's a cycle in itself--
Manami takes the bike out for a spin, because that's what you do, when you are gifted a bike. One never truly forgets how to cycle, and it's a gloriously smooth ride. The wind speeds past searingly, and their chest heaves, long-unpracticed muscles burn -- and they find their face breaking into a grin. Ah.
They're still in love with cycling after all.
They wish they could share this with the Machine. This exhilaration, this ache, this incredibly physical joy. That they could give this to the Machine as readily as she's bestowed this to them.
But as godlike the Machine is, there are limitations, after all.
Soon enough, Machine and Manami skip town again. They keep little on them on their way out.
But the bike, they bring. For as long as they could, anyway.
----
Bluebird
Manami makes a point to keep a balance: their expressions smooth and serene, readily sliding into a smirk, while colliding wildly into people's space and leaving just as quickly. It keeps one inside everything yet safely separate.
But 'Finch'. Finch named them Grouse, like it's his mark on them; Finch who put them away, and kept them from the world, from the machine.
Manami's laid it out logically and reasonably and of course, advantageously; and they well know how much Finch has the Machine's affections. But sometimes, it smarts. Makes them want to snarl.
Finch calls them Grouse again and again, and Manami's smile strains tight, just slightly--
Then the Machine warbles in their ear.
Manami's long used to the machine's abrupt announcements, no preamble what so ever; but this one gives them visible pause.
It's a distraction, at least, and it does amuse Manami when they track down the origins of the warble. A bluebird. An Eastern Bluebird, more specifically. Three-toned and pitched somewhat low, a cheerful song, a stunning blue.
It's not exactly the most original but it pleases. Most willing to be a bird, if it's your Bluebird. Manami, at your service!
They amuse themselves, fascinatedly imagining how it must feel, the bluebird's warble. Rubbing up against that swelled throat, bursting out in those thrills. Brings hand to their own throat. They'd sing for the Machine, they would.
As if sensing their thoughts, the Machine replays the notes.
It does it again, whenever Finch calls them Grouse.
It continues to do it, like a hello, a harkening at Manami's attention. It becomes a familiar song between them, with Manami whimsically attempting the whistle back (it's poorly done but the thought counts).
Machine and Manami, facsimiling birds, facsimiling humanity.
It's pleasant, all the same.
Major Tags: spoilers for Person of Interest (vague); mention of past mental institutionalisation (very small and vague)
Other Tags: person of interest / ywpd au
Word Count: 657
Featuring Manami in Root's role, Miki as the Machine.
***
Bike
A large narrow, angular package arrives at Manami's then apartment. It takes them a while to recognise the shape, in which time they'd prowled and poked around it warily. Then they do. Oh.
Manami hasn't cycled in ages. Moving around as much as they did, Manami doesn't hold on to much in terms of worldly possessions. A bicycle is bulk and stands out. An identifier. They'd sloughed that off, away and gone with the rest of the traces of unnecessary humanity they'd tried to leave behind.
They unwrap the package anyway. It's a gift from the Machine, after all. They'd never deny her.
Despite everything, it is familiar, setting up the frame, attaching the axle. It is here, that the Machine insistently intervenes, however. Her voice guides Manami's hands, a chiming that soars and dives in alternating frequencies, making her unspoken words known: adjust the saddle's angle here. lower the handlebars' height there. Tighten the chain just so.
The loyal vessel enacts the deity's will precisely.
Finally she pings in seeming satisfaction.
Stand back and survey your work. It's a beautiful machination. Brand-new and gleaming polished still, parts all coming together in cohesive form. The machine has given such care in choosing the components, of this vastly smaller, but industrious machine.
A machine creates a machine. Now that's a cycle in itself--
Manami takes the bike out for a spin, because that's what you do, when you are gifted a bike. One never truly forgets how to cycle, and it's a gloriously smooth ride. The wind speeds past searingly, and their chest heaves, long-unpracticed muscles burn -- and they find their face breaking into a grin. Ah.
They're still in love with cycling after all.
They wish they could share this with the Machine. This exhilaration, this ache, this incredibly physical joy. That they could give this to the Machine as readily as she's bestowed this to them.
But as godlike the Machine is, there are limitations, after all.
Soon enough, Machine and Manami skip town again. They keep little on them on their way out.
But the bike, they bring. For as long as they could, anyway.
----
Bluebird
Manami makes a point to keep a balance: their expressions smooth and serene, readily sliding into a smirk, while colliding wildly into people's space and leaving just as quickly. It keeps one inside everything yet safely separate.
But 'Finch'. Finch named them Grouse, like it's his mark on them; Finch who put them away, and kept them from the world, from the machine.
Manami's laid it out logically and reasonably and of course, advantageously; and they well know how much Finch has the Machine's affections. But sometimes, it smarts. Makes them want to snarl.
Finch calls them Grouse again and again, and Manami's smile strains tight, just slightly--
Then the Machine warbles in their ear.
Manami's long used to the machine's abrupt announcements, no preamble what so ever; but this one gives them visible pause.
It's a distraction, at least, and it does amuse Manami when they track down the origins of the warble. A bluebird. An Eastern Bluebird, more specifically. Three-toned and pitched somewhat low, a cheerful song, a stunning blue.
It's not exactly the most original but it pleases. Most willing to be a bird, if it's your Bluebird. Manami, at your service!
They amuse themselves, fascinatedly imagining how it must feel, the bluebird's warble. Rubbing up against that swelled throat, bursting out in those thrills. Brings hand to their own throat. They'd sing for the Machine, they would.
As if sensing their thoughts, the Machine replays the notes.
It does it again, whenever Finch calls them Grouse.
It continues to do it, like a hello, a harkening at Manami's attention. It becomes a familiar song between them, with Manami whimsically attempting the whistle back (it's poorly done but the thought counts).
Machine and Manami, facsimiling birds, facsimiling humanity.
It's pleasant, all the same.