2010-07-26 - Le Nozze di Figaro

Jenner Crater is a round crater that is just barely on the far side of the moon, filled with cooled basaltic lava. Because of the lava flows, it never had one of the bubble-dome colonies popular in some areas of the Moon. No, the people of Jenner did things differently.

They went down.

Most of Jenner City is actually underground, snaking through multiple layers of reinforced basalt. The main 'downtown' is a giant cavern that was probably once a bubble in the basalt, smoothed out and reinforced by generations of lunar colonists; people live down winding tunnels connected by transit, with neighborhoods in smaller 'bubbles'. The only things on the surface are a landing area and a few of the metal-smelting plants that need to vent noxious fumes.

Ilyse was born here. She comes back at least every couple months to visit. The low gravity is more comfortable for her than Earth-normal, and of course her entire family is here. Right now she is not with the family, though.

No, instead she is down in the 'downtown', sitting at a small, independent cafe that could have come from any big city in Europe, except with distant artificial lighting instead of a proper sky. She has the remnants of a cup of coffee and is finishing it while doing... well, not much at all. She's just sitting there. She doesn't stand out; the most common language in Jenner is German (which she speaks) and then English (which she also speaks) and she is dressed like a local resident, with a stretchy green shirt and dark slacks.

"(Excuse me,)" speaks a young voice in German just past where Ilyse sits. The German is fluent, though whoever is speaking it is obviously not a native speaker.

"(Yes?)" asks a nearby waitress.

"(Could I have a black coffee?)"

"(Of course, sir. Can I get you anything else?)"

"(No, I think that will be all. I shouldn't risk spoiling myself with something sweet today.")

The general chatter continues. As the newest guest to the cafe takes his drink, the waitress offers to lead him to an open table; he politely refuses, dark coat rustling around his ankles as he strides calmly forward... and sits down directly at the open seat opposite Ilyse. A silver haired youth turns, offering her a cheerfully calm sort of smile.

"I think today is a good day for a bitter drink anyway," Leonard Testarossa offers up to Ilyse Amsel as if he had been personally invited to that very seat, as if no time had passed between their two brief meetings. He sets his steaming hot cup of coffee down on the tabletop.

"You have a very nice home. This is your home, isn't it?" The question seems rhetorical, especially since Leonard sees fit to carry on: "There's a very nice, natural beauty to it. You don't find that sort of natural beauty often these days. I've always thought such breathtaking things should be cherished."

Pause.

"Hello, Ilyse. It's been a while."

Ilyse Amsel does not pay very much attention to the sound of conversation behind her. It's a coffee shop. People have them. The German isn't atrocious (which probably would have made her look around), but the voice is naggingly familiar - just not familiar enough for her to put it down as anything but coincidence.

It has been quite a while since Ilyse spoke to Leonard. It very clearly takes her several moments to realize who has sat down across from her; she looks somewhat blank as to why some guy about her own age has helped himself to a seat at her table.

Eventually, it sinks in. Just because she has managed to place him does not mean she wanted to talk to him. It isn't that Ilyse dislikes him - she simply doesn't know him. (He is cute, though; she has to admit that part.)

"I'm from Jenner, yes," Ilyse says, politely enough. It isn't like he was really interrupting her sitting and thinking. "They keep expanding the tunnels, but the central area's been the same as long as I can remember. The buildings change ownership, but they don't dig out the area."

She sets her drink down. It is probably not bitter; it looks pretty heavily creamed. "Can I help you?"

"You should appreciate it while it lasts," Leonard offers, in regards to the structure of Jenner's hub. "The tragic thing about natural beauty is that it never lasts nearly long enough."

Lifting his glass of coffee, Leonard blows at the steam rising up from the rim, watching it dissipate into the air with a curious stare. Despite his words, he has a casual sort of cheerfulness to his words, like a person carrying out familiar conversation than saying anything cynical. He takes a brief sip of his coffee, and considers.

"I think you can, actually," he says, as if remembering something distant. "I could say I came by just to catch up with an old, respected peer, but it wouldn't be entirely truthful." His expression is apologetic before his gaze shifts, looking out to the street beyond.

"Congratulations on your Amsel Drive, by the way. It must have taken a lot of work to try to miniaturize the system to properly fit on a mobile suit, but a space distortion drive was really the logical next step from the Tesla models." He considers this for a moment, before offering, as if by way of explanation. "I saw you on the news. It seems they were eager to showcase their new young prodigy, right?" Leaning back, Leonard sets down his cup of coffee, turning a calm -- but oddly serious -- gaze upon Ilyse.

"I think you might have made a bit of a mistake with letting them do that, though."

Steam in low gravity acts unusually. It rises more quickly than on Earth, the swirling more vigorous due to the added momentum of going up. Even drinking anything is a little different. Sloshing is easy to do by mistake. Ilyse seems to be well-practiced in it, though.

"Thank you," is Ilyse's first response. So he wants to talk about that. She shouldn't be surprised. It seems to be what a lot of people she barely knows are contacting her over. Even Tesla-Leicht and Mao Industries sent requests for one or two; she had to remind them that yes, it was patented, and they probably should not just start cranking out their own copies. They have enough work with the Huckebein to probably be able to copy it, if nothing else.

The rest of it, though, makes her think twice. A mistake? It's not that she particularly /likes/ the fame - well, that's a lie. She certainly doesn't hate it. It makes her feel good when she realizes that she has already left her mark on mechanical design - and she has decades left to go in her working life. But the way he's put it unsettles her for no reason she can really say.

"It's not like they really asked me once I'd shown it to them," Ilyse says instead. "So why do you think it was a mistake? There are plenty of people way more famous than I am."

"But the amount of people who are the same kind of you is extremely limited."

Leonard falls silent again. He lets his words settle in, as if to seek for a reaction that he is already fairly sure he'll find. He knows she doesn't know. How could they? They usually don't--

"You're 18, aren't you?" he asks, thoughtfully; the seeming change in topic is abrupt, steel gray eyes focused thoughtfully on Ilyse.

"It can be pretty rough, being born on Christmas Eve, can't it? Did your parents give you presents for your birthday and for Christmas?" Leonard smiles.

"Mine never did. For me or my sister."

Leonard Testarossa takes another sip of his coffee; the movement is just slightly awkward, just enough to show he isn't quite used to the gravity -- yet used to it enough to not spill. The mark of someone who likely travels frequently.

"You /were/ born December 24, I'd guess the precise time of which was between 11:50 to 11:53 Greenwich Mean Time, right?" He sets his cup down again, hands settling in his lap. "Haven't you ever noticed, how different you are from other people your age? I bet you never dwelled on it much, but you get strange dreams fairly often, don't you? A strong urge to build, to progress -- to make something out of knowledge you never learned, but you somehow simply /knew/, like instinct." His head tilts vaguely, his smile sympathetic.

"From the moment you were born, you were never meant to be normal. You're what the people who know of you call a 'Whispered.'

"Just like me."

The fact that Ilyse is eighteen is not exactly hard to figure out. It's been on the news. Nor is her birthday, though the questions about presents throw her. The rest of it...

Ilyse's official birthdate and time, the one on her records, not Christmas Eve. It is December 25, literally minutes past midnight. But it came after what her mother told her was a long, painful birth, requiring surgery to save both people involved in it; there is a reason Ilyse has no siblings despite her parents wanting a son. And, at that, it was recorded on Jenner time, which is ahead of Greenwich.

The timing, though, is irrelevant to Ilyse. His other words are what matters. Ilyse did have those dreams. She never recognized what they were at first; she woke up, half-asleep, with half-developed ideas fizzing in her brain that she brought to fruition. She was taking machinery apart since she was big enough and coordinated enough to hold the tools, and putting it back together better than she'd found it.

Lately, it's been even worse. She's heard them when she was awake, ever since a psychic put his figurative fingers in her brain and, for lack of a better word, got stuck. Third Impact made them even louder. Akira told her then that she had to be psychic or something. She never believed it.

Ilyse half-stands from her chair, leaning dangerously far over the table. "I don't know where you get off telling people things like that," she doesn't quite growl. "I am perfectly normal. I study. I come up with good ideas. That's all." Her agitation is either an overreaction, or Leonard hit harder than she'll admit. Like, she'd guess after the fact, he'd meant to.

Ilyse leans in; Leonard can see the irritation on her lips, her eyes, on her face. Calmly, he sips his tea again.

"I like that expression," he comments almost absently. "That fiery defiance is the kind of quality you only find in the strongest of women. It really is beautiful."

Leonard's expression, in stark contrast to Ilyse, is calm -- casually, almost charmingly so, from the upward tug of his lips to the faint flash in his eyes. But... that expression quickly becomes more neutral as Ilyse continues to lean in.

From behind, Ilyse might hear the groan of something large - even in this lightened gravity - lifting off metal. If she looks behind, she might find two towering brutes of figures, thoroughly covered in thick gray coats, easily twice Leonard's size -- or the size of anyone at the cafe. How they've been sitting there all this time is a complete mystery.

It's almost as absurd as the fact that one of them is holding a cup of tea between its massive forefinger and thumb.

"Maintain standby," Leonard murmurs; an instant later, the lifted figure sinks backward. Leonard offers an apologetic smile.

"Plan 1211 Alastor. They're the smallest ARM Slaves in existence, I believe. The specifications are roughly analogous to a third generation AS," which shouldn't even exist in mass production yet. "It was fairly difficult to miniaturize the Palladium Reactor in order to be used in a unit of its size. It really is a masterpiece."

Leonard stops here, his gaze locking intently on Ilyse's. "But it shouldn't exist. Neither should your Amsel Drive. Those dreams of yours aren't just dreams. You're not crazy. Everyone born the on that day in NCA 101 were connected to something called the 'Omni-Sphere.' From that point on, you became a living terminal for information from the future. But it's fragmented. It comes in bits and pieces. Usually in voices, whether you hear them when you're awake... or when you're asleep. 'Whispers.'" He leans forward, almost uncomfortably close considering Ilyse's own position. His head tilts toward the left.

"Do you still believe you're 'normal'? Or, maybe, you know... you're extraordinary?"

Ilyse is good at showing her emotions whether she really means to or not. For instance, the surprise when she hears someone move behind her is pretty visible, too; she sinks down to her seat with a glance behind her at the titanic bodyguards.

That strikes another chord. Ilyse knows very much how annoying it is to miniaturize a palladium reactor, because she did it last week, to fit in an RX-7 frame instead of a mobile suit frame. She'd never even considered trying to go smaller, though it had been remarkably easy to get it down to the size she wanted.

There's just one problem: Ilyse designed that palladium reactor. To hear that someone else developed the same thing and then miniaturized it in what is /probably/ exactly the same way you did so is beyond annoying. It's kind of creepy.

"And why shouldn't the Amsel Drive exist?" Ilyse challenges, keeping her voice low. "I made it. /Me/. I had some old notes from Shirakawa, I studied metatron." And yet... and yet, she /did/ make some of her breakthroughs almost instantaneously, without ever really considering why she did something a certain way. Only looking back on it can she see where she did it.

And then there's the Phoenix. She supposes she should be glad that Leonard hasn't ever seen that one. Even she doesn't know what it could do if she finished it; she doesn't have the parts to. As best she can tell, the parts don't exist. She's been fabricating them, slowly, as she goes.

"I believe you're creeping me out," Ilyse eventually finishes. "Voices from the future? Those don't exist." She has to keep telling herself that, or she'll hear them again. "They can't exist. The future hasn't happened yet." But she looks uncertain, off-balance.

"You're breathtakingly smart. You're a genius by geniuses' standards. No one can deny that you're a prodigy. But even by those standards, the things you've managed to produce aren't normal for your age. Or even for the technology curve." There are some fantastical machines in the world. But even so...

"You know that you're different. I don't need to convince you of that. I can see it in your eyes." Leonard doesn't say anything more on that particular note, instead sliding back smoothly to lean into his seat. Voices from the future can't exist, she says.

"I'm sorry. It must be a lot to try and digest," he says, with what seems like genuine concern tinging his voice. "But denial can only take you so far. Trying to look away from the truth only means you won't be able to see danger coming. Voices from the future can't exist... but neither should a bulk of the things you've created. Neither should a child who solves Einstein's non-linear differential equations when they're only four years old. But they do exist. Time isn't so straightforward as you'd like."

Leonard's gaze tilts toward the distance. His finger slowly drags around the rim of his glass, enjoying the curiously light sense of movement he experiences. "You're connected to the future by way of a certain sort of nexus in which the minds of the past, present and future exist simultaneously," Leonard explains. "But the why's and the how's aren't important. I told you, you made a mistake showing yourself." The young man's tracing stops, his fingers dropping to the tabletop.

"Whether you want to believe it or not, you are a special individual. And there are people in this world who are very interested in the types of impossible technologies you can make. I took some pains to try and make sure they wouldn't find out about you," he says, without even bothering to explain why, or who, or how, "but now that you've exposed yourself to the world... you've exposed yourself to them, too.

"And they know what you are."

For all that she was acting emotionally rather than rationally right now, ignoring what she doesn't want to hear because she thinks it's impossible, Ilyse /is/ very smart. Her brain is working over what Leonard is saying as he's saying it, and she's getting some answers she doesn't like. She still isn't sure about the whole 'nexus' thing, though.

Ilyse says nothing for about ten seconds. Her face is set in that precisely neutral position that means that she is working very hard to not make it show anything; it isn't entirely perfect, and it shifts several times, much as she attempts to hide it.

Abruptly, she picks up and finishes the last of her coffee, still looking at nothing in particular. "I could have told you that. I get job offers sometimes, when they see what I've done. You," Ilyse says, with a bit more vigor in her voice, "don't really know me. We spoke, what, twice? And I'm not in the Crusaders anymore. I followed Bian, not... what's left. So I don't know who you thought I was being protected from, but I assure you I can manage it myself. Even if they think I'm some kind of future-talking psychic."

"And why do you think I even spoke to you?" Leonard asks. "Extended interaction isn't necessary for a target. Especially when the people interested in said target are convinced that she doesn't have the particular skillset they're looking for."

The silver-haired youth lets this sink in; even though Ilyse is clearly attempting to hide her emotional state, the young man seems to not even be paying attention to her expression, perhaps out of lack of care. Or perhaps he's simply being 'polite.'

"You're a strong woman," Leonard compliments easily. "I think that's what I like most about you. You have an unswerving belief in yourself and your abilities. But your being in the Crusaders was perhaps the single blockade keeping you protected. The people who're interested in you won't care whether you're part of the Buster Machine Corporation, or A-LAWS. They don't believe in boundaries. If they want you, they'll take you. And they'll go with the most efficient route to do it."

Leonard takes his cup again; he drains the liquid inside, savoring the bitter taste as he rests one leg on top of the other. His shoulders ultimately lift in a shrug. "But I'm sure you're more than capable of protecting yourself. You're a resourceful individual. I just thought you'd like to know why you're going to become a target for the indefinite future." His head tilts back, gray eyes looking upward to observe the vast interior of Jenner's central hub.

"You can't blame me for wanting to extend a helping hand one of my own though, can you?"

Ilyse Amsel has never been called a strong woman before. Normally she might take it as a compliment. Today it fails to sink in at all, really. She's had to absorb too much, none of which she believes in its entirety and some of which she doesn't believe at all.

She slumps, slightly, in her chair. "All right," she says, keeping her voice low. She does not want to draw more attention to herself in public by saying this loudly. "So let's say you're on the level." Ilyse almost does the finger quotes, though she restrains herself. "Let's say there are people looking for me, who want to make me a target for... I don't know. To take me."

Ilyse looks up at Leonard. Right at his eyes, which she hadn't met for long before. "Who are they? Are you going to tell me that much, at least? Or would you rather keep up this story and make them as mysterious as possible? Obviously you know something." Or think you do. "/Apparently/ you decided that you knew what I was before I invented the Amsel Drive, if you said you were protecting me in the Crusaders." That isn't quite what he said, but Ilyse extrapolates.

She pauses a moment, then asks, entirely directly: "So who is it? And how do you know?"

The smile Leonard wears is a knowing one, as Ilyse speaks to him. The type that can read the disbelief etched in her words. Most people wouldn't want to believe. But he knows, it's important that she does. Which means--

"Maybe it's something you're going to have to see in order to understand."

Leonard meets Ilyse's gaze evenly. Even as she does, she might feel pressure against her right palm as, unless stopped, the silver-haired young man's left palm pushes briefly against it. Instead of the contact of skin, Ilyse will feel smooth paper instead. As his hand withdraws, she'll find a simple black card nestled into her grasp, with nothing but a number etched in silver font on it.

"Sometimes, speaking bluntly isn't the right method," Leonard Testarossa explains casually as he lifts up out of his seat. "A woman like yourself is the kind of woman who has to see something to believe it, aren't you? I think that's an admirable quality. No matter what I explain to you, you won't believe my words; it won't matter if you can't experience it for yourself." His shoulders roll, easing his coat a bit more securely on his shoulders as he slips his right hand into his pocket. The left slides forward to pick up his coffee, and lift it to his lips.

"When you're ready to really listen, just call that number. I'll be eager to answer then." He takes a long sip of his coffee, finishes it, and sets the cup back down on the tabletop. The Alastors rise up one by one shortly after.

"You should really consider trying black coffee sometime. While those sweet drinks certainly fit you..." And, unless stopped, Leonard will start to move, striding with an easy pace out of the cafe as the Alastors follow.

"... I think you'll be finding your tastes leaning a bit toward the bitter side soon."

Ilyse Amsel reflexively holds onto the slip of paper without looking at it. She can check it later, when she's not being spoken to.

Her lips curl downward, just a little. She likes to see things for herself, to have them in her hands. It's not a bad thing. She was willing to listen, but Leonard is right; she will be happier once she has proof. Nobody so far has gunned for her. Akira has yelled at her. That's not quite the same.

"I'll keep it in mind," she says, as neutrally as she can. Ilyse does not bother to clarify whether she means black coffee or the number, though her thumb runs along the embossed digits along the front, thoughtfully.

She does not follow Leonard out, or call to him in any way. She's thinking again. Just like she was when he came in... but about something totally different.