Are You Even Human

56. I Will Always Have My Scars

Agreeing to join what I assume is essentially an olfactory-based hivemind is one thing, but I was being honest when I said I didn't have any idea how to actually it. My understanding of alien language and culture is apparently even more patchwork than I thought, with all these Angels that are my peers treating me like a dumb child with an unfortunately high amount of justification. I do not, apparently, understand them as well as I thought.I don't think anything I understood about them is of course. Just… incomplete. The way I've been speaking has apparently been acceptable, if stilted, for discussions between opposing forces, but it only scratches the surface of what the network is capable of. Aliens can't lie, and they do instinctively answer anything they're asked, but they can still and often do. Your enemy can't force you to answer a question they don't know to ask, and oftentimes aliens avoid exploiting their ability to force knowledge out of each other because it's difficult to know which side of a fight that will truly favor; they usually prefer a sort of intel cold war over full nuclear-arsenal interrogation about each other's battle capabilities unless they have a solid reason to believe it will go well for them.

Being sat down (metaphorically, we are still underwater) to learn all this stuff is certainly interesting, but it doesn't solve my core problem, which is apparently that stolen instincts from a brain that goes completely comatose if I let it leave my domain are not, apparently, enough.

Blossom comments, swimming in lazy circles around me as I try to figure out the problem.

I answer.

Blossom hums.

I ask.

Blossom agrees.

I'm beginning to worry that factor might just be the fact that I'm stubborn. Yes, I use the instincts of the brains I'm borrowing, but the degree to which I'm affected by those instincts changes based on my mental state. I've tried before to get into a meditative trance where I can access them more easily, and I've learned a few important things that way. But it's… a little difficult to try and clear my mind when the whole point of this exercise is to my mind, something I want to do less than basically anything else.

Blossom interrupts my thoughts by descending from above me and placing her tendrils on my head and shoulders, my own instinctively intertwining with hers as they tend to grab anything that gets too close. They're always moving, always seeking, and there's a satisfying feeling whenever they find something. It must be nice to be an octopus.

Blossom says.

I say.

without good reason.

I say.

Blossom shakes with amusement, pulling herself down and poking me all over with her other tentacles, forcing me to shift away to escape.

she taunts me.

I respond.

Blossom laughs.

I confirm.

Blossom says as she starts swimming towards what I assume is some workers.

I explain.

Blossom says.

Chaos chimes in from elsewhere.

Chaos says.

Blossom says.

I grumble halfheartedly as I follow her.

Blossom says.

"Julietta,"I say out loud, making sure my lungs and voice box can still make the sounds correctly this deep underwater. Blossom shifts, surprise wafting off of her.

I answer.

Blossom says, and I can't help but be a little confused.

I say.

Blossom asks.

I say.

Blossom says.

I answer noncommittally.

she confirms.

Three workers swim around one of The Divinity of Wonder's massive limbs, running their tails over her skin to scoop up and swallow the green algae growing all over it. There's a lot of it all over her, as is often the case for any solid stationary surfaces in the ocean, though now that I think about it, isn't that a little odd? Normally, we'd be far too deep underwater for algae to get enough light to grow, so it is presumably the light emitting from The Divinity of Wonder herself that feeds them. Some parts of her are dense enough with the stuff to look like an underwater forest, weeping willows of curtain-like green shifting softly in the current.

I ask.

Blossom answers.

I ask.

I ask.

Blossom denies.

I… huh. Yeah, that's… completely true. The energy my power uses to move doesn't come from me. It's seemingly limitless. That doesn't mean it's limitless, of course. Possibility might be a god, but that doesn't necessarily mean it's immune to the laws of thermodynamics. Not that it's really provable either way. It could have an esoteric power source or such vast stores of energy that anything I do with them is trivial.

I admit anyway.

What?

I ask.

Blossom repeats.

I trail off, realizing I don't have a good way of translating 'vacuum.' That's… odd. Really odd.

Blossom answers.

I say.

I furrow my brows. Again, a word I can't translate. The aliens have no concept of outer space.

I summarize as best I can.

Blossom stares at me, shifting her tendrils with discomfort.

she emits.

What?

I ask.

she answers.

I say.

Blossom says.

She trails off, concern radiating off of her.

she says before I can respond.

Hmm. Well, I can't say I don't want to figure out what about, but Blossom seems pretty serious about changing the subject so I guess I'll let it slide. Talking to 'my' workers, though… that's sort of exactly the problem here. We've been sitting here having a whole conversation right next to them, and they haven't even looked our way.

I greet them, directing the word directly their way.

all three of them respond in synch, continuing to clean all the while. I suppose they're all very focused. I've used a Raptor brain, I know what that's like.

I ask.

I answer.

They hesitate, scents of confusion and a touch of concern wafting off of them.

one of them says.

I say, receiving more hesitance and confusion.

Blossom chimes in.

I insist.

I say.

The one Raptor that kind of offered to chat immediately halts what they were doing and swims towards me, stopping in front of me as their fellow workers seamlessly shift their cleaning patterns to accommodate their absence.

the Raptor reports.

I ask.

Well that's already a bad start.

I order.

The Raptor is quiet for several minutes, and while I can't help but be concerned I do my best to remind myself this is the kind of question that deserves deep thought. Though… shouldn't I be hearing those thoughts? Don't aliens think out loud? I glance over at Blossom, who seems to be focusing pretty intently on the Raptor. I take a slow breath of water, doing my best to manually feel out the scents and try to identify the ones I'm missing, and… god, what this? There's definitely stuff here, stuff my mind isn't picking up on, but it to pick up on it. Like there's meaning just out of reach, a plug trying to fit into a socket that's just a millimeter too small.

Or maybe… a knock on the door that I just can't muster up the courage to answer. The mess inside the house has been piled up too high, and even the slightest crack in the front door will cause it to all spill out.

the Raptor suddenly asks me, breaking me out of my own internal crisis with one of their own.

That's… hmm. It's a well-reasoned answer, but I can't tell if it's genuine or not. If the quality of their life as a whole wasn't important to them, why is the answer to my question no? It's sort of cyclical: if the Raptor doesn't think it's a big deal that they aren't happy very often, then why are they dissatisfied with the frequency of their own happiness?

But maybe I'm just asking the wrong question here. Maybe there's a more direct path.

I ask.

The Raptor considers that for a while again, though not as much as the last question.

I answer.

I answer.

the Raptor says.

Uh. Huh.

I ask.

the Raptor says.

I ask.

the Raptor says.

the Raptor answers.

I ask.

I ask.

the Raptor answers.

I say.

the Raptor responds.

I ask.

the Raptor repeats.

Hmm. Well certainly a major cultural difference between aliens and humans. It stops me in my tracks a bit.

I say.

the Raptor answers immediately.

Blossom chimes in.

I flip her off.

I tell her.

Blossom says, and then she curls up four tentacles and extends the second one at me. Bitch!

the Raptor says, cutting between our barbs,

I ask.

the Raptor repeats.

I point out.

Blossom chimes in again.

I admit.

Blossom says,

I clarify.

Blossom confirms.

I tell her.

I insist.

I begin.

I admit, remembering that she used to Failure, or at least be part of a culture that did. when

Blossom hums.

Chaos butts into the conversation.

Wanderings says.

I complain.

Blossom says bluntly.

I scowl.

Blossom answers.

I complain.

Blossom says.

She wants me to… what, stop being human?

I accuse.

Blossom sneers.

I realize.

she says.

I tell her, doing my best to push down my bubbling fury.

I growl.

Annoying little shit. The worst part is that she's almost right; I being too stubborn about this. She's yelled at me so many times now that what does it even matter if I let out the storm of pressurized bile that makes up the majority of my thoughts? They're quite literally asking for it, but she's pressing me so hard it makes that stubborn part of me want to push back harder, to tell her no just for the sake of it, and I that's stupid and pointless and it only pisses me off even more to recognize it, to realize I'm nowhere near the calm, logical mind I always prided myself for being.

I'm not. I'm really not. I'm not good at self-control, I'm just good at acting based on habits, habits that I formed as a maladaptive survival mechanism against abusive foster families that didn't want to deal with a fucking cripple. And I myself into taking pride in that garbage because I had to have I had to take the victories I earned no matter how bad for me they might have been in the long run. I'm not an expert social manipulator, I'm a mass of overgrown scars twisting the folds of my mind to be good at dealing with awful people, good at giving them what they want so they leave me alone and don't hurt me, don't hate me, don't wish I was someone else's problem. And now that I'm out of my element, that expert competence is crumbling like the paper mache wall it really is.

Maybe I'm smart. Maybe I'm skilled. Maybe I'm good at a few things, here and there. I'm provably good at murder, at the very least. But here and now? Blossom is right. I need to let it all go. I need to admit what it really is. And I need to act in defiance of it, against every instinct I've ever formed, against every amount of self-preservation screaming in my head that this is a terrible idea. Being intelligent is not the same thing as being rational. And I know, rationally, that I'm as irrational as fuck. That's just part of being human.

So I'm done being human. Maybe I'm even done being Julietta. …Probably not, but I really should think of a better name than 'Thief of Torn Wings.' It's kind of cool, but it's not me. It never was, really. It was just something I had to do.

I start to shift, getting rid of any Earth-like organs I have one at a time. It's not just internally that I make the change: my legs, my arms, my chest, my head, every human part of me I've kept falls away, replacing itself with a form made entirely out of alien parts. I have several to choose from, body plans from Angels and non-Angels alike, but now, as an Angel myself, what sort of form would best represent my god? The power Possibility gifted me is one of infinite forms, after all, an endless tapestry with which to weave myself upon. Arguably, having a singular angelic form at all would be against the spirit of that blessing, but I don't think I agree with that. Possibility, after all, is not the concept of it is the concept of Each possibility that is chosen denies others and creates others in an infinite cycle. To choose, itself, is an act of worship.

That doesn't mean I only need to choose one thing, though. I am deep underwater, and I can craft a self first and foremost for that purpose. I take my initial inspiration from Pathless Wanderings Gladden Futures and the Leviathans he's based on, making myself a long, sinuous body of slick skin and powerful tail. I usually like having hands, but the alien manipulator limb of choice is the humble tentacle and I'm quite a fan of those, too. Angels lack any head or face, but I usually grow tentacles out of my scalp so on the front of the body they will go, the four of them trailing out behind me to create minimal drag when I swim but fully capable of reaching in any direction and gripping anything I might need. My hide is speckled with eyes, my sight several times better than the average alien but why should I limit myself? All my senses are tuned to perfection and capable of being swapped out for more specialized versions if it ever becomes necessary. Everything is in order. My body is complete, but for one final piece.

My brain. I've used fully Angel brains before, though not often and not for long. It's Raptor brains that I'm most familiar with after Angel ones, but even then my experience of almost getting commanded an Angel left me a little wary of the network. It's remarkable how much of my power is subconscious; how could it not be, given the complexity and scale of the changes I'm making to myself on the regular? Something about the brains I use makes them cease to function outside my domain, and I don't even know why. I never thought it would happen. It certainly isn't a change I made to them

Answer. I am being asked, and I have to answer. I have to accept that I can, and answer. Because this is my council. I'm trusting them to save Maria's life. How could I not trust them with myself?

I've never done this before. Never. I do not speak what I'm really thinking if at all possible, and even in the brief moments I lose control it isn't anywhere close to everything. There is always part of me filtering it out, judging whether or not it's acceptable to talk about this or that, and almost always deciding No, of course it's not acceptable. Why would it ever be? That's the conclusion, over and over again. No one will want to know. Not even my closest friends, because the only reason they can stand to be friends with me at all is because I keep all of that to myself.

But Blossom isn't asking to be my friend. The council isn't asking to be my friend. They are asking to be To know everything about me so intimately that we are as one. And that comes with all the baggage, too. It comes with all the scars. I will always have my scars.

I inhale, and let out the deepest breath of my entire life.

Oh god that was a lot. I really only wanted to say 'hello.' Wait, did I just send those thoughts too? Am I still sending these?

My colony responds.

This is overwhelming. But I'm doing mostly okay, I think? Is Blossom seriously still being a bitch? I can't really blame her, I guess. Her methods are effective, if nothing else, and I've always said it's the results that matter in the end.

I swim around a bit, testing my new body and making a few minor adjustments under the hood as I feel out how I now move in the water. It's so much faster than my humanoid form. So much freer.

The glut of emotion bombarding me lessens considerably, leaving only the thoughts and feelings of the council.

Blossom says via the usual method, the old method, the one I used to only be able to hear without true context. But now I can feel that her good-natured ribbing is tinged with concern, her joy at finding a conversation partner that can take and return her barbs tempered by an ever-present fear that she will go too far, as she has a history of doing. She loves her fellow council members, but they are so different from her, from backgrounds she struggles to relate with even with the whole of their history and emotions laid bare before her. She has been looking forward to this moment. She wants desperately to know if I, at least, can truly understand.

The Divinity of Wonder knows that Blossom can be somewhat of a handful, especially when she's excited, and now that the communication issue is mostly solved everyone should have a much easier time keeping her from going overboard. It is true, however, that I don't need to worry about struggling with the network like this, as they will be able to help me from this point forward. Most new chosen struggle with the change; while workers and warriors are part of the network, a council member must be far more capable of being aware of it in its entirety, for it is our job to manage the colony as a whole. We must be able to feel distress that isn't directed at us. We must be able to hear conversations that do not involve us. We must know all that occurs in our Queen's domain. But this is a skill that comes with time.

I convey. Listening to conversations that don't involve you, in my culture, is called eavesdropping and it is a bad thing. In the context of those who lead and those who follow, it is even than eavesdropping; those with less power must have safe spaces to discuss those with more power without fear of retaliation, or else they will be unable to unite against power that is unjust.

the council requests, and I wrap up memories of history books, experiences with the military, and news of despotic rulers and breathe them out for all to see. Each explanation requires more context to understand, and itself must be explained. My life and thoughts are itemized, categorized, and delivered when relevant for the council's perusal. The more I breathe, the more they understand.

I don't even need the accompanying memories to understand all those different feelings from Blossom. Pride in strength, shame in weakness. That contradiction is at the core of me, both things true for all the same events.

It's clear that the whole council has been looking forward to this moment since I got here, and I can no longer hold back an outpouring of information. I tell them about my friends and family, my life and where I come from. I tell them how I think Chaos is well-meaning but fundamentally uninteresting, with few of his comments inspiring any particular confidence in his ability to be engaging. I tell them about how my powers work in detail, and how Wanderings is obviously dull-witted but kind enough to still be decent company in a pinch. I tell them how the world will end in three years, destroyed by the sleeping Grand Queen, and how our own Queen is optimistic to the point of completely ineffective, taking my side in word but not enough in deed to matter. They accept and embrace my foul opinions, hurt by them but not enough to shake their love, and I struggle to comprehend it.

Blossom cuts in.

Honestly? I had forgotten.

Well it wasn't really my priority at the time! I wasn't that worried about it. I mean, I'm not sure how we're going to stop it, but we going to. It's not like I'll just leave that one alone. I don't care if a fucking superpowered celestial body is the culprit, I'm not letting that happen.

A rush of emotions flows through me. Disbelief. Fear. Joy. Consideration. An overwhelming number of thoughts, all there for my perusal. It's terrifying.

Blossom asks.

I groan.

Blossom says.

Oh. Wait, that one isn't a joke. That one is serious. My name as part of the Council of Possibility. Twisting Scars Reshape Fate.

I answer, and I can't help but bask in the joy that gets returned to me as a result.