"Someone told me there used to be places that let people swim with sea creatures - dolphins," he adds, remembering the name. He likes the sound of what Vrenille is describing and he likes the sound of getting to interact with something friendly and intelligent and wholly unlike humans.
Someone moves too quickly behind them and some of the coral around the anemones close and shrink like sentient things; K lifts a hand to touch two fingers to the glass, slowly, not to tap or scare them but so when they start to chance opening up again, he's already closer to them.
"This part is all just display. Public. Most of the effects I've noticed are deeper inside."
"Now that sounds like an earth thing," he says it fondly enough. Over time he's come to realise that there are things people come up with on earth that no one in tyria would ever think to do.
"If you wanted to swim with dolphins where I'm from, you'd probably just go swim in the sea. Or the harbour in Lion's Arch, there's some out there. I can see 'em sometimes from my bedroom window back home."
It's nice to think of, just a simple, quotidian memory of his life as it was, being where he felt he belonged, things happening in their natural way. Like the anemones, moving the way they move, pulling in, expanding out. He tries not to dwell on how it makes something twist inside of him--just homesickness, he knows. Here, that is what's quotidian.
"I think swimming with quaggan's probably more common where I'm from." A pause.
He doesn't want to rush K on when he's transfixed with what's right in front of him, so he waits until he looks up again before asking, "You wanna show me what-all's inside?"
He thinks of his own window at home, not so little in comparison to the room - half the wall, really - but forgettable in the grand scope of Los Angeles as a whole. Insignificant. He watched traffic and holo-ads and smog roll by, sometimes watched the windows across the street, one of millions, maybe even billions of snapshots of life, all facing buildings
He would feel an echoing pulse of homesickness if he weren't so entranced with what's in front of him, but he hears the unfamiliar word and looks up. At the question from Vrenille he nods, and draws his hand back so slowly, so carefully, the creatures in the tank don't withdraw again. Only then does he stand.
"The tunnel's over this way." He doesn't say it's his favorite, but it's there in his tone and the way he goes straight for it.
"They're sorta squat beluga-looking things. 'Bout yay high when they're on land," he holds a hand up around waist height, "but they live in the water. Got flippers 'n a big wide tail, 'n they say 'oooo' a lot."
As they walk, he does his best quaggan impression, an artificially low, slowed voice, sort of fitting if one can imagine what talking underwater would be like: "'Cooo, quaggan is pleased to see you. You would not like quaggan when quaggan is angry. But quaggan wants to live in peace.' They're gentle, friendly...sorta cute really, so long as you don't piss 'em off. But that doesn't happen much on account of how getting mad embarrasses 'em."
K, he thinks as they approach the tunnel, his mind looping back to the careful way he stood up so as not to trigger another reflexive retreat of the coral, would adore quaggans. Probably swim with their tadpoles for hours if you gave him an aquabreather and half the damn chance.
K doesn't know what a beluga is either, but he does his best to picture it. He does in fact come to the conclusion about speech underwater, and it makes him smile. He's not sure if it's that there is so much in Vrenille's world that he'd like to see - a good chance; there's a lot in Duplicity, and there had even been things in Los Angeles he was still discovering - or merely how Vrenille describes them, how he bothered to notice the things he now tells K about, but he likes hearing about them. The impression makes him laugh, low and pleased.
"Sometimes I wish there had been more species capable of speech on Earth," he offers. Mostly he doesn't bother, or remembers how humans have treated the next closest thing to themselves even though they created them. But sometimes. "Why embarrassed? Do you know? Is it cultural, or did something happen?"
The entrance to the big reef tunnel is well marked, even if the walls on either side weren't constructed of floor to ceiling tanks giving just a glimpse of the teeming, darting, active life on the other side of the glass. They curve gracefully to the narrow passage through the exhibit, and this is where K slows - this is where he remembers that he's running a two out of three streak for encountering trauma in his friends, and he watches Vrenille for signs of the same when he sees that the water will be over them as well as close in on both sides.
Getting K to laugh is rare. At least it has been for Vrenille. Maybe others have heard it before, but he's hard pressed to think of a single other instance, and the feeling of it blooms warm in his chest.
He actually has an answer about quaggans as well, which is almost surprising to him--one of those stray bits of information he's learned about his own world in the years he's been with his guild. Before he left Ebonhawke, he wouldn't have known any of this.
"It's 'cause it changes 'em. Physically. They go kinda scaley 'n scarlet, like armored fish, grow big pointy teeth. They call it 'the rage,' and mostly they can't control it. They just destroy whatever's in their path. It's shameful in their culture, getting like that." Which, now that he's saying it aloud, all sounds like stuff K can probably relate to.
"Valuable allies though," he adds "the ones who could. There were one or two who joined the Pact, enraged pretty much all the time. They held the line out in the jungle, sometimes when no one else did. It's the sorta thing that makes me think...well, it probably ain't my place to say, but I think Earth'd probably better if there were some non-human races there.
"Humans on their own are assholes." He's not even mincing words about that. "I saw it in Ebonhawke. Shit, I was part of it in Ebonhawke. First time I met the members of my guild, I said awful things to 'em."
He doesn't elaborate on that though because they're entering the tunnel, and far from signs of trauma or discomfort, Vrenille is turning on the spot, his face upturned, grinning at the fish in the water overhead. "See now this is more like Divinity's Reach."
It does sound familiar, and K is already watching him so he just raises an eyebrow instead. It sounds like they found a way to make it useful, though, and that interests him; he needs to think about it before he says anything though, and so he nods to acknowledge the information and then glances away to the tanks and a large school of small, flashing golden fish.
"I don't know if it was better with a non-human race," K points out mildly. "But I've always understood why humans are the way they are with us." And he, unlike the rebellion, isn't angry about it for the most part. It's not worth his energy.
When he sees the grin he tips his head in invitation and moves ahead more decisively, taking them to the first bend in the tunnel where it widens a bit to allow more room for observation - just in time for the largest shark in the tank to slide by overhead, serene and rhythmic in its serpentine swimming motion.
"This is where I like to stand," he says, stepping right up to the glass, though he does it again so carefully and slowly that the fish closest to the glass barely startle. His eyes track the creature swimming overhead, something like awe still in his eyes despite that he goes on to explain, "You can see most of the tank from here, and the shark swims by over and over again."
"That's 'cause you are real generous 'n real kind." A frank declaration as he slips into the bend of the tunnel, out of the way of anyone passing behind them.
No empty compliment here. Being able to feel some degree of empathy and patience even for those who treat you most harshly, most unfairly--that's a rare and precious skill. Anger would be justified, would be understandable. Knowing that and being able to let it go? Most people couldn't. It deserves to be acknowledged, like so much else about K that his world didn't bother to credit because it fell outside of their metrics for him.
He steps up to the glass too, turning backwards once he does, facing towards the tunnel, his head falling noiselessly back against the glass, so that he can both look up overhead, at the wide angle across from them, and also easily glance at K without needing to turn to do so.
A spotted eagle ray passes above them, its white underbelly seeming to almost brush the arched glass before it carries smoothly on its way, the shape of its mouth and gills seeming to smile down at them. "Looks like it's flying doesn't it?" He's seen rays before, but never quite like this, and he can't pretend it isn't captivating.
K doesn't even know where to start with being told he's generous, he's kind; neither of these things are useful for a blade runner, and he would never claim them for himself, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't the least bit pleased about it. He is, and furthermore, he can see that Vrenille is telling the truth as he sees it.
He smiles, and watches the ray, too. "Mmhmm. There's another one further ahead you can touch, but its stinger does something, makes you impulsive," he offers, hands resting at the lip of the frame that's the only break in the glass. "It's peaceful, and alive, and beautiful here. I like it." Like he'd first found solace in Vrenille's garden, unlooked for and thus unexpected; he watches a pair of eels drift out of their coral caves, mouths open and gills working, and the way the fish around them change directions to avoid them like a carefully choreographed dance. "Thank you for coming here. With me."
Surprise, K, your whole existence is no longer being measured on the grounds of its utility. You're no longer valued just as a piece of high-spec equipment that's considered "broken" if it goes beyond its assigned parameters.
Vrenille knows that all of that is new for him, that it will take more than a couple of months to adjust to it, but that doesn't mean he shouldn't hear it, shouldn't experience what it's like to be valued for the person that he is. It's ironic, he thinks, K's world setting off to make their perfect automaton for killing, retiring, following orders, and have managed instead to make someone who values life and peace and beauty so much, someone whose first concern is to harm no one, even if it means sacrificing himself to do it.
He has to laugh a little at the Tale of Two Rays though. "Ain't that Duplicity all over--full of life 'n possibilities till you round the corner and it sets you off doing some reckless, madcap shit you had no plans for doing when you woke up," he shakes his head. "I'm glad I'm getting to see this with you though--dunno when I'd have come otherwise." So the gratitude is mutual.
"I'm guessing that impulsive's not the thing you're looking to lean into to help with quota." Impulsive sounds more like the kind of thing K would mistrust in himself and want to avoid.
It is, of course; impulse is not something safe, not something acceptable, at least for him. He's seen some good results in others but it is, by and large, a human right. K smiles a bit, though it fades quickly, his feelings on the subject mixed - especially now that quota is coming up again.
He hasn't forgotten what sparked meeting in person, at least this time; he hadn't exactly been hoping Vrenille would, but it would have been alright with K if he had. If they didn't have to have this conversation at all, not with how he expects it will eventually go.
He nods down the tunnel; first thing's first. "The same place as the ray there are starfish, and they all do something if you touch 'em - anger, paranoia, calm. But there's a room past the touch tanks too. Jellyfish?" He hadn't known what they were before he saw them here, but he glances at Vrenille for any sign of recognition. Regardless: "They're - calming. And it feels kind of like it's better to be close, to be touching someone than not, at least for me. Like it would be worse to leave the room without doing... something... than to deal with whatever's keeping you from not. Whatever that something is."
In a place like Duplicity, it's probably obvious along what lines that something usually is. "It's been helpful. And - I think maybe it's been hurtful, too. But it's there."
Vrenille is certainly familiar with jellyfish, but the remark makes his eyebrows rise, "Big ones?" Because when he thinks of jellyfish, the first thing he thinks of are as long as a man is tall, with trailing, stinging tentacles that extend much longer. That is...probably not what K's referring to, though even the ones that can hurt the worst can be hypnotically beautiful at a distance.
He can't help but be curious to see these tanks further in, but what K's telling him makes him reluctant to suggest it. If K does, that's fine, but Vrenille resolves that it's up to him to lead, especially where that last room is concerned. And even more so given what he says.
"No," he answers, though the fact Vrenille has to ask that alerts K to the possibility that there are such things as large jellyfish, and he glances over curiously as he holds his hand up. "About the size of my palm, and they're see through in the light, but in the dark they glow all kinds of colors." He's enamored, naturally.
And it's a much easier answer than the second one. His hand disappears into his pocket, the other following suit almost automatically. "Not to me. Well." He tips his head. "I was there with someone, and we - had a nice time. Nicer than before. Which made it harder on him when I warned him that my contract deadline is coming up."
Vrenille mouths a little oh of understanding. He can imagine why K likes those. "Also probably safer than the big ones, which can sting you something fierce. They're partially see through too but kinda tinted, darker tentacles."
If only life could be just this--amassing lists of all the things K has never gotten to see before and then finding ways to show them to him. But alas, they have to think about things like quota and contracts.
He does a quick mental accounting of the time that's past since K's arrival. "Couple weeks now, is it?" He looks at him sidelong, fully aware that up until now, K hasn't even been willing to approach a conversation on the topic, at least not with him. "What're your thoughts there?"
K still doesn't want to approach this topic; he doesn't like that this city keeps forcing him to have it, doesn't like how he can be having a perfectly nice time at the aquarium with a friend and a perfectly easy conversation with that same friend and then this happens. He nods - yes, a couple weeks.
His eyes track the path of a large, flat, violet and pink fish as it swims along the glass in front of him, and maybe he just won't answer the second question. Maybe he doesn't have any thoughts on it at all.
Except he does, and when the fish is gone and he's watching a pair of crabs digging in the sand he says quietly, "Next week. And I'm not going to have one."
Well that sure comes out sounding definitive. Vrenille's brow ticks up a notch. He's not shocked by K's resistance, far from it. That much practically comes off of him in waves--it has for a long time. Vrenille has to wonder, though, if he so much as entertained having a conversation with anyone about this before he decided.
It is late in the game now, of course, but he reckons there should be, at least, a non-zero number of conversations (and conversations, specifically with someone in the position to offer) on the table for him before he rains the city's laws down on his own head.
"I hope that's not down to lack of options," he says evenly. "'Cause if that's the reason, you 'n I can change that right now."
Most people barely even notice K, who is quiet by preference and capable of standing or sitting still for hours at a time if he's of a mind to; if they do, typically those same people get the mild side of him, which is also his preference. The LAPD keeps order, he'd been told over and over again by Joshi. He wants peace and he's content to go with whatever lets that happen, most of the time.
But every now and then there's this side of him too - and Vrenille has a knack for finding it, even K would admit. Something in his expression closes itself off; his eyes stay in the eel, but he's very aware of his position in relation to the other man's when he makes an offer that, all told, is not exactly surprising.
It still sends a shiver down K's spine, though there's no sign of that in his simple, concise answer of, "It's not."
Vrenille genuinely doesn't go trying to seek out the points that will make K tense up like a touch-sensitive leaf. He does indeed seem to find them though, and he's getting used to the signs of when he's brushed up on something particularly sensitive.
His reaction to that now is the same as ever--he leaves it be. It's not the path to walk, that's the meaning he takes from K's tension. Too much, not this way, a different route. It's not down to a lack of options, and K does not want to hear him say more about it. So he doesn't. He doesn't cajole or try and argue the toss. No is no. It's at the very heart of personhood, being able to say no, and he knows that for K that hasn't been much of an option before now. That makes it, in Vrenille's estimation, something a bit like sacred ground.
He lifts his eyes to the water overhead, the motion of the light in it as a grouper, big and grey, crosses above them. "Y'know they're not going to let you just opt out 'n still walk free. You're okay with that?"
K still fully expects to be rolled right over like Vrenille's leaf; he has learned to brace exactly like this over a lifetime of being ignored and being used in spite of his preferences, to reserve the most blatant refusals for the most distasteful of denials. He still doesn't quite know what to think of it when Vrenille lets himself be turned aside.
K's eyes slide towards him though he doesn't turn his head; he's still watching the tank but also, now, watching the other man.
"I know," he says as simply. "But it's different from the injections. It's just me, in the cell until I'm not. That or they're hiding something." But he's not afraid of that. He's not unwilling to suffer that if he gets to do so on his own terms.
"If that's all it is then I don't doubt you can wait 'em out." And this is wide of the topic maybe, but it occurs to him: "I don't even know--do replicants age? Do you have an...I dunno, a sunset date built in? Anyway, on will alone I don't doubt you could outlast the lot of 'em, still be sitting there when today's SIN guards are all old 'n gray."
However. "I dunno what they might do down the line if just locking you up doesn't sway you. I wouldn't put hiding something past 'em."
It makes him think of things that happened here years ago, things he supposes most people have forgotten now because the city has, overall, a very poor memory, perhaps by design. Maybe the most reliable thing about Duplicity is that it's hiding something.
"Some of us do, if the client requested it," he answers, an abbreviated answer, the relevant portions of it amongst a complicated history: "I don't know if I do."
He's already passed the four year mark, but he's a service model, so maybe it'll be eight.
"I understand. And if that happens, I'll reevaluate, but for now - I know what you've said about the contracts." His voice is so low he might be telling a secret to the grouper, though it doesn't care; it swims by, fins fanning delicately, mouth working in its own silent mutterings. "I just don't see how it can be true."
Vrenille's voice is low too, but so that their words remain private, so nothing carries.
"You mean how they can be..." how does he want to phrase this, "fair? How they can be anything besides enslavement--ownership of one person by another?"
That's the rub here, isn't it? Reading between the lines, he thinks it must be, but he wants to hear how K will put it, how exactly it's framed for him.
Where is the place in the world you feel safest? Within.
K nods, and watches his own reflection in the glass doing the same; he almost leaves it there, lets that stand as its own answer. But if he's going to go to that extent to escape something he can't think his way around, he doesn't want to come off as just mulish, or childish. He has tried to talk himself around.
It's just he hadn't begun to feel steady until he made the decision to refuse to participate.
"It's like trying to imagine a color I've never seen based on someone else describing it. Or like being told go ahead, jump off this roof, I'll fly even though I never have before."
Did they keep you in a drawer when they were building you? Dark.
"Leap of faith," he murmurs, thinking of Jacob and this mad thing he does, jumping from rooftops, sailing down, plummeting with arms outstretched, throwing himself into the safe landing that he can't possibly have seen from above.
Vrenille's never known how he knows, how he identifies the places he can jump from, but he does it, much the way he somehow seems to just see, just know: people in a building, their locations, their attitudes, friend or foe--his "eagle vision" he calls it.
So it's a little like that maybe: Vrenille can't see what Jacob can see; he'd doom himself leaping off a building. And that's what it's like for K as well. Vrenille can understand that.
"Maybe it's 'cause humans use contracts for so damn much," he offers, "even if we call 'em different names--bond, deal, bargain, pact, arrangement...shit even debt--they're all parts of the same thing. Maybe we're just more used to the double-speak." He casts K a sidelong look, not sure if this will make sense to him and not wanting it to be misunderstood.
"Sometimes I think there's not much that's more deceitful in this whole place than these contracts they got us all signing."
K is listening, even though he's not looking at Vrenille anymore; he's watching the patterns the light through the surface of the water cast onto the sand, onto the backs of the fish broader than they are tall, the wavering lattice work of interlaced halos, the soothing slide of refractory shadow in between.
He does understand the words, even thinks he understands the context, but then Vrenille calls the contracts deceitful and K breaks his number one rule from working cold cases: he lets it fall into the shape of what he's been expecting all along.
"How so?" he asks, a bit too promptly, openly wary - not of Vrenille's answer or honesty, but because this is what he was expecting all along.
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Someone moves too quickly behind them and some of the coral around the anemones close and shrink like sentient things; K lifts a hand to touch two fingers to the glass, slowly, not to tap or scare them but so when they start to chance opening up again, he's already closer to them.
"This part is all just display. Public. Most of the effects I've noticed are deeper inside."
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"If you wanted to swim with dolphins where I'm from, you'd probably just go swim in the sea. Or the harbour in Lion's Arch, there's some out there. I can see 'em sometimes from my bedroom window back home."
It's nice to think of, just a simple, quotidian memory of his life as it was, being where he felt he belonged, things happening in their natural way. Like the anemones, moving the way they move, pulling in, expanding out. He tries not to dwell on how it makes something twist inside of him--just homesickness, he knows. Here, that is what's quotidian.
"I think swimming with quaggan's probably more common where I'm from." A pause.
He doesn't want to rush K on when he's transfixed with what's right in front of him, so he waits until he looks up again before asking, "You wanna show me what-all's inside?"
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He thinks of his own window at home, not so little in comparison to the room - half the wall, really - but forgettable in the grand scope of Los Angeles as a whole. Insignificant. He watched traffic and holo-ads and smog roll by, sometimes watched the windows across the street, one of millions, maybe even billions of snapshots of life, all facing buildings
He would feel an echoing pulse of homesickness if he weren't so entranced with what's in front of him, but he hears the unfamiliar word and looks up. At the question from Vrenille he nods, and draws his hand back so slowly, so carefully, the creatures in the tank don't withdraw again. Only then does he stand.
"The tunnel's over this way." He doesn't say it's his favorite, but it's there in his tone and the way he goes straight for it.
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As they walk, he does his best quaggan impression, an artificially low, slowed voice, sort of fitting if one can imagine what talking underwater would be like: "'Cooo, quaggan is pleased to see you. You would not like quaggan when quaggan is angry. But quaggan wants to live in peace.' They're gentle, friendly...sorta cute really, so long as you don't piss 'em off. But that doesn't happen much on account of how getting mad embarrasses 'em."
K, he thinks as they approach the tunnel, his mind looping back to the careful way he stood up so as not to trigger another reflexive retreat of the coral, would adore quaggans. Probably swim with their tadpoles for hours if you gave him an aquabreather and half the damn chance.
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"Sometimes I wish there had been more species capable of speech on Earth," he offers. Mostly he doesn't bother, or remembers how humans have treated the next closest thing to themselves even though they created them. But sometimes. "Why embarrassed? Do you know? Is it cultural, or did something happen?"
The entrance to the big reef tunnel is well marked, even if the walls on either side weren't constructed of floor to ceiling tanks giving just a glimpse of the teeming, darting, active life on the other side of the glass. They curve gracefully to the narrow passage through the exhibit, and this is where K slows - this is where he remembers that he's running a two out of three streak for encountering trauma in his friends, and he watches Vrenille for signs of the same when he sees that the water will be over them as well as close in on both sides.
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He actually has an answer about quaggans as well, which is almost surprising to him--one of those stray bits of information he's learned about his own world in the years he's been with his guild. Before he left Ebonhawke, he wouldn't have known any of this.
"It's 'cause it changes 'em. Physically. They go kinda scaley 'n scarlet, like armored fish, grow big pointy teeth. They call it 'the rage,' and mostly they can't control it. They just destroy whatever's in their path. It's shameful in their culture, getting like that." Which, now that he's saying it aloud, all sounds like stuff K can probably relate to.
"Valuable allies though," he adds "the ones who could. There were one or two who joined the Pact, enraged pretty much all the time. They held the line out in the jungle, sometimes when no one else did. It's the sorta thing that makes me think...well, it probably ain't my place to say, but I think Earth'd probably better if there were some non-human races there.
"Humans on their own are assholes." He's not even mincing words about that. "I saw it in Ebonhawke. Shit, I was part of it in Ebonhawke. First time I met the members of my guild, I said awful things to 'em."
He doesn't elaborate on that though because they're entering the tunnel, and far from signs of trauma or discomfort, Vrenille is turning on the spot, his face upturned, grinning at the fish in the water overhead. "See now this is more like Divinity's Reach."
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"I don't know if it was better with a non-human race," K points out mildly. "But I've always understood why humans are the way they are with us." And he, unlike the rebellion, isn't angry about it for the most part. It's not worth his energy.
When he sees the grin he tips his head in invitation and moves ahead more decisively, taking them to the first bend in the tunnel where it widens a bit to allow more room for observation - just in time for the largest shark in the tank to slide by overhead, serene and rhythmic in its serpentine swimming motion.
"This is where I like to stand," he says, stepping right up to the glass, though he does it again so carefully and slowly that the fish closest to the glass barely startle. His eyes track the creature swimming overhead, something like awe still in his eyes despite that he goes on to explain, "You can see most of the tank from here, and the shark swims by over and over again."
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No empty compliment here. Being able to feel some degree of empathy and patience even for those who treat you most harshly, most unfairly--that's a rare and precious skill. Anger would be justified, would be understandable. Knowing that and being able to let it go? Most people couldn't. It deserves to be acknowledged, like so much else about K that his world didn't bother to credit because it fell outside of their metrics for him.
He steps up to the glass too, turning backwards once he does, facing towards the tunnel, his head falling noiselessly back against the glass, so that he can both look up overhead, at the wide angle across from them, and also easily glance at K without needing to turn to do so.
A spotted eagle ray passes above them, its white underbelly seeming to almost brush the arched glass before it carries smoothly on its way, the shape of its mouth and gills seeming to smile down at them. "Looks like it's flying doesn't it?" He's seen rays before, but never quite like this, and he can't pretend it isn't captivating.
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He smiles, and watches the ray, too. "Mmhmm. There's another one further ahead you can touch, but its stinger does something, makes you impulsive," he offers, hands resting at the lip of the frame that's the only break in the glass. "It's peaceful, and alive, and beautiful here. I like it." Like he'd first found solace in Vrenille's garden, unlooked for and thus unexpected; he watches a pair of eels drift out of their coral caves, mouths open and gills working, and the way the fish around them change directions to avoid them like a carefully choreographed dance. "Thank you for coming here. With me."
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Vrenille knows that all of that is new for him, that it will take more than a couple of months to adjust to it, but that doesn't mean he shouldn't hear it, shouldn't experience what it's like to be valued for the person that he is. It's ironic, he thinks, K's world setting off to make their perfect automaton for killing, retiring, following orders, and have managed instead to make someone who values life and peace and beauty so much, someone whose first concern is to harm no one, even if it means sacrificing himself to do it.
He has to laugh a little at the Tale of Two Rays though. "Ain't that Duplicity all over--full of life 'n possibilities till you round the corner and it sets you off doing some reckless, madcap shit you had no plans for doing when you woke up," he shakes his head. "I'm glad I'm getting to see this with you though--dunno when I'd have come otherwise." So the gratitude is mutual.
"I'm guessing that impulsive's not the thing you're looking to lean into to help with quota." Impulsive sounds more like the kind of thing K would mistrust in himself and want to avoid.
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He hasn't forgotten what sparked meeting in person, at least this time; he hadn't exactly been hoping Vrenille would, but it would have been alright with K if he had. If they didn't have to have this conversation at all, not with how he expects it will eventually go.
He nods down the tunnel; first thing's first. "The same place as the ray there are starfish, and they all do something if you touch 'em - anger, paranoia, calm. But there's a room past the touch tanks too. Jellyfish?" He hadn't known what they were before he saw them here, but he glances at Vrenille for any sign of recognition. Regardless: "They're - calming. And it feels kind of like it's better to be close, to be touching someone than not, at least for me. Like it would be worse to leave the room without doing... something... than to deal with whatever's keeping you from not. Whatever that something is."
In a place like Duplicity, it's probably obvious along what lines that something usually is. "It's been helpful. And - I think maybe it's been hurtful, too. But it's there."
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He can't help but be curious to see these tanks further in, but what K's telling him makes him reluctant to suggest it. If K does, that's fine, but Vrenille resolves that it's up to him to lead, especially where that last room is concerned. And even more so given what he says.
"Hurtful--to you? How?"
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And it's a much easier answer than the second one. His hand disappears into his pocket, the other following suit almost automatically. "Not to me. Well." He tips his head. "I was there with someone, and we - had a nice time. Nicer than before. Which made it harder on him when I warned him that my contract deadline is coming up."
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If only life could be just this--amassing lists of all the things K has never gotten to see before and then finding ways to show them to him. But alas, they have to think about things like quota and contracts.
He does a quick mental accounting of the time that's past since K's arrival. "Couple weeks now, is it?" He looks at him sidelong, fully aware that up until now, K hasn't even been willing to approach a conversation on the topic, at least not with him. "What're your thoughts there?"
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His eyes track the path of a large, flat, violet and pink fish as it swims along the glass in front of him, and maybe he just won't answer the second question. Maybe he doesn't have any thoughts on it at all.
Except he does, and when the fish is gone and he's watching a pair of crabs digging in the sand he says quietly, "Next week. And I'm not going to have one."
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It is late in the game now, of course, but he reckons there should be, at least, a non-zero number of conversations (and conversations, specifically with someone in the position to offer) on the table for him before he rains the city's laws down on his own head.
"I hope that's not down to lack of options," he says evenly. "'Cause if that's the reason, you 'n I can change that right now."
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But every now and then there's this side of him too - and Vrenille has a knack for finding it, even K would admit. Something in his expression closes itself off; his eyes stay in the eel, but he's very aware of his position in relation to the other man's when he makes an offer that, all told, is not exactly surprising.
It still sends a shiver down K's spine, though there's no sign of that in his simple, concise answer of, "It's not."
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His reaction to that now is the same as ever--he leaves it be. It's not the path to walk, that's the meaning he takes from K's tension. Too much, not this way, a different route. It's not down to a lack of options, and K does not want to hear him say more about it. So he doesn't. He doesn't cajole or try and argue the toss. No is no. It's at the very heart of personhood, being able to say no, and he knows that for K that hasn't been much of an option before now. That makes it, in Vrenille's estimation, something a bit like sacred ground.
He lifts his eyes to the water overhead, the motion of the light in it as a grouper, big and grey, crosses above them. "Y'know they're not going to let you just opt out 'n still walk free. You're okay with that?"
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K's eyes slide towards him though he doesn't turn his head; he's still watching the tank but also, now, watching the other man.
"I know," he says as simply. "But it's different from the injections. It's just me, in the cell until I'm not. That or they're hiding something." But he's not afraid of that. He's not unwilling to suffer that if he gets to do so on his own terms.
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However. "I dunno what they might do down the line if just locking you up doesn't sway you. I wouldn't put hiding something past 'em."
It makes him think of things that happened here years ago, things he supposes most people have forgotten now because the city has, overall, a very poor memory, perhaps by design. Maybe the most reliable thing about Duplicity is that it's hiding something.
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He's already passed the four year mark, but he's a service model, so maybe it'll be eight.
"I understand. And if that happens, I'll reevaluate, but for now - I know what you've said about the contracts." His voice is so low he might be telling a secret to the grouper, though it doesn't care; it swims by, fins fanning delicately, mouth working in its own silent mutterings. "I just don't see how it can be true."
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"You mean how they can be..." how does he want to phrase this, "fair? How they can be anything besides enslavement--ownership of one person by another?"
That's the rub here, isn't it? Reading between the lines, he thinks it must be, but he wants to hear how K will put it, how exactly it's framed for him.
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K nods, and watches his own reflection in the glass doing the same; he almost leaves it there, lets that stand as its own answer. But if he's going to go to that extent to escape something he can't think his way around, he doesn't want to come off as just mulish, or childish. He has tried to talk himself around.
It's just he hadn't begun to feel steady until he made the decision to refuse to participate.
"It's like trying to imagine a color I've never seen based on someone else describing it. Or like being told go ahead, jump off this roof, I'll fly even though I never have before."
Did they keep you in a drawer when they were building you? Dark.
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Vrenille's never known how he knows, how he identifies the places he can jump from, but he does it, much the way he somehow seems to just see, just know: people in a building, their locations, their attitudes, friend or foe--his "eagle vision" he calls it.
So it's a little like that maybe: Vrenille can't see what Jacob can see; he'd doom himself leaping off a building. And that's what it's like for K as well. Vrenille can understand that.
"Maybe it's 'cause humans use contracts for so damn much," he offers, "even if we call 'em different names--bond, deal, bargain, pact, arrangement...shit even debt--they're all parts of the same thing. Maybe we're just more used to the double-speak." He casts K a sidelong look, not sure if this will make sense to him and not wanting it to be misunderstood.
"Sometimes I think there's not much that's more deceitful in this whole place than these contracts they got us all signing."
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He does understand the words, even thinks he understands the context, but then Vrenille calls the contracts deceitful and K breaks his number one rule from working cold cases: he lets it fall into the shape of what he's been expecting all along.
"How so?" he asks, a bit too promptly, openly wary - not of Vrenille's answer or honesty, but because this is what he was expecting all along.
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