Every Me Loves Every You

          ↳ Day 8 ✩ Naomi // Lotus

“So you heard about Seven’s amnesia?” Lotus, still typing at top speed, called to him. She wasn’t looking over, but she seemed to be expecting a response. Balthazar quietly crossed the room to join her.

“Yeah, behind Door 5,” he said. “You believe him?”

“Sure, why not,” Lotus shrugged. “I just happened to be thinking about it and this wireless monitor.”

“…together, you mean?” Balthazar had no idea what she meant. Lotus laughed softly.

“Don’t take this too seriously, I’m just trying to kill time,” she began, “but consider the idea of the human brain as a monitor, like this one, rather than a computer. You follow?”

“…possibly.”

“All right, well, imagine a researcher with no concept of a wireless network were to examine this monitor, say, asking it to calculate 1 + 1. Who’s actually doing the calculating?”

“The main computer, somewhere else.”

“Precisely, but our researcher doesn’t know that. So they start tinkering with it, poking the screen: ‘Ah yes, pressing it here causes the colours to change. And when I cut this cord, no results appear. Clearly, this machine is doing the calculations!’”

“So, theoretically…” Balthazar leaned on the table as he thought, “that’s us and our brains.”

“Sure, just theoretically,” Lotus went on. “A researcher examining parts of the brain would think to themself, ‘Stimulating this neuron cluster causes this person to see colours. And when I cut this part out, that function ceases. Clearly, human thought occurs in the human brain!’”

Lotus smirked, and shrugged. “We can’t imagine our thought processes might actually occur somewhere else, in some other ‘main body’, leaving the brain as just an output device. If you think about it, it could explain a thing like Seven’s amnesia. Maybe he hasn’t really ‘forgotten’ anything, his brain is just having trouble connecting to its source.”

“But is that main body individual, or universal?” Balthazar wondered. “It must be unique to each person, or we’d all have the same thought processes. …Unless there are networks of individuals, like an office.”

“I thought I told you not to take it seriously,” Lotus’ answer was a little surprising regardless. “I was only killing time; but now I’m done.”

“Done?”

Lotus nodded and raised one arm high above her head. With a small flourish, she brought her finger down onto the Enter key.

The program ran in seconds, spilling more text across the screen until, suddenly, it all disappeared, leaving only a single word.

“Accepted”

          ↳ Day 6 ✩ Castiel // June

“Oh dear…” Balthazar cooed at the look of faraway thought. “What is it?”

“Do you think…” Cass started, slowly looking up, “this could be the real thing?”

“In a The Ship That Never Sank sort of way, you mean?”

Castiel smiled brightly. “You’ve heard of it!”

“Mmm, yes, heard of it,” Balthazar waved his hand airily, “Something something insurance scam, no?”

“The Titanic had a sister ship called the Olympic,” Cass began to explain. “But it was damaged at sea and the owners wanted to dispose of it, so they disguised Olympic as Titanic and sunk it deliberately intending to collect the insurance. …or they would have, if it hadn’t hit the iceberg. That wasn’t intended.”

“And Titanic?”

“Became Olympic and served as a passenger liner for over 20 years, until dismantled in 1935.”

A somber expression filled Castiel’s face as he finished the tale.

“So I suppose it doesn’t really matter which ship was the real Titanic,” he added quietly. “Whether she sank or was retired, she no longer exists.”

Balthazar blinked uneasily at the sudden change of mood.

“Which do you think it was?” He managed a curious smile. “You are the expert.”

Cass smiled back, then shook his head. “I’m sure it was the real Titanic that was sunk.”

“Of course,” Balthazar nodded.

“…by the mummy’s curse.”

Halfway to the bedroom door, Balthazar turned back.

“Hang on, I know that one,” he said, waving a finger. Cass smiled, cocking his head inquisitively.

“Do you believe it?” he asked.

“I’d say you’d know better than me if it sank the Titanic,“ Balthazar returned the playful look.

“Well, there really was a mummy on board,” Castiel squared his shoulders intently, “and she was much more interesting than any curse.”

“Oh?”

“They called her a mummy, but her body was completely unembalmed,” Cass’ eyes brightened as he spoke. “She was perfectly preserved, like she was just sleeping.”

“How is that possible?” Balthazar shifted his weight, staring.

“You know how water makes up half or more of the human body?” Cass began to explain. “Apparently, all of the water in her body was frozen solid.”

“Then her tomb must have been like a freezer,” Balthazar offered. He was surprised when Castiel shook his head.

“I mean, maybe,” he said, “but the most incredible part is that she never melted. Not when they took her across the desert, not on the ship… Even after they recovered her from the wreckage and brought her ashore, she stayed froz–”

Cass’ eyes went wide, looking over Balthazar’s shoulder. Balthazar swung around, his blood cold.

Santa half-shrugged apologetically, her hand raised to knock at the door. Balthazar groaned faintly, rubbing his face.

“…sorry?”

Balthazar shook his head, motioning for her to continue. Santa straightened up and spoke.

“You didn’t find any matches, did you?”

Meet the players of Grace’s Last Reward (AO3)

          ↳ Day 4 ✩ Hester // Quatre

Quatre was exactly where they’d left her, staring down at John, loosely holding her arms. She turned when Balthazar touched her shoulder, taking the bookmark when he offered it.

“Where…did you get this?” She sounded more stunned than he’d expected.

“Behind Door 4,” he said. “It was a gift.”

She looked up at him, blinking slowly. Balthazar cleared his throat and continued.

“Did you know that each of the leaves has a separate meaning?” he thought back to what Santa had told him. “Hope, faith, love, and luck.”

Balthazar paused, looking down as he thought, then raising his eyes to meet Quatre’s.

“I…can only imagine how I’d feel if June had gone missing. I’m so sorry, but…please, try not to lose hope. As long as you can hold onto your love for your sister and your faith that she’s all right, I’m sure it will bring you good luck.”

Suddenly flushed, Balthazar fell silent. He wasn’t quite sure where that sappy little number had come from, or why he would say such a thing out loud, but Quatre stared at him as though in shock, blinking back tears when she finally looked away. Clutching the bookmark tightly, she stepped around the table, pacing a few steps back and forth in thought.

Suddenly, she came back, leaning in close to Balthazar and watching him carefully.

“Can I ask you something?” she tilted her head cautiously as she spoke.

“…yes, of course,” startled, Balthazar blinked at her, almost leaning away.

“What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word…” she paused, “…’experiment’?”

“Er…” Balthazar thought it over as quickly as he could, shrugging. “Vaguely sinister medical practice, I suppose?”

“So…nothing specific?” Possibly disappointed, Quatre took a step back, although her eyes did not leave Balthazar’s face.

“No,” he answered, shaking his head. “…I’m sorry. …what did you have in mind?”

“Nothing,” said Quatre, far too quickly. “It was just a coincidence, I guess.”

“Are you sure?” Balthazar lowered his voice. “If it’s important, maybe I…” he gestured vaguely, still feeling embarrassed.

Quatre frowned, scrutinizing him for a moment longer, then seemed to relax, if only slightly. She stretched her arm out, gesturing to the mannequin.

“…okay, let me ask you this,” tucking the bookmark into her pocket, she leaned on the operating table. “Is this John? Or is it Lucy?”

“How do you mean?” Balthazar crossed his arms and leaned back against the table’s edge.

“Have you ever heard the Locke’s Socks paradox?” she asked. “Or the Ship of Theseus?”

“No, never,” he answered cheerily. “But I do love a good thought experiment.”

“All right, say you have a favourite pair of socks, your lucky socks,” said Quatre. “You couldn’t do without them. What would you do if one of them got a hole?”

“Patch it up, post haste.”

Quatre nodded approvingly, and continued. “But what if they keep tearing? Until you’ve put so many patches on them that none of the original fabric is left?”

“Ahh…” Balthazar nodded once, slowly. “I see: are they really still my socks if they’re made with all new material?”

“Right.”

“And the Ship of Theseus?”

“Is similar,” said Quatre, “but takes it one step further. Say you repaired a wooden ship by replacing it, piece-by-piece, with new parts. Then say you built an entirely new ship out of the old parts. Which one is really the original?”

“I suppose…the one I’ve been using this whole time, even with the new parts. Like John here…” Balthazar turned, leaning on his hands on the table, “he still has his own head and heart - and left arm - even if all the other parts were Lucy’s. If he still has the same brain, then he must have the same mind, so I would say it’s John after all.”

“Then again…” he glanced up at Quatre, who seemed pleased by his answer, “over the years, we’ve imagined the mind - or the soul, if you like - to be in any number of organs, so…”

Balthazar shrugged and fell silent, assuming Quatre would have a solution of her own to offer.

“You know that our cells…” she started slowly, “die and regenerate every single day, though…right? Every few years…we’re like whole new people. How separate are we, really, when we’re all made of what we’ve eaten and absorbed, when we just keep rotating?”

“Remember Seven’s story about EDT?” she looked up at him, deadly serious. “Or June’s, about glycerin? Communicating through an unseen mechanism? We’re all connected, and not just physically–…”

Her eyes fell back onto John’s face, and when she lifted them again she looked shaken, her face drained of colour.

“There was this experiment,” she said, very quietly, “nine years ago-”