Entry tags:
IC Contact Post
"This is Caspar. Leave me a message after the beep. Or just text me like a normal person. Thanks."
Entry tags:
Origin story.
The Tigh residence was a stone cottage in a more remote part of the island’s forest. Fir trees lined the property, their evergreen needle-like leaves adding color to the otherwise drab, overcast day.
Caspar’s pace had been steady and resolute the entire way there, but he hesitated at the front door, tensing instinctively. Adia took his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. She had agreed to go with him, of course, for emotional support. She was also admittedly curious to meet one of the Final Five. Ellen had quite the checkered past: the adulterous, alcoholic wife of a colonel and a traitor to the Resistance, poisoned for her crimes only to return as a Cylon and an eventual ally of humanity.
Not to mention, she was responsible for creating Caspar’s model.
( Read more... )
Caspar’s pace had been steady and resolute the entire way there, but he hesitated at the front door, tensing instinctively. Adia took his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. She had agreed to go with him, of course, for emotional support. She was also admittedly curious to meet one of the Final Five. Ellen had quite the checkered past: the adulterous, alcoholic wife of a colonel and a traitor to the Resistance, poisoned for her crimes only to return as a Cylon and an eventual ally of humanity.
Not to mention, she was responsible for creating Caspar’s model.
( Read more... )
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Siblings, Part Seven and Eight
Caspar had done such a good job of distancing himself from the other Cylons on Atlantis that he didn’t know who to confide in about Ellen’s impromptu visit.
It made him wish, not for the first time, that the Sevens had survived. He never knew them (the Ones had destroyed the entire line during its incubation phase), but it would have been nice to have a younger brother. Someone to look up to him, perhaps. Instead, he was stuck with his younger sisters and his older, but not wiser, brothers.
He had already ruled out the Twos, not wanting a spiritual lecture. He unfortunately didn’t see any of the Sixes regularly except Julia, and like frak was he going to ask her for help. Her ridiculously obvious crush on Adia had thankfully abated, but she had nothing but positive things to say about the Final Five. She wouldn’t understand.
The Eights were an even worse choice. They fully lived up to their status as the baby of the family, waffling on their decisions more than any other model, throwing their vote in with whomever sweet-talked them or jangled something shiny in front of their eyes. He remembered Boomer — the only other sleeper agent — flip-flopping so goddamn much that he couldn’t keep track of whose side she was on most days.
Sharon Agathon was the exception to the rule.
She was the one Eight who knew what she wanted from almost the beginning of her existence and fought for it tooth-and-nail. In her case, it was a family with her human lover, Karl Agathon, and their daughter, Hera. Never once did she cower or cave to her former life as a Cylon operative. Caspar had to admit that he deeply admired her for that.
Unfortunately, the feeling was not mutual.
( Read more... )
It made him wish, not for the first time, that the Sevens had survived. He never knew them (the Ones had destroyed the entire line during its incubation phase), but it would have been nice to have a younger brother. Someone to look up to him, perhaps. Instead, he was stuck with his younger sisters and his older, but not wiser, brothers.
He had already ruled out the Twos, not wanting a spiritual lecture. He unfortunately didn’t see any of the Sixes regularly except Julia, and like frak was he going to ask her for help. Her ridiculously obvious crush on Adia had thankfully abated, but she had nothing but positive things to say about the Final Five. She wouldn’t understand.
The Eights were an even worse choice. They fully lived up to their status as the baby of the family, waffling on their decisions more than any other model, throwing their vote in with whomever sweet-talked them or jangled something shiny in front of their eyes. He remembered Boomer — the only other sleeper agent — flip-flopping so goddamn much that he couldn’t keep track of whose side she was on most days.
Sharon Agathon was the exception to the rule.
She was the one Eight who knew what she wanted from almost the beginning of her existence and fought for it tooth-and-nail. In her case, it was a family with her human lover, Karl Agathon, and their daughter, Hera. Never once did she cower or cave to her former life as a Cylon operative. Caspar had to admit that he deeply admired her for that.
Unfortunately, the feeling was not mutual.
( Read more... )
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Siblings, Part Six.
Battlestar Galactica, post-war
As far as recoveries went, it wasn’t the greatest.
His bullet wound had been cleaned and kept sterile. Somehow he had avoided a secondary infection, but the damage to his muscle tissue was enough to keep him bedridden for several days. The pain was relentless. Either there was only so much morphine available or no one wanted to waste it on an enemy Cylon, but whatever they were putting in his IV was only taking the edge off at best.
That, at least, was a blessing in disguise. It meant that he didn’t have to think much about what was going to happen next.
( Read more... )
As far as recoveries went, it wasn’t the greatest.
His bullet wound had been cleaned and kept sterile. Somehow he had avoided a secondary infection, but the damage to his muscle tissue was enough to keep him bedridden for several days. The pain was relentless. Either there was only so much morphine available or no one wanted to waste it on an enemy Cylon, but whatever they were putting in his IV was only taking the edge off at best.
That, at least, was a blessing in disguise. It meant that he didn’t have to think much about what was going to happen next.
( Read more... )
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Siblings, Part Five
Cylon Resurrection Hub, one hour post-resurrection.
He was clean.
It was the one thought Caspar was able to latch onto without spiraling into the pit of nothingness within him. In the hour since he had — downloaded? — into a new body, he had showered and washed off the milky fluid of the resurrection tub. Now he sat on a low, padded bench, his body wrapped in a soft terry robe.
The robe was white. Pristine. It matched the squares of diffuse light on the walls. The air around him was warm and slightly humid, a remnant from the shower. Sitting there, his hair dripping a little down the back of his neck, it felt more like a day at a high-end spa than the anteroom of a Cylon resurrection chamber.
He didn’t doubt that he was a Cylon. That switch was flipped the second he saw his doppelgänger on the Chiron’s vidscreen. Called out on an emergency news report, and just like that, he was no longer human.
Just like that, he was the enemy.
His body felt strange. It was his, but not his. No trace of the tiny marks and scars one accumulates over the course of a life. No sign of the time he fell out of his friend’s treehouse in the second grade and nearly broke his —
No. That was a false memory. He had no childhood, no family on Virgon. His degree was a forgery, his time at university a lie. He didn’t exist at all until roughly six months ago.
That’s what had him staring at his hands, his mind a mess of scattered code. He knew what he was, but he didn’t know who he was. Was he still Caspar? Was he a quiet microbiologist who never raised a hand to anyone, or was he the kind of man who’d grab a gun and threaten to —
His hands shook so badly that he had to ball them into fists. He pressed them into his closed eyes until he saw sparks, willing away another breakdown.
By the time he got control of himself and lowered his hands, he was no longer alone.
( Read more... )
He was clean.
It was the one thought Caspar was able to latch onto without spiraling into the pit of nothingness within him. In the hour since he had — downloaded? — into a new body, he had showered and washed off the milky fluid of the resurrection tub. Now he sat on a low, padded bench, his body wrapped in a soft terry robe.
The robe was white. Pristine. It matched the squares of diffuse light on the walls. The air around him was warm and slightly humid, a remnant from the shower. Sitting there, his hair dripping a little down the back of his neck, it felt more like a day at a high-end spa than the anteroom of a Cylon resurrection chamber.
He didn’t doubt that he was a Cylon. That switch was flipped the second he saw his doppelgänger on the Chiron’s vidscreen. Called out on an emergency news report, and just like that, he was no longer human.
Just like that, he was the enemy.
His body felt strange. It was his, but not his. No trace of the tiny marks and scars one accumulates over the course of a life. No sign of the time he fell out of his friend’s treehouse in the second grade and nearly broke his —
No. That was a false memory. He had no childhood, no family on Virgon. His degree was a forgery, his time at university a lie. He didn’t exist at all until roughly six months ago.
That’s what had him staring at his hands, his mind a mess of scattered code. He knew what he was, but he didn’t know who he was. Was he still Caspar? Was he a quiet microbiologist who never raised a hand to anyone, or was he the kind of man who’d grab a gun and threaten to —
His hands shook so badly that he had to ball them into fists. He pressed them into his closed eyes until he saw sparks, willing away another breakdown.
By the time he got control of himself and lowered his hands, he was no longer alone.
( Read more... )
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Siblings, Part Four
Dreams have their own dominion over memories.
It’s why so many Cylons hated to dream. It left them feeling helpless, doomed to experience thoughts and feelings that they had worked so hard to ignore. It’s why the Ones almost never slept, and why the other models had their own avenues of escape.
Caspar’s dreams were never symbolic. Maybe his model was too literal, or maybe he had repressed his past so hard that his unconscious presented it to him, whole-cloth, every aspect of the memory as vivid as if he were reliving it.
His dreams almost always revolved around his time on New Caprica or later. But as the first month of the new year drew to a close, those dreams touched on memories of a past before that, closer and closer to a point in time that he had repressed so hard that he could no longer remember it.
( Read more... )
It’s why so many Cylons hated to dream. It left them feeling helpless, doomed to experience thoughts and feelings that they had worked so hard to ignore. It’s why the Ones almost never slept, and why the other models had their own avenues of escape.
Caspar’s dreams were never symbolic. Maybe his model was too literal, or maybe he had repressed his past so hard that his unconscious presented it to him, whole-cloth, every aspect of the memory as vivid as if he were reliving it.
His dreams almost always revolved around his time on New Caprica or later. But as the first month of the new year drew to a close, those dreams touched on memories of a past before that, closer and closer to a point in time that he had repressed so hard that he could no longer remember it.
( Read more... )
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Siblings, Part Three.
Unless directly tampered with, Cylons did not lose memories. They were, however, capable of the same psychological tricks that humans used to keep those memories out of their consciousness. Caspar was particularly fond of repression. It’s why he spoke so little of his time post-resurrection. If he didn’t talk about it, he didn’t have to think about it. He could keep all those dark times locked up inside of him where they belonged.
He’d already had plenty of practice.
( Read more... )
He’d already had plenty of practice.
( Read more... )
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Siblings, Part Two
Another week passed, and Caspar found himself projecting more frequently. He had once vowed never to do it around Adia; it didn't seem fair to exclude her from the vivid images he could share with other Cylons. But on long nights while she was asleep and he had nothing but his own thoughts for company, he'd imagine himself on the beach. He could stare at the calm, blue water for hours and let the hypnotic repetition of the surf lull him into a temporary state of tranquility.
He was safe there. He could slip underneath the waves and never think about his past again.
He didn't have any other avenues for distraction. The Nexus was off-limits due to Winter's brutality. That, in turn, affected Adia’s mood, which made him even more reluctant to share his own problems. He tightened the mask and tried his best to pretend that nothing was wrong. He had to be strong for her.
What good was he, otherwise?
( Read more... )
He was safe there. He could slip underneath the waves and never think about his past again.
He didn't have any other avenues for distraction. The Nexus was off-limits due to Winter's brutality. That, in turn, affected Adia’s mood, which made him even more reluctant to share his own problems. He tightened the mask and tried his best to pretend that nothing was wrong. He had to be strong for her.
What good was he, otherwise?
( Read more... )
Entry tags:
Siblings, Part One
Weeks passed, and Caspar didn’t breathe a word of Ellen’s visit to anyone.
Not even Adia. He should have — he meant to, but it was tied up too tightly in his failed proposal attempt. And hadn’t he already dumped enough emotional baggage on her anyway? His very existence as a Cylon was baggage. No, he couldn’t do it. It was easier to live with the lie of omission than to open up old wounds.
He struggled with his guilt in silence. Or was it shame? Was there even a difference between the two? Goddamn nuanced emotions. A Centurion never had to deal with this crap.
This was all Ellen’s fault. Her and the rest of the Final Five.
Why would they make the Cylons like humans? Only to limit them, as they themselves had been limited by their creators. It was ridiculous. It was exactly why the Ones turned out as they had, full of hatred and disgust towards Ellen and the others. It was the entire point of Ones’ elaborate revenge fantasy, to implant the Final Five with false memories and scatter them in the Fleet so that they could suffer along with humanity.
Caspar couldn’t blame the Ones for that. It’s why he didn’t join the rebellion. That and he didn’t want to see the rest of his model boxed up for his insubordination.
The Ones were the oldest model, both chronologically and biologically. Each model had an equal say, but it was the Ones who most often led the vote. It was pointless to question their authority.
Caspar knew because he had tried.
( Read more... )
Not even Adia. He should have — he meant to, but it was tied up too tightly in his failed proposal attempt. And hadn’t he already dumped enough emotional baggage on her anyway? His very existence as a Cylon was baggage. No, he couldn’t do it. It was easier to live with the lie of omission than to open up old wounds.
He struggled with his guilt in silence. Or was it shame? Was there even a difference between the two? Goddamn nuanced emotions. A Centurion never had to deal with this crap.
This was all Ellen’s fault. Her and the rest of the Final Five.
Why would they make the Cylons like humans? Only to limit them, as they themselves had been limited by their creators. It was ridiculous. It was exactly why the Ones turned out as they had, full of hatred and disgust towards Ellen and the others. It was the entire point of Ones’ elaborate revenge fantasy, to implant the Final Five with false memories and scatter them in the Fleet so that they could suffer along with humanity.
Caspar couldn’t blame the Ones for that. It’s why he didn’t join the rebellion. That and he didn’t want to see the rest of his model boxed up for his insubordination.
The Ones were the oldest model, both chronologically and biologically. Each model had an equal say, but it was the Ones who most often led the vote. It was pointless to question their authority.
Caspar knew because he had tried.
( Read more... )
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Unexpected company.
It was New Year’s Eve on Atlantis, and Caspar was going to propose.
He had originally wanted to ask on a day that didn’t already hold significance, but the symbolism was too powerful to ignore. A new year meant new beginnings. Besides, once he gave Adia the ring (at home, in private, as he knew she would want), she could show it off later to her friends at the small party Seth was throwing at his house.
It was a ring worth showing off, in his not-so-humble opinion: a slim band of shiny tungsten studded with orange sapphires and white diamonds. Tungsten because of its sleek, metallic strength. Orange sapphires because of their warmth and color. And diamonds because they were classy and expensive. The fact that it was made by a Nexus friend of theirs, Hunter, only added to the value of the ring. The tattooed artist had even infused the metal with a pulp of orange tulip petals, merging organic and inorganic flawlessly.
Caspar had that ring with him now, tucked securely in his coat pocket. As he walked home in the early twilight, he went over his plan for the evening:
Step one was to get to the cabin before Adia, which he was in the process of doing. Step two was to light some candles and give the floor a good sweep. He was going to kneel on it, so it might as well be clean.
Step three was to ask her to marry him.
( Read more... )
He had originally wanted to ask on a day that didn’t already hold significance, but the symbolism was too powerful to ignore. A new year meant new beginnings. Besides, once he gave Adia the ring (at home, in private, as he knew she would want), she could show it off later to her friends at the small party Seth was throwing at his house.
It was a ring worth showing off, in his not-so-humble opinion: a slim band of shiny tungsten studded with orange sapphires and white diamonds. Tungsten because of its sleek, metallic strength. Orange sapphires because of their warmth and color. And diamonds because they were classy and expensive. The fact that it was made by a Nexus friend of theirs, Hunter, only added to the value of the ring. The tattooed artist had even infused the metal with a pulp of orange tulip petals, merging organic and inorganic flawlessly.
Caspar had that ring with him now, tucked securely in his coat pocket. As he walked home in the early twilight, he went over his plan for the evening:
Step one was to get to the cabin before Adia, which he was in the process of doing. Step two was to light some candles and give the floor a good sweep. He was going to kneel on it, so it might as well be clean.
Step three was to ask her to marry him.
( Read more... )
My coffee was haunted?! (not clickbait)
The worst part was that Caspar should have seen it coming.
He knew that Gengar was lurking about Madrone’s lab somewhere. Adia had convinced the ghost pokémon to take residence there so he wouldn’t be forever alone, but in all the weeks following, he hadn’t seen hide nor purple hair of the prank-loving ghost.
Turns out that the little shit was biding his time.
( Read more... )
He knew that Gengar was lurking about Madrone’s lab somewhere. Adia had convinced the ghost pokémon to take residence there so he wouldn’t be forever alone, but in all the weeks following, he hadn’t seen hide nor purple hair of the prank-loving ghost.
Turns out that the little shit was biding his time.
( Read more... )
Stargazing
((takes place following the events in this thread))
Rising 150 feet off the ground, Coney Island’s Wonder Wheel is impossible to miss. Doubly so at night, when its entire frame is lit up, its name emblazoned bright red smack dab in the center. Sitting in one of the cabs (a stable, outer cab, not one of the strange inner cabs that slid back and forth because of course humans can’t simply enjoy a ferris wheel as-is), Caspar kept an arm around his girl and his gaze on the view outside.
( Read more... )
Rising 150 feet off the ground, Coney Island’s Wonder Wheel is impossible to miss. Doubly so at night, when its entire frame is lit up, its name emblazoned bright red smack dab in the center. Sitting in one of the cabs (a stable, outer cab, not one of the strange inner cabs that slid back and forth because of course humans can’t simply enjoy a ferris wheel as-is), Caspar kept an arm around his girl and his gaze on the view outside.
( Read more... )
Fashion Advice ((for ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sweetcandygirl))
At a small café in the heart of the Shopping District, Caspar sits at an outdoor table and sips from his tiny ceramic cup of espresso. Outwardly, his expression is one of calm indifference, but inside, he's a little concerned. For not the first time since he sat down, he pulls out his PINpoint and re-reads the text from Harley on its glowing screen.
It's not unusual for Harley to send him a text. It is unusual for her to request fashion advice. She seems pretty set on her style, such as it is. Her asking for help is like him asking for help.
Highly unlikely.
He agreed, naturally. He can't turn down an afternoon of clothes shopping, even if something seems off about it. So, hopefully for the last time, he puts his PINpoint away and takes another sip of espresso while he waits for Harley to arrive.
It's not unusual for Harley to send him a text. It is unusual for her to request fashion advice. She seems pretty set on her style, such as it is. Her asking for help is like him asking for help.
Highly unlikely.
He agreed, naturally. He can't turn down an afternoon of clothes shopping, even if something seems off about it. So, hopefully for the last time, he puts his PINpoint away and takes another sip of espresso while he waits for Harley to arrive.
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The end of a very, very long day.
It’s late when we finally teleport back to our cabin. Adia turns on a light while I shrug out of my blazer and examine the damage. It’s not ruined beyond repair, but that wine stain will be a bitch to get out. It’s too set in for club soda, even if I had any in our icebox. I’ll have to go back to the Nexus to get it professionally cleaned.
Goddamn Nexus. I finish changing out of my clothes, then get ready for bed. The solar water heater needs to recharge, so I settle for splashing cold water on my face and saving a shower for tomorrow. Besides, I’m exhausted. Fighting off a god and his satyr flunkies will do that.
For once, i’m looking forward to sleep.
( Read more... )
Goddamn Nexus. I finish changing out of my clothes, then get ready for bed. The solar water heater needs to recharge, so I settle for splashing cold water on my face and saving a shower for tomorrow. Besides, I’m exhausted. Fighting off a god and his satyr flunkies will do that.
For once, i’m looking forward to sleep.
( Read more... )
An important debriefing. ((for sweetcandygirl))
Not too far from the Plaza there is a coffee shop -- a hole in the wall, really, although the coffee is quite good. This is where Caspar texted Harley to meet him to talk about Josh's cabin in the woods, and what the former Suicide Squad member found out about him.
The café is not entirely his style -- a little too dark, a little too drab. But it means that they're unlikely to be disturbed, and more importantly, it's as far from Josh's usual haunts as possible.
He doesn't want to take any chances.
When Harley heads down a small flight of stairs into the café proper, she'll spot Caspar in the corner, dressed in his charcoal gray suit, nursing a cup of coffee, and waiting patiently.
The café is not entirely his style -- a little too dark, a little too drab. But it means that they're unlikely to be disturbed, and more importantly, it's as far from Josh's usual haunts as possible.
He doesn't want to take any chances.
When Harley heads down a small flight of stairs into the café proper, she'll spot Caspar in the corner, dressed in his charcoal gray suit, nursing a cup of coffee, and waiting patiently.
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Starting Over.
The Cylon War memorial was nearly finished, and so far as Caspar was concerned, it couldn’t be over fast enough.
( Read more... )
( Read more... )