|| Trust Fall || Solo | Praxis

[Praxis]

Praxis || Solo​

Ok.

1… 2… 3…

Here we go. Mallory opened her eyes and willed herself to look. The display, all mirrored glass and hidden retinal displays blinked green, emitted a pleasant, polytonal chirp, and began to assess her. It had arrived the week before, in a series of boxes, each as fastidiously packaged as the last. Pieces of the device she would come to depend on in the days to come. A team of men had installed it – in her washroom vanity – in a matter of hours while she’d been out. Her return to her 88th​ story condominium that afternoon had been the catalyst for it all, really, when she pressed herself to think about it.

No, that wasn’t right. It had been an email. A tiny, envelope shaped icon that had blinked into her peripheral between a bite of imitation avocado on full-grain wheat toast. That certainly caused her stomach to dip upon reflection. That something that could so easily be missed could be the one thing that changed the course of her history from that second forward. It was silly, to think that simply ignoring an email would have somehow changed anything. They would have found other ways. After all, it was her wedding day in less than a calendar month. Her beau had been found. Which, while …handy, had come of something of a surprise to her.

She didn’t know she’d been looking.

“Good evening Miss Wright.” The machine said, its voice mechanical, but softened around its edges. “Assessment will begin shortly. Cataloguing iteration Oh-Oh-Eight. Twenty First, August. Beginning…”

Mallory stood perfectly still; back straight and shoulders poised, doing her best to not blink until the intermittent blue light had shifted to solid green. Dressed in a pleated-front, ultra-cotton half-sleeve dress and a pair of mostly comfortable, cognac slipper flats, she used the body length section of mirror to spot-check herself. Even if the machine would do an infinitely better job, she did feel a small swell of pride for having seen the entire ensemble together. It was a good pattern. Subtle. Tiny, curly-cue shapes in a powdery shade of pink against a white that -while not truly eggshell- bordered somewhere close enough to it that she hadn’t been able to tell the difference. There was some manner of color loss as it applied to the fabric itself versus what she’d ordered through the distributor. Or so she’d been told by her advisor when she’d held the garment in the light and dismissed Mallory’s concern.

Even so, eggshell or some shade next to it, she couldn’t help but allow a smile at herself. Both shades played perfectly on her complexion. Fair, but with a glow that kept her from appearing washed out. Smooth, but with a subtle, peach-like texture that prevented her from appearing plastic. A hint of shine, always. A dusting of matte, where she needed it. Brunette, though she’d been told that the word would never really describe it. Close enough to a certain chocolate that Hershey had launched a suit against Veritas; the genetics firm that had curated her. Only to be informed that, while similar in still photography or digital representation, their proprietary shade of “European Mahogany” contained over nine-hundred individual shade striations that would interact differently in any manner of lighting and environment. And while, yes, often that color would closely resemble that of Hershey’s trademark, its depth and complexity was substantial reason for distinction.

Finished off, of course, with the windows to the soul: blue. Not just blue, however. Olympus Blue, also proprietary to Veritas, also one of the more expensive options that her parents had opted for. Specialized for each curation so that no two glittered or shone quite the same. Hers wore the scantest ring of black around their very edges. A decision some designer had probably been very proud of for how vibrantly they interacted with the world.

“There is an increase of fourteen point nine grams, Miss Wright.”

“Mhm.” She replied quickly, nodding, not sure if the machine would acknowledge this as response.

It'd been that extra M'avocado she'd had on Tuesday. Damn it.

“Coverage inconsistencies in section two, areas four through seven. Re-application advised, thirty minutes before arrival at your destination.”

“Ok.” She replied softly, having to squint to see the areas of her face where her foundation wand had failed to properly mingle with its own work. Even with vision a step beyond what was considered perfect, she saw nothing, but had learned better of debating the machine. It was, after all, designed to notice and intercept these little wardrobe or makeup malfunctions before they became full blown situations. How embarrassing that could have been. An errant, ugly smudge on an otherwise flawless cheek the first time she met hers to be.

Him. For her. Forever…

She’d ponder this greatly on the long drive from her safe, suburban nest to the bustling, jewel of a city she too infrequently got to see at night. In the evening hours, she’d find even the familiar streets draped in a shadowy velvet that spoke to her in places she both feared and hesitated to acknowledge for their seeming mystery. Work kept her high above ground. As did home. Being down there, on the street level with so many other faces and lives was a welcome distraction from the impending dinner-date of the century in her near future. The valet who opened the door of her self-driving car had been the first human face she'd been close enough to touch since Friday afternoon when she'd bumped shoulders in a crowded elevator.

Perhaps, she thought, this wouldn't be so bad. Academics and a career kept a gal pretty busy. When would she have had time to find him, even if he was perfect for her.

Perfect. For her.

Forever.

It made her stomach clench, as if on cue for the man she watched enter the cafe. It was him. It had to be. Blinking firmly once, Mallory pulled up an overlay behind her right eye and began to quickly sift through the dossier she'd been given. Handsome. That was good. Busy, given the laundry list of activities posted in his public calendar. Not very social, if the amount of pictures and tidbits he provided were her only guide. Not one upload of a puppy or birthday party to be seen. Did he even have friends?

His eyes found hers. She felt an airy, tight sound slip from her throat before she was smiling, warmly and waving from her place at a small table.

Ok.

Here we go.

1... 2... 3...

"Hi!"

Good. Bright. Energetic. Soft enough he knows you're a little intimidated but not scared. He'll like that. Wow, he's dressed nice. Tall. Whoo boy.

1... 2...

 

[Praxis]

She wanted to giggle. Instead, she resigned to fidget in her seat and quirk her mouth down and to the side in what probably looked and felt a lot worse than if she had simply laughed at his stiff approach and little half wave. She’d read once -though, a brief search of her mind provided nothing of its source- that his posture; arms crossed and back rigid as it was, was indicative of high tension. A defensiveness that borrowed from forgone heredity to protect the soft underbelly from attack. Still unable to find the source of the idea, she felt a small frown start to form before she was quick to wipe it up.

“Well, Hi -uh, Noah.” She did giggle then, the sound not so much leaving her lips as it did sprout butterfly wings and lilt of its own accord. She would lean forward, uncrossing and switching her legs under the able to scoot nearer. “I’m Mallory …but, you already knew that too.” Her hand drifted idly to the slim, featureless device she’d set on the dark, wood-like plastic. A single tap and swipe brought up the message that had started this entire avalanche. It only occurred to her then how odd it was they hadn’t provided a picture.

They’d left that on her, to snoop about the fragments of his self that he’d allowed into the collective consciousness. She wondered if he’d done the same; torn through every page and sub-section in search of the most human bits that could be gleaned from beneath the veneer of social acceptability.

Forever. Oh, boy…

Did he smile?

“This is weird, right?” It was simpler, sometimes, to hop on the elephant in the room and take it for a ride. In her opinion at least. “I…,” she bared teeth in an attempt at a smile but failed. “My gramma told me, when she was my age, they had this -uhm, thing for your device. Your phone. It would show you the pictures of the people in your area…” she was rather good at maintaining the pace of her conversation, meeting his eyes with her own and escorting him along the syllables and major beats with emphatic hand movements and the occasional squint of playfulness. “And you’d, y’know, go through them all, choosing the ones you liked. And if two people liked each other, the program would let them know. And they’d…” fidgeting again, eyes going heaven bound as she searched for an appropriate term. “Go get dinner or talk. Get to know each other.”

She swallowed. Hard. It felt like she’d been talking for a very long while.

And he still hadn’t uncrossed his arms.

Where was the waiter? She needed another face to dilute what felt like a flush in her cheeks and an elevated heart rate.

Settle down.

1, 2, 3…

“That must’ve been weird, right? Just …choosing someone because you like a few pictures of them? What if they -uhm, chew with their mouth open or hog the bed? What if their sense of humor clashed with yours?”

God, she hoped he wasn’t a bed hog. And that he had at least the basics of table manners down. The throaty roar she’d heard from outside -the one that preceded his arrival- had elicited a response in her that she didn’t quite understand. Attributing it to him was only working to further her confusion. Something wild yet reserved about him and his method of conveyance that probed -arrogantly- at the softer, simpler side of her nature. It had never occurred to her that those swiping through faces and bodies were in it for nothing more than to see what expressions each wore when in the throes of primal indulgence.

And how could she have? Mallory Wright: the bright-eyed, bundle of not-quite-eggshell and pink, progenitor of her species, last best hope for their kind, had been curated as such. Senseless frivolity and squandered reproduction had gotten them where they were; on the brink of something that neither man nor science truly understood. Hinging on the bat of eyes born of Olympus and the still tightly gathered musculature of forearms. She scooted forward in her chair again, peering at him with a strange, soft intensity that probably could’ve finished off what remained of the ice caps.

“So,” she began, letting her eyes drop to the imitation wood table, “it doesn’t have to be weird. It can just …be.”

Sweeter still, the smile she offered. “Kay?”

 

[Praxis]

Biting her lip, she'd toss another of her squinty little smiles his way. Moments, knotted along with memory as they were, would come with time. It was alright that he was a little ...stiff. Most people would've been, given their circumstance, she thought. It behooved her to at least borrow liberally from the wealth of knowledge she had; tucked away in case she needed it in dealing with her more ...despondent clientele.

Despondent was hardly the word for him though. Just nervous. Overwhelmed, maybe. Caught between a rock; the mandate, of which they appeared to be the guinea pigs. And a ...well, she wasn't exactly a hard place, so far as the expression went. It'd be an exercise in mental gymnastics for anyone to look at Mallory Wright and attribute anything that passed for difficult on her. Especially then, hands folded neatly in her lap while he ordered, glittering, priceless eyes flicking between the waiter and her government appointed beau.

She caught it too, the waiter's nervousness. A thought nagged at her then; to check her mentions across the media platforms, though this went ignored as she ordered something almost hilariously complicated against his Spartan tastes.

Just so: a half-caf, flat white -specifying the organic roast, with just a dash of nutmeg sprinkled over the foam. It needed to be after the foam, she'd found, otherwise it'd all sink to the bottom and she'd be with a runny nose for the rest of the evening. Imagine, sniffling and tilting her chin upward for the duration of their date. That'd make quite the impression.

That nagging again. To slip a fingertip across the surface of her device and see why everyone in the cafe seemed to be taking note of them. Tables adjacent, beyond and behind were all clamoring in voices and pitch too muddy to discern from the next. Still, eyes were on them. Catching glances from the corners, making sure not to miss anything worth catching.

Oh, god. They all know.

She blinked firmly a few times, hoping she didn't tell to the nervousness that'd bloomed in spaces near her heart.

Quick, change the subject.

"Well, that can't be true." She debated, unsure if she'd ever heard anyone describe themselves completely bereft of humor. "Everyone has a sense of humor." He'd probably pick up on a habit of her then; bouncing in her seat and head bobbing to a tune she tried to remember. He'd feel the tap of her toe against his shin from under the table after a few moments had passed. She didn't do well with quiet, he'd be able to guess. If her goal was to make it as Immediately impossible to dislike her -by way of exuding warmth and a touch that had been working itself across the space of their little table amidst all the chaos- then she was succeeding at least to her own standards.

He could be a hard sell. That was allowed.

Heck, the entire city block could be waiting to snap a Leap article if they wanted. This was their moment, and she'd be ...well, she'd be damned if they ruined it.

"Was that your car before?" She giggled, soft features gesturing to the floor to ceiling glass at his back and the valet kiosk beyond. "I heard you pull up, I think." Again she'd lean in for a near whisper, all but begging he meet her halfway and at least give passing glance to the scent of lilac and honeysuckle she wore. Another suggestion from her advisor. One she'd felt as strongly about as the outfit.

"You rattled the glass."

God, she was pretty when she smiled. "I think the manager got nervous. Like there was gonna be a road warrior gang, like in the movies."

 

[Praxis]

In a zoo.

He wasn't wrong, exactly. The collective eyes of wait-staff and customer alike had zoomed by deniability before their drinks had even arrived. Easy enough to dismiss as his own summation - that they were simply too magnetic to not look at - but still giving her the sudden impulse to leave the establishment entirely. Lest their prying eyes and agape lust to glimpse a life beyond their own prove too garish even for her. Her mind raced briefly to another theory she'd read about or had lectured to her. That the presence of them - their flimsy entourage - would skew the results, forever leaving an asterisk next to this first, paramount, interaction.

That study had probably never thought to address the deluge of side-chatter that came from her tether to the network. Even then, what wasn't attempting to claw at her focus by way of literal voices from over shoulder and nearby, was being pulled by a near constant atonal chime from somewhere inside of her head. Another message. Another exuberantly worded bit of congratulations. She'd glanced at the first few from where they displayed in the corner of her vision, heart starting to race at the implication of it. That everyone, save for perhaps him and his indifference towards the feed, had been made aware of their upcoming nuptials.

She'd wash the taste of this away with a sip through sugary foam and a tiny flick of her tongue to swipe away what'd been left. There was an allure in the way he moved. Hinting at levels of ingrained masculinity too encumbered by social nicety to properly rouse in ways that befit a Lion, Tiger or other such predatory animal. Caged. Yes. That seemed to be the word for it. And why not? Spacious, even if densely occupied with gawking thrall, the cafe was little more than a glass and replicant-wood facade of things that used to be, but no longer were. Had once been, if not only now the simulacra of hearth and community that it so desperately wished to convey.

Well, he was smiling. That was a start. Imagining him, hunched over the engine bay of machinery she'd never understand; muscular forearms straining and brow beaded with the proof of his effort, elicited another of those warm spots near her chest. Feeling her lips work into a rather silly looking smile, Mallory would disguise this through another drink and a swift change of topic, hoping desperately that the flush in her cheeks didn't show.

One cream, no sugar.

Little soft ...little bitter.

Yeah, that tracked alright.

"Nobody comes to see the lizards and snakes." Pristine teeth would capture her bottom lip then, "they all want to see the Bears and the Lions." Unsure if her analogy was clear enough, she'd move her hand to the slim, black device still face-up on their table. Three, sharp taps would disable it. A low, ping of finality the final breath of her connection to the network before it was only them, their small table, and myriad, curious eyes. Lonely, she thought, to exist that way in perpetuity. Without the constant hum of feeds being updated and fragments of existence to tide one through.

If he could do it, she could at least dip her toe in. That seemed fair, at least, for hers to be. If he insisted on remaining that way - and, insistence seemed his strong suit - she'd have to get used to the silence that existed in the moments he wasn't there, within reaching distance. To learn to appreciate him as he was, in real time, as opposed to the pre-fab, highly curated versions that anyone else would show her first. There was an honesty in it. One she found herself already beginning to enjoy even if she'd not yet felt the sting of that self imposed isolation.

God. They were getting worse. A woman; bad dye job and sub-manic fixation, looked as though she were ready to give into temptation and approach their table. Something Mallory couldn't allow if she wanted to waylay her Lion's evident proclivity to lash.

"Hey, let's get out of here." Brilliant, blue jewels took an arc through their surroundings as she searched for an out. "Uh, take me for a drive?" She was already standing, slinging a small purse over her shoulder and grabbing for his hand. "There's a Redwood preserve, just outside of the city. I've always wanted to see."

You're being pushy...

"Or -um, anything is fine. It's just so crowded in here. C'mon." She'd tug at him, buoyant voice affording what short-lived familiarity could not. It was an offer he'd be hard pressed to refuse. Pitched between spending perhaps an hour or more with his chosen chatterbox and entertaining the vicarious rabble, she didn't think she'd have to press much further. Besides, it'd give her ample time to sort through the mess her family and close acquaintances had made of her inbox.

Congratulations, like all of it, had come before she'd caught her breath.

 

[Praxis]

She’d wished for something grab onto as the engine had roared to life and they had left only the scent of burned rubber and a lingering of exhaust in their departure. With one of his hands locked on the wheel and the other adamantly fixed to the shifter, she made do with the fabric of her dress; pressing her thighs together and clutching at it in wide eyed horror around another bend of the tightly woven city streets. Only realizing that the makers of his car, however long ago that had been, hadn’t considered ideas like self-fastening restraints or active yaw stabilization for especially tight turns. She had meant to perhaps cream – or …shriek at least – as they lurched, but only managed a high-pitched whine of both excitement and sheer terror.

“It’s so loud!” She did manage after a few miles, fumbling with the clunky mechanics of what felt like loose-mesh vinyl and nickel. Was that what intended to keep her secure in a crash? A belt and strap clipped into plastic?

It was insanity!

Mallory finally felt her heart begin to settle as an overpass gave way to further stretches of road; comparatively dark against a glittering shoreline at their left and the expanse of coniferous pine that butted against the cityscape. Blinking firmly a few times, she’d find the curiosity to unclench the points of her nails from where they’d left tiny dagger marks in her thighs.

Better than the leather, right?

“Oh my gosh…” She murmured, twisting in her seat to glimpse the skyline as it faded behind the crest of a hill. “I’ve never been this far out. Not at night.” Turning to him with an adrenaline-fueled giggle, “it’s so dark!” Seeing it from afar, fading still with every newly taken mile, she could hardly imagine where she fit into any of it. From the safety of her perch, she’d never paid much mind to the blackness that surrounded the city or the vast emptiness it equated to. With a population of some eight hundred and fifty thousand – either above ground or in any of the network of colonies beneath – the city never felt empty. It never breathed as deeply as Mallory as he eased down into a lower gear and they were surrounded by it.

With loose curls of chocolate whipping about, tying the length of her hair with a pink ribbon seemed like a natural decision. Didn’t go half bad with the aesthetic either, in her own humble opinion.

Getting her feet on solid ground came as a delight as she wobbled from the interior and onto loosed packed gravel. A turnout some miles back had boasted of an overlook of the bay. A good enough excuse as any for them to admit they’d escaped the inexorable scrutiny of what felt like the entire world to some place that could, for the time at least, be theirs. She sighed and closed the door behind her, eyes taking to stars more visible there, higher above the skyline than she’d perhaps ever seen in her short, sheltered life.

“There used to be more of them – or that we could see more, I mean.” She seemed to be talking to no one in particular, though she did turn to beam a chipper grin his way. “Light pollution makes most of it hard to see. The rest is regular pollution, I guess. Now we have to look at pictures of them to imagine what it used to be like,” hopping onto the hood of the great beast, shuddering slightly at the warmth and how it mingled with evening air, she’d go on rambling, uncertain if he was even listening. “And even those pictures are just as the stars used to be – not where they were right then.” She huffed and turned over her shoulder to look sincerely at him.

“I’m not so bad, you know. I …I’m a good cook,” she pressed the tip of one index against the other, “I’m very clean,” to the second, “I know how important personal space is.” She was up to three and doing well until she hit a snag, shown in a slight frown that somehow didn’t do much to lessen the softness of her features. “Plus …I’m kinda pretty, right?”

She let the whiff of an uncomfortable silence pass before she was smiling again and adding, “this is where you agree with me. It’s ok, you can yell, or scream, or…” back to blinking a lot, “call me a name.”

God, she hoped he wasn’t a name-caller.

They went so poorly with criers.

“That’s why I wanted to come here. Nobody will hear you except me and …squirrels, maybe.” He’d find it hard then to escape the peer of her eyes. “And you can trust us.”