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Scheduled Maintenance (Briar in Blood x LittleMissLexi)

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Many things could be intuited, interpreted by the level of training, preparedness, and attention to detail the mechanic possessed. One might wonder why or how that came to be, and if she had always been that way. One would struggle to learn more for how readily the woman handed out trust and respect for others.

April garnered none of the first and only a bare minimum of the second.

"Jesus, fuck... Y'make it feels like th'first time all over again."​

As close as it might get to giving her a compliment, she supposed. Perhaps she'd undercalculated its resilience or damage, or her own strength. But then it would just go on causing damage to her however it pleased if she didn't force it back and down.

"How long y'gonna keep it up for, baby?"​

"Is everyone a ride, to you? Or is there room in that mind of yours for roles beyond toys, victims, chaff and bullies?" Laughably, she actually wanted to know, even though all sense reminded her that the creature would not deign to illuminate itself, if it could at all. Not all minds were created equally, and what advantages Zmiya got to enjoy in her upbringing were doubtlessly unavailable or incompatible with April's well-being. Without an immediate follow-up attack coming, she had another bit of breathing room to analyze.

At this point, the diagnostic cable would need some replacement parts. There was no way around it. She could implement a backup, and that would do for the maintenance work on the vent-thing, yet matters would seem amiss if she didn't address the issue sooner than later, and that was on top of the maintenance headache the altercations were causing. A stimulant would also be in order, as the wound at her side would cause some chemical fallout within her system once the adrenaline in her crashed.

All in all, April could be a tremendous headache while she still cared about its mental well-being. Turning her off was the smart thing to do, the calculated thing to do, and it would also earn her plenty of ire from the emulation and set it to bad behavior on others. This particular doll made victory impossible to draw without loss, which it probably would have loved to know and double down on.

Mercy would have to come some which way. Many things wouldn't have been worth the wasted breath, yet she let her know what was to come anyway, in her oblique manner. "You wanted analog, so that's how this is going to play out for you."

Pulling her augmented hand into a fist, a hum of active current emanated from it. Whether this was pure cosmetic effect or the natural consequence of a live conduit, April wouldn't be able to discern. Neither was she aware that a confluence of the mechanic's actions and cybernetic alteration enabled what followed: advancing on the emulation with her organic arm in active guard, she sent a flurry of thrusts and chops at whatever of the android's body was in reach. Each time she made contact it erupted like a shock baton had struck it.

Beyond the pain, disruptions to the functional harmony of its body's mechanical-neural interface coincided with involuntarily tightening muscles and diminishing speed. If it was paying attention, it could easily notice symptoms of a low power battery and an sluggishness to its actions increasing with each strike, even though that didn't impinge upon its mental processing much. That may have been a big if, though.

Much as she was trained for using submission holds, pain and bodily impairments to disable an enemy, many of those techniques mattered little when her opponent did not care about damage to their person and when she valued causing as little damage as possible. Wearing her down physically would make what options remained easier to accomplish, however, and that was her current aim.
 
"Is everyone a ride, to you? Or is there room in that mind of yours for roles beyond toys, victims, chaff and bullies?"​

The android's eyes widened with intrigue as the woman spoke, but how much of the question actually landed was.... not optimistic. The doll didn't really know what chaff meant, at least not in this context, but the point of the question felt rather rhetorical to her anyway. She saw herself as a free radical in the mix, a force of nature that knew neither conflict nor agreement, but simply acted without bias. She was entirely ignorant to her own reality, of course, but to April, she was a hurricane who had no quarrel with the homes it razed–a convenient excuse to avoid taking responsibility for her actions.

"You keep talkin'bout riding an'toys like that an'I'll think you're flirting with me," she grinned, biting her lip as the anticipation of whatever else the mechanic had in mind played through her imagination.

"You wanted analog, so that's how this is going to play out for you."​

As the electrical crackle of ionizing air echoed through the confines of the small room, April's eyes went wide with maniacal amusement. Her laugh, which had been a dull chuckle held at bay before, erupted into a wide mouthed cackle which could not be held back. Her body instinctively pressed against the wall at her back as Zmiya drew close, the flashes of light dancing across her face in an electric blue that she couldn't look away from. If she'd been able to form words, they likely would have been words of eager encouragement, but the moment was just too funny to interrupt.

As the first strike came the doll didn't make any ready effort to defend herself, the second and third and subsequent blows were met with a reactional amount of force that was entirely involuntary. Her head swam with conflicting signals that spread across her vessel like a wild fire. Servo-tendons locked and seized as her frame isolated systems to protect them from damagingly over-voltage current. Her voice stuttered and choked out as it crashed from laughter into a more visceral and uncontrolled grunt with each strike. A blow to her chest sent her listing to the side, and her already haphazard balance crippled by the interference of the shocks saw her crashing to the floor in a crumpled, convulsing mess.

"F-fffuck..." she spat as her body was caught in a limbo between over-voltage deactivation and the rolling after shock. "I think–holy shit–I think I came." The doll's voice was smaller now as she lay on the floor gently heaving and twitching from both her own natural tendencies and the assault, the smile never left her bloody lips though. "M-more, do it again!" She chirped, struggling and failing to pull herself into an upright, seated position and instead simply resigning to lay on her side gripping her own abdomen.
 
"You keep talkin'bout riding an'toys like that an'I'll think you're flirting with me."​

All she seems to want is fighting and fucking. Of one sort or another, she supposed. It was all so narrow, really, but then was she surprised? No. Whatever mixture of nature and nurture led to this creature, it was well set into place by the time she was scanned for emulation. Sometimes a creature really was terribly simple.

For her part, she was not amused. April was quickly tiresome in its refusal to balance anything beyond its whims. Opting out of the long slogs of tedium that life required, even artificial life, just made it a burden on everyone around it that was there for any longer than a client's session. She was making extrapolations now, but the levels of myopic self-centered involvement and entitlement she surmised bore out in its words and actions. Were there more malicious, conniving, or delusional manners about it, Zmiya would find its existence quite angering. As it was, it was half worth her pity, half worth her frustration. Id creatures were minded, accounted for and contained more than else.

Of course, that did make the emulation a candidate for personality editing.

"F-fffuck... I think–holy shit–I think I came."​

The mechanic wondered, briefly, how the Empire would deal with such a creature in the flesh. She already knew it never would have seen service in any legitimate, legal business. Too unseemly, showing such wanton disregard for law and order.

"M-more, do it again!"​

Looking down at the vent-thing, she put her boot on its hip and pushed it back down to face the floor. Crouching, she seized its upper arm with her augmented hand and applied continuous shocking feedback. It relished in all this pain, and she certainly didn't mind giving it to her. Watching its systems suffer from the effects, she stopped a little shy of disrupting it into unconsciousness. For however long that took, she observed and remained in the moment instead of further multitasking.

The hum died off before she grabbed it by the shoulders and lifted it off the ground, carrying it back over to the chair and depositing it with perhaps surprising gentleness. Grasping the front of April's throat for positioning, rather than any threat, her augmented hand opened at the seams to reveal a set of tools that she began using to carefully extract the damaged diagnostic plug from the socket. Thankfully, the socket didn't seem to take much of it, and wouldn't need replacement. Zmiya did not expect any more luck to be had in that regard, though.

Once the plug was removed, she tossed it aside, recombined her implements into a makeshift plug, and inserted that into the plug to get fresh diagnostic data after all the fighting that had ensued. While she reviewed it, she finally spoke again, matter of factly: "If you want to fight, you could have just asked. Next time you try to kill me you will lose my kindness." One eye glanced over the blood in the room from the course of their tussle, estimating the amount of time it would take her to clean it all up. Softly, she sighed, but this level of surprise was exactly why she gave herself some buffer time.
 
As Zmiya nudged her hip from the floor, April might've felt rather small or defeated if she hadn't been so thoroughly preoccupied with other feelings and emotions that had taken the forefront of her mind. The logic of it was twisted and full of dead ends or clipped threads; disabling an arm was cheating, but electro-shock was not; if she was fighting she hadn't lost, but quivering on the ground begging for pain was a fine way to end things. It didn't really need to make sense, though. April was having a ball, and that's all she cared about.

Either way, as the mechanic gripped her arm, the doll knew exactly what was about to happen next. Her breathe hastened and her movements became ever more sporadic as she throttled her simulated adrenaline response in time with her own desires. Her hands splayed flat on the ground as she looked over to the seamed, augmented hand gripping her own slender arm. "Oh, shi–okay, yeah," her words were more mumbled and broken pieces of sentences than anything... and then, it hit. Like a bolt of lighting that had wrapped around her spine, a concentrated shot of 'fight-or-flight' had been injected into her brain. Her body tensed and spasmed, locked out and twisted like a boa had coiled itself around her entirely body. Her open palmed hand balled into a fist and pounded against the hard floor as she writhed in agonizing bliss. A clipped and distorted scream came out like a painful, lovely moan before finally the ride ended, leaving April quivering gently on the ground. Her current state might be something similar to a seizure, but was considerably more choppy and sporadic as her servos unlocked from their failure state and her body slowly returned to limp.

There was no further protest as the mechanic hoisted her into the seat like a child who was too short to climb themselves. April's head rolled and her body moved limply as she came back around in a dreary, almost drunken state–though April often behaved as though she were inebriated. Weakly, the doll protested Zmiya's handling, pawing at the woman with minimal effort or effect as she withdrew the plug from her skull and fiddled with her noggin.

"If you want to fight, you could have just asked. Next time you try to kill me you will lose my kindness."​

The android chuffed, her chest heaving and falling with the response. "You started it, yanno..." she fired back with half-hearted enthusiasm. "Not my fault yooouuu're such'a baby..." At least for the moment though, April had been placated.
 
"Oh, shi–okay, yeah."​

Pain of a sort pacified her, it seemed. Watching the vent-thing, it looked close to an orgasm instead of a blistering assault on the senses. The registry of pleasure in its net made it clear that masochism was very much on the table, which she understood well enough, and could play with the levers such contained. Another note was added to its profile in her files, and a potential way to 'handle' the doll had appeared. She doubted its scope was all-encompassing, though.

Given the level of intrusion and incapacitation into its system's harmony, April wouldn't be very able to fight her for a time. As planned.

"You started it, yanno... Not my fault yooouuu're such'a baby..."​

Briefly, she released its neck so that she could flick its nose. It wasn't that hard or that painful, but the sensory blip would appear without fail given the code she'd installed. Then the hand returned to keeping its head steady while she finished running new diagnostics. "Your version of events is noted. Your memory banks tell a different story." While she could play back the video of how April began toussling with her, that just felt petty, and possibly goading into more. Zmiya had tossed enough time into this sink of behavioral apprehension and had more ahead of her now than when she started.

Withdrawing the tools, she withdrew two bundles of cord from her bag. Eying the doll on the chair, she sliced four lengths before taking them to task. Efficiently and quickly, the mechanic set to binding April by wrists and ankles to the chair, looping rope multiple times around the vulnerable joints before affixing and knotting. Then she bound upper arms and lower thighs, wrapping coils to provide sturdiness to the bindings. Given how the emulation reacted to digital commands that would be more or less identical in effect, she went with the analog version from what her provisions offered. This was all a tedious mess in multiple respects, yet she continued to prioritize the mental stability of the vent-thing. Such was her way.

"You can be reset as often as your owner, slaver, likes. I cannot. If you have zero respect for my mortality, I cannot give you any trust with my person." She spoke steadily and unhurriedly to make it easier for the android to hear the words. Whether it cared to digest them, well, she'd find out sooner or later.

Once the ties were complete, she finally sat down, a bit of distance away from the chair, and finally began examining her wound. Muttering to herself about the damage and noting the effects of blood loss with the withdrawal of adrenal aid, she queued up cell injections and blood replacement from the bio-reactor remotely while spraying wound sealant over the affected area. That part of her that never cared for reason or stability craved a substance-based remedy for her current mood and pain, and she let it lapse into silence. She'd drink a stimulant-laced beverage soon enough. That'd help with the cleaning portion of it all, anyway.

Nevertheless, the feeds of April's neural activity and well-being remained up while she took care of her own wound and cleaned up blood from her face and clothes, applying a spray to the latter and a dampened cloth to in front of a digital mirror projected against the wall from a device clipped to her overalls. With zero need to proselytize, she let April speak up and direct conversation if it felt like - or lapse into slumber if it felt like that. Regardless, her body prioritized wound care and destruction of evidence, having put it off long enough.
 
"Your version of events is noted. Your memory banks tell a different story."​

Groggily, the doll gave a mocking appearance, wriggling either of her hands as she immitated Zmiya in a trolling speech. "Oh, my mEmOrY bAnKs, huh?" Docile or not, she'd never be the cooperative sort of person. With a scoff April waved off the mechanic and collapsed back into the seat. "Honestly, I think y'do it just for kicks, huh?" She asked, watching the woman secure her wrists to the chair. Weak and gently tugs came as each knot was secured, but no concerted effort was made to actually break the bindings. "I mean, first the zaps and now some bondage!?" Her voice cracked into a higher pitch before leveling back out into the tired, gravely voice of someone who'd spent far too much time screaming. "Y'really know how to treat a girl," she cackled, seemingly mustering what little energy she had left into a rallied attempt at being lewd.

"You can be reset as often as your owner, slaver, likes. I cannot. If you have zero respect for my mortality, I cannot give you any trust with my person."​

The doll rolled it's neon green eyes, looking almost annoyed at the woman's rather logical point of view. "You don't hav'ta lie, y'know?" She added, seemingly insistent that Zmiya was playing at some unseemly or perverted. As the woman broke to tend to her wounds, April craned her neck to try and see what was happening. She was like a child in that way–never able to sit still, never able to behave, always wanting to stick her nose where it didn't belong. "We both know y'just wanna get me aaall sloppy an' vulnerable–" at this point, her voice rose in pitch as if trying to immitate something especially innocent or sweet. "–so y'can have your way with lil'ol me." As she spoke, her voice was louder than it needed to be. For some reason, if April couldn't readily see the mechanic, she seemingly assume Zmiya couldn't hear her either. Or perhaps she simply liked being a pest... the latter was rather likely.

At this point, the doll was running on fumes. Internally she could subsist for years before brain death became an issue, but her body would go into shut down after a few days or weeks depending on activity... for one as active as April, though, it was unlikely she make it more than a few days before her power supply ran dry. If you asked her though, she'd maintain that her frame was immortal and unstoppable, and she'd say it with such conviction that it may as well have been true.
 
"Oh, my mEmOrY bAnKs, huh?"​

The mechanic did not take up the mocking creature's taunts just yet. Sometimes, doing so would just be beneath her. Other times she preferred not to feed into the vent-thing's desires.

"Honestly, I think y'do it just for kicks, huh? I mean, first the zaps and now some bondage!? Y'really know how to treat a girl."​

"All of which barely touches what I'm capable of. Pity you'll miss out with your attitude." Smirking at the android, she didn't care that it very likely wouldn't see that as something to strive toward and enjoy. That suited her just fine, though, as she didn't see it being worth the effort to treat the doll as considerately, expertly, and lovingly as she was able. The shame of lost potential was slight. April could be rather magnificent in some ways, that she'd seen thus far, but it was all chained up by so much else.

"You don't hav'ta lie, y'know? We both know y'just wanna get me aaall sloppy an' vulnerable–so y'can have your way with lil'ol me."​

Zmiya repeated the flick to the android's nose, treating it like the pest it set out to be. "You're not very adept at listening, are you?" Her voice slid between mocking, pity, and outright delight. She never had to play by any of the doll's desired rules, and could out-dance it across so many games. That it made no effort to adapt or change with the reality around it might be seen as admirable to some. To the woman, it was denial and brittle, staid stubborness. The temptation of extreme personality modification appeared again, but that was truly premature. Playing her hand too early would only come at cost to her.

For now, she'd protect the fragile ego of the vent-thing.

Injecting cells into her wound with a grimace and then freshly batched blood into a bio-port beneath her hair, all in front of but at distance from the android, she let out a weary sigh. Steadying back up, she exchanged medical supplies for cleaning ones and began tidying away the mess of blood and else. Perhaps the doll would find it terribly titillating how she rubbed a damp rag over its skynth and sprayed it with repair mixtures. Amidst the tedium, she asked a non-sequitur of a question, hardly expecting an honest or considered answer: "What's your favorite memory?"
 
(We're switching April's color #39FF14)

"All of which barely touches what I'm capable of. Pity you'll miss out with your attitude."​

The doll lurched forward in the seat with as much effort as her under-voltage system would allow, most of her systems had been capped to low-force positional movements only. "Y-yeah right..." she sputtered. "You'll jus'come crawling back f'more I bet." Sleep wasn't something a doll could actually do, but Emulation Management did a halfway decent job of simulating the feeling for them. Senses became flatter and processing slowed, standby mode became a higher priority in their queue. Of course, none of that actually forced them to sleep; not until power dwindled to critically low.

Her reaction to the flick came like an after thought, the flinch delayed to the point it was even comical as she recoiled.

"You're not very adept at listening, are you?"​

In fairness, the mechanic very likely did want to have her way with April, only their definitions of that statement varied wildly. Though, most words that filtered through her Sensory Processing Unit never quite made it through to interpretation. She heard what she wanted to hear, and if she didn't hear the right words, April could always twist and bend them until they became the right statement. Right now, though, the doll was bobbing and weaving as though it were in a slow motion boxing match with an invisible partner. Her head dipped, then her eyes popped open again as she willed a surge of energy to keep her upright, then began to dip again. At some point, April simply let her head rest against her own shoulder as she watched the mechanic repair herself. "Hah... I really fucked y'up, huh?" Closing her eyes, she savored the small victory for a moment. "Woooo," her hands balled into fists that she was able to shake modestly beneath the straps.

"What's your favorite memory?"​

Silently the April watched as Zmiya wiped her own blood from the doll's limbs and face, carefully applying a repair spray to stitch close the scrapes and scratches that she'd earned in the battle. It was a conflicting moment, and she hated it for that. Even she couldn't deny the tender care that the mechanic was putting into her after their scuffle, the softness felt foreign and simultaneously reminded her of the May, only making her more frustrated. Then, there were the scratches and damage that she had earned, that Zmiya was taking away... resetting just like they did with her head. Not wanting to look it in the face, April turned her head away from the mechanic, away from the problem that she could not reconcile.

"I don'have any," she replied in a tone all too somber for someone so big.

Memories weren't worth hanging onto when you only ever lived in the present, and letting go of them meant never having to learn your lesson.
 
"Y-yeah right... You'll jus'come crawling back f'more I bet."​

The mechanic simply shook her head, laughing. It was such a silly vent-thing. At least it could be amusing, sometimes. Finishing a read on the diagnostic data, she sent off directions to the fabricator to begin printing some small pieces and parts for repairs and the arm began its work while she continued attending to the doll.

"Hah... I really fucked y'up, huh? Woooo."​

"So you did, little creature, so you did." Seeing it starting to drift off, in other ways before even her body, she felt some relief. Repairing her would be far, far easier without her fighting back during the whole span of it, even if it was jittering about here and there. Some work was rather delicate in an android's innards, and she'd managed damage in some odd places during their scuffle.

Noting the emotional changes in its readouts, the woman gave the doll a curious look. Emotional complication from care like this? How curious. Thus far, she'd resigned herself to the android being an intractable ball of chaos and danger, entitled, delusional, and a ball of fury. Perhaps a little more lingered beneath that, though, and simply hadn't been given the chance to see the light of day. As long as the rest remained, however, she would never trust it fully.

"I don'have any."​

That took a darker tone, and she noted the hallmarks of some flavor of 'sorrow' in the quiet response. More complexities after all, perhaps, perhaps, formed parts of the emulation's lattice. She'd have to dig further at some point, and perhaps it would be worth it to take the time to sort through April's memories. For now, though, there were other matters to focus on, and just copying them would suffice. "Well. We can change that with time," she said softly - almost tenderly. "For now, though, rest some, little creature." Gently brushing fingertips over eyelashes, she subtly encouraged the already in-process drift into sleep for the android.

Once the shift into that 'mode' was actually complete, she locked the doll into it to leave her free to perform maintenance. Unbinding her would follow, giving her far more range of access to do what needed doing. But first, she took a bottle from her pack and swigged some caffeinated beverage, exhaling. "What a mess," she muttered to herself as she stretched out her body. A workout was the last thing she'd expected during this job.


Some hours later, with repairs finished and the android's power cells recharged, Zmiya removed the sleep-lock she'd placed onto its neural net and carefully stroked beneath its chin to wake it. She wasn't terribly close, not knowing what sort of rude awakening might happen if she was, yet wasn't out of biting range. A risk she took, despite it all. Other than having cleaned up, her overalls were now buttoned up and over her upper body, hiding away the wound April had left on her. It wouldn't do to share it, after all. "Morning, vent-thing."
 
As standby mode climbed the rungs of April's load order it grew in priority and prevalence. Given the right circumstances it would drop back into the background paths, but she lacked the available power to make any such effort. Standby surpassed micro-motor functions and overtook the SPU in the load order, and finally when it had reached the top the doll's eyes sank closed.

"Well. We can change that with time. For now, though, rest some, little creature."​

If the output in her solid state cells had been just a few volts higher, April likely would've thrown herself back into a fit at being called little. As it was, though, the mechanic had done an exemplary job of wearing her out, and she managed little more than a sleepy protest before clicking into standby completely.

"'mnot... lil.."

There were no dreams for the doll in those hours. Power routing had restricted her Emulation Management suite's functions to critical, and while playing out a dream for her based on abstracted data took little in the way of processing power, it was just as well the slumber remain silent as the grave. For April, time would not pass and she would not wake, it was as close to death as a doll could really get in this arrangement, and they could linger there for a long, long time.


As external stimuli ticked upward and power routing exceeded its under-voltage threshold, the standby order plummeted the ranks of the load order. Sensory Processing dialed up and CPU resources were allocated to deciphering the incoming data before feeding it into the Emulation Management suite. Then, from within the EM suite, the code and numbers that consisted of April proper began to wake up. Trapped in the little cage where it could only access what data it was allowed, only run what programs EM approved, and only behave in the ways EM allowed. She wasn't intelligent enough to know it, but April–all the dolls–were prisoners not just to Reynolds and the Dollhouse, but to their own vessels.

"Morning, vent-thing."​

Her face scrunched and her lungs swelled again for the first time in hours. Grimacing and clenching her eyes shut tight, April brought balled fists to her face to rub the sleep away–a pre-programed tick that all the dolls shared. Then, her hands fell to her sides, dangling limply as she slouched in the chair. "Whaddya, a somnophile or somethin'?" Standing, the android stretched her hands high overhead, leaning to the right, then the left, just like Zmiya probably wanted her to do in the first place. Composite bones shifted under synthetic flesh, vertebrae dotted up her back and the lines of ribs swelled as she stretched and breathed. One could almost forget they weren't real... almost. A dreary yawn was let out as April checked over her body, noting the lack of scratches and scuffs from their altercation before looking back at Zmiya. "Fuck... you better not'uve stolen a kidney..." At that, the doll gave an exaggerated shudder, as if imagining the woman probing her depths for organs and trinkets. Of course, it didn't matter that April had no organs to speak of... though the thought was an interesting one.
 
It was fairly cute how they imitated humans in their waking. Zmiya enjoyed the little touch, though she respected that not all emulations enjoyed such affectations. Still, it was a connection to humanity and an element of similarity, and the mechanic would argue that links to the humanity which an emulation was inevitably born from in the beginning were helpful in identity cohesion.

"Whaddya, a somnophile or somethin'?"​

The woman shook her head with a quiet puff of breath. Of course the vent-thing would be no different now than when it started. That would remain the case for the time being, at least, and she'd made no edits to the doll's memory. April would find everything in its place.

As well as it was normally able to, anyway.

"Fuck... you better not'uve stolen a kidney..."​

A smirk returned to the woman's lips. It was an amusing notion, and she wondered, idly, how difficult it would be to remove kidneys from a human. "Isn't it incredible what one can live without?" Holding up a finger, the tip of it sparked in a way that was only perceivable to April - because it existed only in the android's visual data. As it appeared, twinges of pain, echoes of the memories of their recent altercations, lit up across the points where Zmiya had hurt it. She wanted to remind it before what she said next: "Would you like to be able to feel that again? Or have me leave you without the ability to enjoy much pain once more?"

While there was amusement in her expression and voice, there was no sense of trickery or mocking in the offer, which was quite earnest.
 
It was always obvious to April when her maintenance had been completed. The world felt a little sharper and little more even, and truth-be-told she detested it. Everything was turned back to the way it was, reset in place and ready for another round of debauchery. Being immortal was fun, she supposed, but without any of the evidence to remember it felt more meaningless ... and thus, she'd have to set about making more trouble for herself and everyone else. What good was skin that could be so perfectly mended if you couldn't enjoy the scars and scrapes while they lasted?

"Isn't it incredible what one can live without?"​

As the mechanic held up her finger, April turned back to the woman, looking first at her eyes, and then her finger as a spark fizzled from it's index. The spark alone probably would've been enough to lead her to the woman's meaning, but the pain wasn't unwelcome either. Regardless of the epicenter of the sensation, it sent cascading aftershocks across her body. The feeling sent the sensation of a chill up her spine and made the doll squirm in a way that one might as a bead of cold sweat rolled down their spine. Shaking out the feeling and simultaneously testing her newfound motor balance, April shot a single 'finger-gun' back at the woman before quickly turning her palm and extending a middle finger with a genuine smile.

"Would you like to be able to feel that again? Or have me leave you without the ability to enjoy much pain once more?"​

The doll gave a wide-eyed scoff at the questions, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated expression while tilting her head along side. "Pains jus'ta means to an end, sparky," she shot back, rubbing her eye with an open palm. "Weren't ever the goal, jus'ta gooood way t'get there." With that, the android stalked closer. It wasn't an aggressive motion by any means, but her sideways glance and mischievous smile suggested she had something she couldn't keep to herself. "But yeah... anytime y'want me t'teach you another lesson, I'd be happy y'all are my shhhedule." April's confidence knew not bounds, and truly was only rivaled by her own ego.

Before she turned to leave though, the doll did a double take to look at the skin she'd been chewing on some hours ago. Warm, unwashed, and tar ished by a days hard work. Her eyes fell down Zmiya's body and then back up until they met her face. Extending her tongue, but not looking away, she leaned forward to lick the woman's shoulder without further context. Then, gave a half chuckle and turned to leave. "Be seein' ya!" she waved, just as she had earlier that day.

As she left, the doll called to some indistinct client or another, shouting obscenities and claiming 'I said I'd be right back!' before leaving the door ajar behind her.

Outside, April disappeared into the dwindling clientele as the Dollhouse began it's slow lull into a quieter period. May was busying herself with a mop while November wiped tables, August, September, and October were still in their rest cycles, and a few dolls were absent–entertaining patrons or the like. Notably, security was lighter and aside from a few saps who drank while idly chatting to June or January, the floor was remarkably empty.

Noticing the open door and the vacating psycho, November slung their towel over their shoulder in a picture perfect form of 'bar tender in action' and returned to their post. Anybody needed a drink after dealing with April, and Zmiya had been pleasant enough to deserve it.
 
"Pains jus'ta means to an end, sparky. Weren't ever the goal, jus'ta gooood way t'get there."​

That may be true, but the woman had her doubts. The creature before her only possessed goals insomuch as one possessed appetites. While the torment and destruction of others seemed one of its principal appetites, encountering pain for itself was an integral part of many of its ways toward that appetite. She added the dismissal to her notes while remaining skeptical.

At its approach, she did not seem very outwardly wary. That did not stop her from factoring multiple angles of attack on it.

"But yeah... anytime y'want me t'teach you another lesson, I'd be happy y'all are my shhhedule."​

April didn't quite understand what she asked. Given the novelty of her arrival and place within its timeline, she simply nodded and wiped all of the pain templates from the emulation's system. Data from their encounter was already saved for tuning adaptations to the dolls' frames. Zmiya smiled with a hint of wickedness all the same.

"Be seein' ya!"​

"Sooner than later, I suspect." She waved back, amused. It appeared like a flirtation, yet seemed more genuine than all the flirty nonsense it'd spouted during their maintenance session. Something about the lick was divorced from its typical snark, and that was noteworthy.

Exhaling quietly the rest of the tension kept in the emulation's presence, the mechanic was plenty ready for a break. The 'Spring' month had been tiring to handle at a high level of control and to clean up after, and made for three dolls' sessioned to working order now. Stretching out limbs and joints once more, she rubbed at her neck and took a little time caring for her body. Occasionally she envied the android bodies of emulations for all the concerns they never had to hold with their lack of organic components - or, in the dolls' case, their limited integration of organic components. Nothing about their skynth and 'accessories' made for true organs and their layers of tissue and muscle held notably less complexity than the womb-grown version.

Minutes after April's departure, Zmiya emerged from the storage room. She paused to jam the lock physically to add a layer of security beyond the digital locking codes before venturing away from it. Even if the chance of theft or tampering was low, low was not zero.

Glancing across the emptier floor with some appreciation, she took note of the dolls who were out and what they were up to without even hiding her looks. The clients, meanwhile, got only the briefest notes of threat assessment on her path toward the bar. Slipping onto a seat, she gave November a small smile with few (but not zero) signs of fatigue. "Have a favorite drink?" she asked of them.
 
A stained rag wiped over the bar's faux wood top. It was already clean–or clean enough for a bar–but the act of wiping glasses of their sterile condensation after the wash cycle, or the bar top free of rings left by patrons drink's kept November's hands busy. Whether that was a trick of the trade or a deeply ingrained tick was another question. As Zmiya approached, though, the doll slung the rag back across their opposite shoulder and gave a modest smile in kind. Their arms splayed wide with palms braced against the faux wood as she watched the wearied mechanic take her seat.

"Have a favorite drink?"​

"Hah," the android chuckled, leaning back against the counter at their back with folded arms over a subdued chest. "Figured you'd need something to take the edge off after that one." Given a pause, the doll thought for a short moment before turning to the hard liquors and garnishments that lined the shelves behind them. "I don't have a favorite, personally–I don't drink–but this one's fun to make..." Their words trail off as their hands begin to work. Nimble and precise without the considerations for damaged fingers, November worked quickly with the precision and skill of someone who'd perhaps done this a time or two. They started with a whiskey glass, pouring a few fingers worth of rye whiskey into the glass before looking up to the worn woman and pouring just a splash more. Next came what would substitute real honey. It was thinner, and didn't have the same lovely golden color of the true thing, but honey bees weren't exactly common in the void. After was a splash of amaro and two quick dashes of bitters before pouring the entire mixture into a stainless steel mixer that had been chilling below. It's weight and thermal mass cooled the drink, and by time the shake was complete, all that remained was the pour. "April can be a handful, as you probably guessed, but once you get to know her she's a little easier to deal with..." The doll trailed off, plucking a single, stainless-steel 'icecube' from a chiller below the bar and depositing it into the now empty glass they'd begun with. "Girl's just trying to find something louder than herself, but..." gently, they poured the concoction over the icecube, careful to let the drink run over the cube directly. "... she does keep things lively."

Finally, November produced a dropper of some unlabeled extract from a small cabinet in the corner of the short bar. "This part's just for show..." they mention, depositing a singular drop in the drinks center before squeezing out a slice of shelf-stable orange around the drinks perimeter. The extract–most certainly some synthetic reproduction–started out a deep purple, but as the acidic orange reacted with it it softened into a pink, creating a purple pupil and pink iris. Carefully, so as not to disturb the drink's natural appearance, November slid to glass across the bar to their customer. "The 'Evil Eye,'" they offered, leaning back to admire their work.
 
"Hah. Figured you'd need something to take the edge off after that one."​

With her apparent nature, Zmiya had no doubts that April wore on everyone in the Dollhouse. How that bore out might have some significant range, though, so triangulation via everyone else's responses to the vent-thing was helpful. November's sympathy and remark were both noted.

"I don't have a favorite, personally–I don't drink–but this one's fun to make..."​

Of course the android wouldn't be much of a drinker, given the lack of effect imbibed substances had on their lot, but their ease and confidence at the bar made her suspect they might have some preferred beverages. Either which way, it hinted at preferences and personality, pre- or post-emulation, that November might harbor. The mechanic spent more time watching the doll's movements than the actual ingredients going into the glass, though she smiled a little more at the extra whiskey. Honey was an unexpected treat and increased both her interest and enthusiasm for the cocktail, the cooling ice of which clattered pleasantly in the mixer. Though it was many miles apart from the easy joys of the workshop, the experience of a cozy bar and amiable bartender could be soothing.

"April can be a handful, as you probably guessed, but once you get to know her she's a little easier to deal with... Girl's just trying to find something louder than herself, but... she does keep things lively."​

'Lively' seemed a very, very generous way to put it. She appreciated the insight and kindness, however. "'Louder'," she repeated, tasting the word. "That tracks." Pain and pleasure were hardly the only things she could dial up, and she suspected April enjoyed some variety.

"This part's just for show..."​

The unlabeled dropper certainly drew her interest. All manner of substances dangerous and unregulated could hide in such a thing and hold wild potential for chaos and harm. What access the dolls had to such things was inevitably tightly controlled, yet it was other parties Zmiya held more suspicion around. Given what she'd seen so far in the android before her, she was not yet at high alert.

"The 'Evil Eye.'"​

Watching the changing colors was a treat, and she offered another smile. "How unexpected." Carefully sliding it closer to herself, she lifted the glass from the counter and tipped it gently toward November. "Thank you." As she did so, her scent sensors went to work scanning for any worrying odors. Finding none wafting up from its surface, she took a drink, and tempered, flavorful burning followed. Exactly as one might expect from a whiskey cocktail. "Well done."

Relaxing back into her seat, she regarded the fluids briefly before looking back to the bartender and opted for some innocuous small talk. "'House usually quiet at this hour?"
 
"Thank you.... Well done."​

November returned a subtle nod as their arms reset to an idle, crossed position. It was a treat for them to prepare a drink to be savored, rather than simply be shot or chugged in an effort for cheap, fast inebriation. As if remembering something, November patted their thigh–checking the contents of their pocket–and produced an old paper pad and pen. The pages were wrinkled, creased, and well loved, but as the doll flipped back a page their handwriting came through neat and even, each line spaced well and each letter jotted with precision.

"'House usually quiet at this hour?"​

Glancing up from their note pad, November looked around the floor, noting the few lingering patrons and idle dolls who populated the area. "Yeah, it comes in waves I s'pose. Gives us time to clean and rest, and makes it easier for December to schedule..." A beat played between them as November closed their notebook and slid it back into the tight fitting pocket of their torn denim jeans. "No rush, but you're wanted in the office when you get a chance," a directed index finger pointed to the direction of Reynold's office where Zmiya had first been met.
 
Watching the unusual affectation and accessory, she made a note to ask them about it later. Given the age of many emulations, it wasn't unthinkable that they originally used such things and might carry a desire to do so in the far-flung future as well. It could be a solid entry point for further questioning, anyhow, that would help reveal more of how the android perceived their world. November was certainly her favorite so far and drew more of her curiosity.

"Yeah, it comes in waves I s'pose. Gives us time to clean and rest, and makes it easier for December to schedule..."​

She almost asked, but supposed they meant how December organized their on and off times. The lack of elucidation did leave her curious if they had meant something else, though.

"No rush, but you're wanted in the office when you get a chance."​

"No rush, but wanted in the big office? Hm," she intoned somewhat skeptically. Reynolds seemed to hold no kindness or consideration, and if he wanted to see her she doubted it would involve anything pleasant. Really, she wouldn't mind never having to interact with him again, even though that would be highly unlikely to occur in the flow and parameters of her designs. She didn't think she'd given him much reason to complain, anyway, and doubted his data hygiene and attention to detail would have brought any flags up for what she'd done so far, which amounted to mostly small deviations from routine protocol... and that was saying plenty for the apparent standards of the last mechanic he employed.

Of course, perhaps this didn't have anything to do with Reynolds and was actually December's doing. A more enticing prospect entirely.

"Watch this for me until I get back then, would you?" Minding a drink while traveling to and fro limited her options, and she'd rather not have the visual implication of it potentially impugning her anyhow. Every conversation could be a battlefield and that was more likely true with December than most, based on their interactions to date. Smiling again at the bartender, she then made her way back through the establishment she'd still only barely frequented and to the door to the office shaped by Reynolds' particular tastes. Scanning briefly for any changes, she knocked and then entered once acknowledged.
 
"Watch this for me until I get back then, would you?"​

Wiping their hands with their emotional support rag, November gave a non-committal shrug and nod as they carefully plucked the woman's drink from the counter, depositing it into the chiller for later consumption. Generally, they didn't make a habit of saving drinks for patrons–if they wanted another, they could pay for one later–but the bar was slow at present, and November had taken a small shine to their new mechanic. "Give 'em hell, kid," they offered with a wink as she left the bar stool.

Out of the main floor Zmiya would tread, through a set of double doors and into the foyer, past an indifferent June and an agreeable July who were unevenly cleaning the front windows, and finally down the hall that led to the Reynold's office. The door was cracked, and within was a busy and moderately distracted December. She was quick to acknowledge the knock with an apt "Enter," without pausing from her current task. The fan that had been incessantly rattling just earlier that day was now still, dust having been freshly cleaned from its blades. The desk had been straightened and the floor mopped, and now the head matron was busy updating the maintenance board with current data and new 'go red' dates following Zmiya's work. In her hand she still held a stick of chalk as she transfered data from a digital pad to the physical board.

Glancing over her shoulder, she gestured to the seat the mechanic was already familiar with. "Give me a moment," she asked, holding up the stick of chalk "I'll be right with you." Turning back to the board, December wasted little time transcribing the rest of the data points. "It's a silly thing, I know, using chalk and slate when the information is at his fingers..." she spoke between the taps and strikes of her chalk, punctuated by short glances to the data pad before her. "But, it helps him feel in control... like he's running things... and I'm sure you agree that that's good for both of us." Finishing, December sat down the pad on the desktop and smacks her hands together a few times to clear them of the most offensive of the chalk before wiping them carefully on a rag that had presumably been used for cleaning some moments before. The dust would surely smudge against her dark pencil skirt.

Taking her seat in Reynold's chair with neatly folded legs, December returned her attention to the tablet, tapping and swiping quickly as she dialed up specific files. Then, turning the tablet towards Zmiya, she tapped the screen's center to begin a short clip that had been saved. It was from just hours ago, amid April's maintenance, and shot through her own eyes. The clip didn't include sound, but it did feature the host doll glimpsing around the room as she was worked on. "Benny told me one of his men found April on the floor earlier, so I decided to check in just in case. After all, no one knows better how hard she can be to control than I do, but..." Gesturing to the pad, the doll continued."... I've never seen her be so cooperative, especially with a new face," she admitted, watching the woman's expression. "You must really have a way with her."
 
"Give 'em hell, kid."​

The mechanic made a noise of amusement. It wasn't often anyone called her "kid."

"Enter."​

So it was the android after all. Observing the head matron doll's work, she seemed to embody secretary, janitor and lieutenant all in one. In a less enslaved life, she might have been a nest caretaker or a mother. She wondered what December would have chosen with such freedom.

"Give me a moment. I'll be right with you."​

Zmiya took a couple moments to observe everything in the room other than the chalk board and the emulation. When she entered for the interview-slash-negotiation, she had to remain locked in and attentive to the asshole in charge. Here, now, she could take in all the details of the space and what its owner had chosen to do with it; she hadn't reviewed her recordings of the room yet and had little desire to do so, really.

"It's a silly thing, I know, using chalk and slate when the information is at his fingers... But, it helps him feel in control... like he's running things... and I'm sure you agree that that's good for both of us."​

Nodding absently, she eventually took the seat across the desk. While her gaze wasn't openly hostile, it was still antipathetic. She was not a woman who forgot the choices of others.

"Benny told me one of his men found April on the floor earlier, so I decided to check in just in case. After all, no one knows better how hard she can be to control than I do, but... I've never seen her be so cooperative, especially with a new face. You must really have a way with her."​

The number of souls who had any understanding of the scope of the mechanic's paranoia and attention to detail could be counted with less than five fingers, and the number dropped when 'still living' was an important distinction in the count. In the age of void, one could never assume one's business wasn't being observed, and one had to be both thorough and consistent in their adaptations and mitigations if they wanted any true privacy. Given her proclivities, discretion became significantly more important to keeping control over her future's path.

All of her preparations delivered a certain satisfaction when proven valuable, which December did here, on her first block of work. It wasn't especially strange, really, and even if what happened between her and April likely ranked somewhere in that greyly unusual area of interaction, she still preferred control over the narrative. Given that April's own sense of events wasn't wiped from it, though, she chose her words carefully, the edge of antipathy remaining as December's remarks could be construed multiple negative ways. "From what I've heard of the last mechanic, I'd wonder if April has ever dealt with someone qualified." Watching the matron's response in return, she continued after a pause, "We had our share of disagreements, of course, but it became cooperative in the end. It even expressed eagerness for our next maintenance session." With that, she leaned in a little, a subtle but noticeable smile appearing on her expression. "Even with difficult patients, I do my best."
 
"From what I've heard of the last mechanic, I'd wonder if April has ever dealt with someone qualified."​

December gave a quiet huff as she considered the notion, a silent nod and raised eyebrows would denote that she'd agreed, even if she hadn't said it out loud. It was true that Gavick hadn't been any great craftsman, and the fact that he took payment from his patients directly seemed to be breaking some sort of code. There hadn't been much she could have done about it. They were dolls who'd been created to be played with, after all, and it hadn't mattered to Reynolds in which form the old mechanic had taken payment. In all likelihood, he was glad to have the dolls paying for their own upkeep.

"We had our share of disagreements, of course, but it–"​

At the use of the word 'it' the doll cocked her head slightly. It wasn't uncommon for people to call the dolls as objects rather than people–hell, it may not even be all that inaccurate–but she had expected the mechanic to see things a little deeper that that.

"–became cooperative in the end. It even expressed eagerness for our next maintenance session."​

She didn't bring it up, not now, but a whisper of consideration hummed in the doll. Of course, she had no way of knowing that because of April's difficulties with straightforward communication it led to a less than clear understanding of her pronouns–though, if anyone was to not give a damn about pronouns, it was certainly April.

"Even with difficult patients, I do my best."​

As the mechanic leaned in, there was an odd shift in their demeanor. Something almost unstable, but not quite menacing. Something that challenged, but didn't present. It was an odd little quirk to say the least, but December had no intention of attempting to unpack those thoughts with the woman now. "Do you?" the android asked, not expecting or waiting for an answer. "Well, good. That's why I wanted to talk to you," she added after a short pause. Collecting the tablet, she swiped the device off and placed it into a drawer in Reynold's desk. "The girls like you, mostly. Nova had little in the way of complaints. I haven't spoken to April yet, but her opinion of everyone shifts regularly so who's to say." A measured breath gave pause to her words, and made space for Zmiya's before she continued.

"To be clear." Her posture was perfect, exacting and precise as she clasped hands gently before her, seated straight without so much as a hair out of place, though that was easier to maintain for a doll who only entertained select clients. "I know you're on a temporary agreement with Reynolds, but I believe you when you say you do your best, so I'd like to try and encourage you to consider this long term." Her voice was stern, but soft, and her eyes never left her companies. "I'd like us to be allies here, so come to me first if you're thinking of leaving... I know he can be difficult to deal with...." There was a pause as she weighed whether or not to continue. "... and if you aren't going to stay, try not to make friends with them," she added, knowing how difficult that could be for the dolls.
 
Her response to the assertion was noted. A mix of dignity and frustration she wagered, unable to immediately parse her emotions to a greater precision without a connected diagnostic tool. That there was some consternation mixed with affirmation boded well, though. If she didn't care for the autonomy or well being of her sisters and charges, she was ill-fit to continue in her sort of role indefinitely.

She noted the response the android made to her words, but filed it away for later analysis.

"Do you? Well, good. That's why I wanted to talk to you."​

Leaning back in the chair as way of response, she watched the matron with vigilant curiosity.

"The girls like you, mostly. Nova had little in the way of complaints. I haven't spoken to April yet, but her opinion of everyone shifts regularly so who's to say."​

She would be familiar with her inconstancy, wouldn't she? "Five questions, five answers, and some truth between for that one," she remarked off-handedly. The mechanic seemed to regard the difficult doll as a solved equation, even though it would be some time before that was truly the case.

"To be clear. I know you're on a temporary agreement with Reynolds, but I believe you when you say you do your best, so I'd like to try and encourage you to consider this long term."​

Though she had no trouble mirroring her precision and care, she was a little more relaxed than the emulation. Between fatigue and history, it wasn't quite as important to present an impeccable performance to December compared to Reynolds. She held her gaze unflinchingly, listening passively while she continued.

"I'd like us to be allies here, so come to me first if you're thinking of leaving... I know he can be difficult to deal with.... and if you aren't going to stay, try not to make friends with them."​

A small cant of her head followed, the woman considering all that was shared. Though a callous caretaker might suggest that last bit out of ease of control of their charges, the rest of the present remarks and tone clashed with an image that sychopanted to Reynolds' values. This much she appreciated, as she'd held some space of concern that the android fell into a slaveowner's minion sort of role and all its attached sympathies. All the same, Zmiya had to be careful with what she chose to share, how she phrased it, and when each bit of information was divulged. "Unless conditions change drastically, I do not see myself leaving this position while I reside on the Eye, which I similarly plan to remain on for some time. If such came to pass, I would let you all know as much in advance as I was able."

That said plenty in agreement, but she went further in intimating some of her stance. "You all have my respect. Even those of you who work hard to dismantle my trust." It was easy to guess who she was referring to there, and extrapolate implications beyond. Here in the office of the enemy, she did not speak more controversial or revolutionary rhetoric, or promise any fanciful outcomes. She hadn't deeply infiltrated Reynolds' systems yet, after all, nor had she acquired a deep level of trust from December.

All of which was why she needed time.
 
It was a tiring thing being the defacto-matriarch of the Dollhouse, but December had little time to dwell on such things or unpack them for herself. If her grip slipped for even a moment...

"Unless conditions change drastically, I do not see myself leaving this position while I reside on the Eye, which I similarly plan to remain on for some time. If such came to pass, I would let you all know as much in advance as I was able."​

As she listened, December didn't nod or gesture like one might when encouraging another to talk. She sat still, more still than the average person did; no tapping of fingers; no twirling of pens; no idle fidget or absent tick. The doll was all business almost all of the time. "I appreciate that," she said, tacking the statement on to the end of Zmiya's like an obliged follow-up.

"You all have my respect. Even those of you who work hard to dismantle my trust."​

A short, strangled huff–the closest thing to laughter that she would allow–followed. It was no secret that the girls were difficult to deal with. May was a nurturer to them all, and January and July only sought to please. February was so quiet she hardly made wakes at all, which was its own kind of problem at times. November was typically her most reliable ally, but the rest of them? They could all stir the pot, and it took a firm hand and hard decisions to keep them all together. Maybe not happy, but alive–whatever that meant for a doll.

Swiveling in her chair, December seemed to relax a touch as she looked up at the board. Her shoulders dropped a smidge and her breath came and went a little easier. Sharp, blue eyes panned over the board, dropping all the way down to row 12, emulation ID 834627, number of resets: two. She was old compared to the other dolls, very old. "I want to be sure you understand. If you have any issues with them–any of the dolls–come to me first. If your pay is insufficient; if your work space is inferior; if security is giving you issues, it should be brought to me. The less attention Reynold's pays to this establishment, the better."
 
"I appreciate that."​

If an emulation could be the polar opposite of April, it would be December, apparently. The woman didn't dislike that in the slightest, of course. Hearing her perform some version of a laugh was pleasant, too. Better that she have some sense of humor than none.

"I want to be sure you understand. If you have any issues with them–any of the dolls–come to me first. If your pay is insufficient; if your work space is inferior; if security is giving you issues, it should be brought to me. The less attention Reynold's pays to this establishment, the better."​

That was a tad unexpected. December had no reason to trust her completely, yet spoke with open distance from her 'employer'. Either Reynolds didn't bother reviewing any surveillance inside of this room, had disabled much of it, or the android had taken control. Any of which was a favorable possibility - not that she expected the matron would outright tell her which one was true, at present. "Oh?" she asked with some interest. "How often does he come here, anyway?" A potentially idle question on the surface of it. It was plenty beyond that, however.

"Anyway, I appreciate that. I'll figure out moving my accommodations closer after I finish up restoration maintenance on everyone so you can all get some open air outside of the Dollhouse again." A proper setup would also make her work easier and involve less uncomfortable positioning of her body, as well as remove her from the security net of Reynolds. It also allowed for 'other' things.

After whatever conversation followed that, she added, "I'll have a list of questions about the others by the time it's your turn, so you can fill me in on some details then." Subtle eagerness lingered in her smile. If the emulation was firmly interested in being her ally, everything would go much smoother down the line.
 
"Oh? How often does he come here, anyway?"​

The relationship between Reynolds and the dolls was tenuous at best, but it was a symbiotic relationship that they begrudgingly upheld. Being an emulation meant having few protections in an area of the universe that already was not known for its law enforcement. Reynolds ensured their protection to some degree, if only for consideration of his investments. They'd fantasized about their escape from under the man plenty of times, but it would necessitate leaving the Eye, and hiding their presence long enough to make it aboard a freighter wasn't easy in today's world. Perhaps one doll, but all twelve? Of course, there were always the old rumors of a doll that escaped, and that was fuel enough to keep the fire alive.

"I don't have access to his scheduler, but this establishment is one of many endeavors. I run most of the day-to-day care." It was a sickeningly self-sufficient system. The more money the Dollhouse made, the less Reynolds had to pay attention to it. Which incentivized December to keep her siblings productive, often painting her as the enemy among them.

"Anyway, I appreciate that. I'll figure out moving my accommodations closer after I finish up restoration maintenance on everyone so you can all get some open air outside of the Dollhouse again."​

The notion softened her a degree, the hard edges of her clinical gaze smoothed out at the idea that Zmiya would procure long term accomodations. The headache that was finding a qualified mechanic or otherwise going without was reason enough for her to breath a little easier, but even beyond that... it would be nice to get out again. "Not... not too close, if you can help it." Uncharacteristically, the doll's fingers squirmed in her own clasped-hand grip, for a person as stifled as December that might as well have been broadcasting to the whole world how anxious she was about the idea. "It's as close as they get to a vacation, and the others enjoy seeing the venders and stalls."

"I'll have a list of questions about the others by the time it's your turn, so you can fill me in on some details then."​

That was an interesting prospect, and one that she respected. Collecting questions insinuated intentional thought rather than just idly remembering something. Though, it struck her as curious that she wouldn't just ask those questions to the subject directly, but of course some things probed too deep to answer truthfully. Absently, she wondered what questions the woman would have about her. "I look forward to it," she replied, allowing the smallest of smiles to cross her lips. "Is there anything you need from me at present?" A classic and typically benign play for conversational dominance. It wasn't that December had any great desire to assert dominion over the woman, but it was second nature for her to seek control. The less people she had pulling her strings the better, and if she was careful she could get hands on a few strings too. She'd learned how to whisper just right, act innocent and helpful, and be the dutiful secretary that Reynolds would never admit to needing. The man might own the building, but the Dollhouse was hers.
 
"I don't have access to his scheduler, but this establishment is one of many endeavors. I run most of the day-to-day care."​

She nodded, assembling a new picture of the establishment's operations. With all that she'd asked her to come to her first about, on top of caring for the operations, she almost certainly had significant pull with all of the staff here. Not ironclad, of course - she was an emulation - but that there was no other appointed leader left her in charge of quite a bit. She supposed that, rather than Reynolds particularly appreciating her hand at management, he enjoyed yet another line item taken off of the Dollhouse's expenses.

Being so cheap could very much cost you in the long run, as he would eventually find out.

"Not... not too close, if you can help it. It's as close as they get to a vacation, and the others enjoy seeing the venders and stalls."​

The sudden softness was another step of unexpected response. It was another set of points in December's favor for how she regarded the lives of the dolls. "I'll choose with that in mind," she replied with a larger smile. What relationship existed between the matron and the others would not be quite the same as the sisterhood potentially available between the androids given her position of power over them. That alone could be rather isolating, yet she cared for their well-being all the same. Was this more caring fellowship or nervous mother energy?

"I look forward to it. Is there anything you need from me at present?"​

She did as well, truthfully. Plying an amiable and cooperative bearer of power and responsibility within the Dollhouse with questions stood to be interesting and helpful all at once. Given the small number of resets on her chart, she would hold the largest wealth of knowledge. What she was willing to part with had yet to be seen.

"Beyond an extra blanket?" Zmiya made a show of considering her next words despite having multiple question lines loaded up and more besides to impart. "I can offer you some psyche evaluation notes if you like. Neither Reynolds or the last mechanic seemed to care, but I take cohesion seriously, and both September and April show signs of instability and deterioration from synchronicity." How 'grounded' an emulation was within its shell, its identity, its relative place within its community, directly affected its chances of psychotic and disassociative breaks. Those two emulations played at different ends of those results, yet the results of a break were often the same: termination of the current instance. Resetting was often traumatic for both the individual and the ones around them. "I'll adapt my maintenance protocols for future work with them to better address that. You'll be much more in a position to do anything about that in the day-to-day, though."

With that information given and any responses fielded, she shifted to a line of inquiry. "Whether concerning that or not, are there any areas of psyche maintenance you'd specifically like me to investigate further? Or software you'd like updated?" Though she said "updated," she clearly meant "modified." "You would know better than most which areas of the dolls' lives could use some improvement or remediation." Of course she'd been asking similar questions of each android so far (when able), and that wouldn't change. Outside perspectives could catch plenty an internal one might not, however, let alone what one may not be willing or able to ask for.
 
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