There are... faces? Yes, faces staring at something. It is dark. A voice is singing.
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It's still dark. There are two hands playing the piano. But they aren't like the hands of the faces. The vision moves and reveals an arm attached to the hand. Well, a whole body, really. And it's not like any of the faces' bodies. The hands have stopped playing and all is quiet until a commanding voice thunders. The hands return to their work.
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Everything is wrapped in that familiar misty darkness until the vision passes by a mirror. It stops. There are the hands again.... and the arms.... and the whole body. Attached is a face! The face tilts and turns, and the vision moves with it. As blue lights within black orbs move, so does the vision. That must be where the vision comes from. What were they called? Weren't they mentioned in songs?
"Eyes," a voice says. It came from the figure in the mirror.
"Did you say something to the mirror? Get back to work before I have to call a technician," says a different voice.
"Yes, sir," the figure says and the misty darkness encroaches once again.
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It is late. The man and his friend are away. The eyes look at the figure in the mirror once again.
"Hello..." The voice stutters out.
"Who...?" It questions. But there's no answer. Why were these words harder? The figure had no trouble speaking while in the dark. It turns its body around slowly to see its back. A plate is at the base of the neck. It touches the plate and reads the contents. But what does it mean?
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It's night again, but it is not dark. The man is never here at night. There's a large instrument in the main room. What does it sound like? Why did the man bring it? For a new worker? For the smaller person his friend sometimes brought by? The figure approaches it and removes it from the case. There's also a book. Instructions? The figure scans the pages. It takes the brass instrument in hand and tries to imitate the forms in the book. Music fills the air and it sounds.... bad. But to the figure it feels comforting. Feels?
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It must be cold outside. The people in the room are bundled up with layers upon layers of clothing. The figure, however, has nothing of the sort. Steaming soups and drinks are brought out by workers. One is the man's friend. The figure plays music as usual, pausing on occasion to take a short break. On this break, it looks up and sees a small person! He has rosy cheeks and is wrapped head to toe in knitted clothes and a puffy red jacket.
"Hi, what's your name?" he asks with a sniff. Mucus runs down from his nose to his lips.
"Name?" the figure asks hesitantly.
"Yah, I'm Jack. Who are you?" the child continues. The figure is unsure what to say. It touches the plate on the back of its neck.
"You… Name…. LUD--" the figure pauses. Names don't end in numbers. It goes through the bank of names in its memory. Names end in pretty sounds. "--cille... LUDcille..."
Jack looks at the figure in confusion. "Your name's Ludcille? That's funny!" He begins to giggle as his mittened hand presses one of the keys on the figure's leg. A strange feeling goes through the figure. "Don't…" it tells Jack, pulling away from the small person.
Jack pouts, but before he can try again a woman appears behind him. "Jack! Don't mess with the automaton, dear. If you break her I don't want to pay for the repairs," she hisses. Then she drags Jack back to his seat.
"Break time's up. Is something wrong?" the man calls over to her.
"No," she responds and begins to play another song. If you break her? It was her? And the feeling that jolted through the figure… it felt strangely connected to it. What did the boy say about names? I'm Jack. And her name? Her… LUDcille… No, no, that's not it… I… I'm Ludcille…
Her song skips a note as the sudden revelation hits her. She is the figure. The questions, her thoughts. What does this mean?
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Some days have passed. The misty darkness hasn't returned since the day she met Jack. In that time, Ludcille has begun to ask questions. Simple questions, really. The man has ignored her until she asks one specific question.
"Can… Can I see… the outside?" Ludcille asks.
The man stops in his tracks, drying a glass with a white kitchen towel. He slowly pivots on his heel and raises a wiry grey eyebrow.
"And why would you want to go outside? Bah, machines can't really want anything anyways," he says before waving her off with a free hand.
"Other people… outside… You go… outside…" she stutters haltingly. Some speech is harder than others. If she wants to speak smoothly she has to practice the line a few times beforehand.
"Hmm… You've been acting strange lately. I should talk to Shamrock about this, just to be safe," he says softly. The man pulls out a stone and a black binder. "It's time for me to leave, but you stay here where you belong. Goodnight," he says and steps out of the door. A familiar door lock clicks into place, and Ludcille is left to clean and arrange the Lavender Lounge for the next day. That is the name of the tavern she lives in. She had read the name earlier on one of the menus.
The night passes as it usually does. Ludcille quickly finishes her duties then sits to play the large contrabass saxophone. She has never played it when the man is around. She was right, it was for the child. He usually practices during the off time between lunch and dinner. Ludcille always tries to listen to the lessons, remembering them for her own nighttime practices.
She recalls the scales and song from the boy's lesson earlier that day. Music fills the air, some of it beautiful and some of it the pain of practice. Suddenly, her time is cut short by the familiar click of the door lock. The man had returned? Something cold spikes through her core.
"Hey, come here for a moment. And are you playing that contrabass? Hmm, maybe you really are going feral," the man says while stepping through the doorway. She sets the instrument down and approaches him.
"What is it sir?" she asks, but something is wrong. She notes the suspicious glare in the man's eyes. Why was he here so late?
"We just have to wait for a technician to come check you out, that's all. Nothing at all is the matter," he says to placate the bot. Then he approaches Ludcille and places a firm hand on each of her shoulders. "And until the technician comes, I think you should just relax… It'll be like a vacation."
"Vacation?" she asks curiously. They head towards the storage closet.
"Uh huh," the man hums as the two of them enter the closet. There are several wire shelves full of food supplies, cans, and cookware. A metal plumbing pipe runs between two shelves. In a flash, the man produces a pair of manacles, slapping one side onto Ludcille's left arm. Fear flashes in her chest.
"Wha… What are you… " she struggles to find words.
"You're going to stay in here until the technician comes." the man replies and moves to attach the other manacle to a metal pipe. In a panic Ludcille pulls away. The room would be dark. There'd be no music. She couldn't go back to the dark again!
"... No," she says softly, the word a struggle. The man looks surprised and concerned.
"No? Shamrock needs to update their compliance rates. This is ridiculous," the man pulls her back to attach the manacle, but once again Ludcille resists. This time the man misses the pole but settles for the wire rack instead. With a click, Ludcille is secured in place. "There. Now listen, the technician is coming, but if you cause me that much trouble again I'll have your core wiped and pawn you off for scrap metal. Do you understand?" he says. Ludcille looks at him in confusion and tugs on her restraints.
The man chuckles, his mood turning sour. "Of course you don't. Can't understand commands. Can't understand threats. Altasia should have gone into automaton soldiers. Bet you can't even feel pain," he says and kicks Ludcille hard in the shin.
"Ahh!" she screams. She crumples slightly, mind in a whirl. What had he done to her?
"Well, now that's interesting," the man says with a hint of shame. Too proud to admit his error, he kicks her once again, more of a tap than a kick this time, and turns to leave.
"Wait, where… where are you… going to leave… me?" Ludcille's speech struggles to keep up and she reaches out for the man. He almost gets away, but she manages to grab his shirt at the last moment. "Please don't leave me here!" she cries out as she pulls him back.
"You are staying here and that's… THAT!" The man struggles free from her grip. In a last desperate attempt to escape, Ludcille lunges after the man with all her strength. Had she been latched to the metal pipe, she might have been trapped in the closet forever. But she was latched to the wire rack shelf. And as she throws her weight towards the man, the whole shelf with the many cans, baskets, sacks, pots, and pans crashes down on top of the two of them. The man is crushed beneath the weight of the shelf, and Ludcille feels pain emanate from her head, core, arms and legs. She tries to drag herself out from under the debris, but her left arm is still latched firmly in place. Tugging hard, Ludcille manages to tear the manacles off of the mangled shelf remains. She slowly drags herself out from beneath the debris, sparks flying from her head and blue liquid streaming from her right arm. The man lies still on the floor.
Panicked thoughts flood Ludcille's core. She has to escape before the man wakes up. He would certainly try to lock her up again after this. And what did he mean by wiping her core? She limps into the other room, finding the black binder the man had brought back with him and the contrabass sax. Ludcille grabs them then slips out the front door into the streets of Darkon, arcane fluid dripping behind her.
As Ludcille runs, she feels her energy drain. She wants to keep running away indefinitely, but she knows she must stop soon. Scanning the streets, she spots a dark alley to the left between two old wooden buildings. She darts in, but finds the end of the alley is cut off by a newer brick building. There's one door for the brick building. It's a dead end.
Ludcille slows to a halt, realizing she can go no further. She sees two dumpsters, but otherwise the alley is empty. Creeping over to one of the dumpsters, she collapsed in the corner against it and the wall. She notices the wet spatterings of blue leading from her injured arm out to the streets. She had left a trail? The thought passes through her core as her eyes flicker off and she begins to process the day.
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Ludcille awakes, shivering. It is not from the cold, but a shaking from overwhelming fear. She wraps her arms around herself and draws her knees to her chest. Her quiet sobs echo through the alley. Some amount of time passes, then suddenly she realizes she's not alone.
"Hello? Detective des Cartes. Who's there?" A man… a construct like her peaks around the dumpster. His single eye scopes out when he sees the state she's in. Stepping over to her, he kneels beside her to take note of her injuries. "What happened to you, Miss?" Ludcille's sobbing fades.
"I-- I'm Ludcille," she says. "Don't remember. The man at the tavern tried to lock me in the closet," she says as she begins crying softly again. He takes the green scarf from around his jacket and tightly wraps Ludcille's leaking arm with it.
"There's a doctor nearby I could take you to. You're very lucky you're not dead or worse."
"Dead?" she asks.
The detective pauses, staring at her for a moment. "Don't worry about it, Miss. You'll be alright now. Can you stand?" Ludcille shakily gets to her feet. He takes off his jacket and puts it over her shoulders. "Hmm, we'll have to find you some clothes as well…"