accio_rp | The Inspection

On the whole, the weather had been temperamental lately. One minute, it was absolutely bucketing it down, and the next, it was bright sunshine. The amount of rain had turned the ground into a muddy mess, but at least the tents provided perfectly adequate shelter, and a gazebo had been erected over the community dining table to protect everyone from the elements.

Despite the temperamental weather, however, it had been fairly warm throughout the past two weeks, so the chill in the air during dinner that evening was particularly noticeable, even before the dark, hooded figure by the Ministry's representative's desk had been seen.

Nervously, the Ministry representative approached the table.

"I'm afraid we have a visitor," he said, addressing everyone at the table and hoping that anyone not there could hear him. "This is a Dementor, one of the Guards at Azkaban. It's a high security prison. He's just here to, well, ensure that a certain escaped criminal isn't hiding amongst you.

"I don't expect he'll be here for more than an half an hour, so do try not to worry too much. They can make people rather, well... uncomfortable."

Bowing his head slightly, he left the Outsiders to their meal.

[And so, a Dementor is lurking around the camp, just in case one of the Outsiders is secretly Sirius Black. They're known to sap the happiness out of the environment, and - in cases where there are true horrors in someone's past - cause traumatic memories to resurface.

The chilly, depressed feeling can be lifted by the deliciousness of chocolate, though the Outsiders will need to discover this on their own. Good thing there's dessert.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Through sheer will you have claimed a soul from the cycle of reincarnation?

[That earns an open look of surprise, if brief. Such a thing is, if perhaps not impossible, certainly shocking.]

If you can call it that. In my world we do not have a known cycle such as that.

[At least it wasn't a subject touched on.]

You do not need to know it for it to exist. Souls unsuited for Asgard or Hel's embrace do not simply vanish.

[The arrogance that assumes all worlds are as her world is entirely unconscious and instinctual, and so her pronouncement is quite matter-of-factual.]

But who is to say our world is governed by your laws then? We do not acknowledge the presence of Asgard or Hel. Our world even is in the process of colonizing our own solar system.

The gods have little care for mortals in turn, but that does not stop them from existing. Besides, do you not take comfort in knowing that the soul you have gained will continue on after your death?

Mmm. You have a point. But I do not intend to expire for a long time. There is a young man I must provide aid to until it is his time to pass on, and help whatever children come after that.

Intent is no guarantee. A mortal being is never given to know their hour of death. Far less in this land, where the ruler supposedly intending to protect us has sent a monster to guard us.

Monster? [Chachamaru cocked her head to the side. She had barely felt the sensation of the demenetor.]

The dementor does not feed off you?

Strange. You have a soul. [That is not in doubt. Though on the mortal plane, in a mortal guise, she has a much-diminished sense of such things, she suspects even that the girl would be worthy of being Chosen.]

It seemed to be a minor discomfort at best. Perhaps I am more resistant to it being that my body is mechanical in nature.

[She was worried that the cold sensation wouldn't stop though.]

That which they feed on is not of the body. But perhaps they do not recognize you as prey, though you would surely feed them if they chose to try.

Mmm I see. Perhaps it is because my mind is composed of a shielded computer in tandem with magical force, that it keeps them from selecting me as a target.

I could not say. I do not wish to study them. Whatever dark power is allied with the ruler here is nothing that should be tolerated.

They are not approachable at all, no.

Do not risk it. You clearly value your soul; it is not worth endangering. All the more so since you have claimed it in defiance of that normal cycle.

[She still does not sound judgmental... or rather anything but casually imperious.]

I see. Well then I will keep my distance no matter what.

[She considers. Given what she knows of the situation, she actually reconsiders, allowing knowledge she had set aside to fill in gaps within her estimation of the artificial woman.]

You, too, have the capacity for magic?

Yes, I am actually powered by it. Every twenty four hours or so, I require winding and to be recharged with magical power.

...for humanity to construct a creature that possesses its every virtue... I know not whether this bodes well or ill for it.

[Lenneth is mostly speaking to herself, there. She begins to sense that if word of this were to reach the Allfather, he would not welcome it. But then again, she is not sure she would stand with him in opposition, if not so ordered.]

Perhaps. I am one of a kind after all.

If you are made once, could not more of you be made?

I have sisters, but they are not as sophisticated as I am.

Why is that? Is the magic too variable?

[Of course it must be the magic. The material involved can simply be wrought again by whatever craftsman did it the first time, but magic is a much trickier beast.]

Different construction mostly. I am, more one of a kind than anything else.

[Then why does one not simply use the same construction this time? she wonders, but does not ask. It is in the nature of mortals to create an object and consider themselves satisfied. If she is the pinnacle of achievement, then perhaps her creator is satisfied, and sees no reason to continue. If this is the case, then her existence is less alarming.]

Do you heal? Or must you be repaired?

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