Vaggie: "Okay ha ha, very funny. Who stole me and Charlie's laundry out of the dryer again- Angel Dust!"
Angel Dust: "Wasn' me."
Vaggie: "Are you wearing my fucking skirt!?"
Angel Dust: "Ooooh~ it's a FUCKIN' skirt, huh? This one kept special for when Charlie jumps ya?"
Vaggie: "Que te la pique un pollo- NO."
Angel Dust: "Aw c'mon toots, we all know you have one~"
Vaggie: "Give me back. My skirt. You. Ass."
Angel Dust: "Speakin' of... is it really still YOUR skirt, Vagina, if MY ass is the one lookin' so utterly fine and fabulous in it?"
Vaggie: "YOU DONT HAVE AN ASS, ANGEL DUST."
Angel Dust: "Yeah? Then what's this beautiful thang here, hmm?"
Vaggie: "I don't know because there's nothing there for you to even POINT at, twig twink!"
Husk: "HA!"
Angel Dust: "Ugh fiiine. Since you're being nice an' usin' my preferred pronouns-"
Vaggie: "Twig???"
Husk: "Twink."
Angel Dust: "-I'll hand over the girlfriend-fucking skirt. The delicius heat from the dryer's mostly gone now anyway. Jus' lemme grab something to throw on over it first..."
Vaggie: "Seriously? THAT'S why you took it?? Dryer heat?"
Angel Dust: "Next best thing to hot bath at the end of a day's hard work, baby! A day's VERY hard, throbbing, aching work-"
Vaggie: "I will throw this spear at you. I WILL ruin your stupid hair."
Husk: "Fucking do it."
Vaggie: "YOU shut up too. You're the one who taught him this in the first place, aren't you?"
Husk: "WHAT? I don't put on your fucking skirts!"
Angel Dust: "Wha' about her non-fucking ones?"
Husk & Vaggie: "Shut up."
Angel Dust: "Touché~ Protestin' too much, me thinks~”
Vaggie: "Husk- we all know you're the one waiting for the dryer to finish so you can drag the laundry onto the floor and sleep on it!"
Husk: "That's bullshit- you've got no proof-"
Angel Dust: "Cat hair, Mr. Whiskers."
Husk: "The fucking hotel has a cat!"
Vaggie: "That smells like a bar and also sheds feathers?"
Husk: "FUCK."
Angel Dust: "Don't break yourself up over it, kitten daddy- If you hadn't shown me the joys of laundry shopping, I'd never have known how GOOD I look in this jacket."
Vaggie: "???? You- IS THAT CHARLIE'S!?!?"
Angel Dust: "Goes good with the skirt, huh? If you two had a kid, they'd fucking SLAY."
Vaggie: "WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU WEARING HER JACKET"
Angel Dust: "Look- she's the only one in this fancy prancy hotel that's got the same measurements as me, at least in the shoulder, hips, and torso department! The only one who's clothes don't smell like dead deer and dusty old radios, anyway!! I'm kinda low on options here, okay?"
Vaggie: "WHAT ABOUT THE OPTION OF DON'T StEAL OUR STUFF?? THAT'S LIKE, THE EASIEST FUCKING OPTION YOU COULD HAVE!"
Angel Dust: "Orrrrr, you two could adopt me as you gay lovechild and give me some fuckin' hand me downs. Or money."
Vaggie: “OUR WHAT!?”
Angel Dust: “Fuck it, give me money an’ I’ll buy my own clothes, mom.”
Vaggie: “I. Am. NOT-”
Charlie: “-hey guys! Has anyone seen my….”
Charlie: “…uh, Vaggie? Why is Angel Dust dressed like our gay lovechild?”
Angel Dust: “HA!”
Charlie: “And did he just call you ‘mom??’”
Vaggie: “I give up. Anyone needs me, I’ll be in the laundry room, shoving myself in the dryer on the hellfire setting.”
Husk: “You’ll have to fucking drag Niffty out first.”
Vaggie: “What.”
Charlie: “What?”
Angel Dust: “WHAT”
Husk: “She was crawling in head first when I left after waking up- uhh- after getting something.”
Angel Dust: (shrieking) “AN’ YOU LEFT HER THERE???”
Vaggie: “Oh shit-”
Charlie: “Vaggie- go! Fly!! Go go go now Now NOW- EMPLOYEE IN THE INDUSTRIAL CLEANING EQUIPMENT THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!!!”
- meanwhile, in the laundry room-
THUMP THUMP THUMP
THUMP…. Thump………… thump
Alastor: “…”
Alastor: (reaches over to knock on dryer door)
Alastor: “Having fun, dear?”
Niffty: (flopping limply half out of dryer) (battered) (scorched) (GRINNING) “Ow pain!”
Alastor: “Quite.”
Niffty: “Heheheh… heHEHEHEH.”
Niffty: (sets the dryer to max again) “More…. PAIN!!!” (shuts door from the inside) (grins from other side with her face pressed against the glass)
Alastor: “Fascinating.”
Thump…Thump. Thump. THUMP THUMPTHUMP-
Cherri Bomb: “…”
Cherri Bomb: “…Know what? You kids have fun. I’m just gonna go, like, break into someone’s house and murder them so I can use their washer and dryer. That’ll be less fucked up than….. whatever this is.” (hefts basket of bloody laundry and bombs) (waves over her shoulder while leaving) “Bye~”
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Do you think bugs fall in love?
Their small bodies host even tinier brains. Built to crawl through soil and rocks bigger than itself. Running on a simple software bouncing between eat, sleep, fight, flight, and copulate.
V1 is smarter than a bug. It must be. It’s a war machine, so it must be. Its programming is complex enough to fry several motherboards; the internals are heated from constant, unrelenting processing needs. If it updates its optical data intake to any greater degree than these rough, messy polygons, it’d surely perish from the overwhelming information.
V1 is built to kill first, survive second. To be fair, survival would ensure more killing, so it’d be more effective. Moving through the battlefield, culling lives, drawing blood. Perfectly aligned with its programmed objectives, then.
Gabriel is smarter than a bug. He must be. He’s an angel, so he must be. He’s one of the best soldiers in the heavenly realm. Armour and swords glistened with pride and justice. He sees all. He judges all. His loyalty and perfect track record have earned him a high rank within the order. Leaving behind the creaturely "it". His light burns hot and bright within his constitution.
Gabriel is built as a messenger of the Father, then a judge of Hell. To be fair, the role of a judge was assigned to him by the council, so he supposes that his placement can be summed up as the bearer of the divine authority to bring right to all other creatures. Perfectly aligned, then.
Bugs… Well, they’re the same. I suppose. Small beings. Running pre-programmed orders derived from centuries of evolution: eat, sleep, fight, flight, and copulate. No role. No responsibilities.
Bugs are built naturally and fully, unlike humankind; but formed and ready to go within seconds from their births, like machines and angels.
So. Do they live?
When the machine and the angel escape their chains, do they see themselves in bugs?
Bugs are born to live, temporarily, fleetingly, yet live nonetheless. Do they, then, deserve to live, freeing and meaninglessly. No role. No responsibilities.
So. Do bugs love?
Do they learn that they can go beyond their basic structures? Do they see their own reflection in each other’s compound eyes? Do they recognize each other’s bodies, scents, heat? Do they feel the desire for closeness?
To flutter wings like a dance of waltz. To brush antennae like butterfly kisses. To greet and caress and lie next to each other near their death.
To move through the sky in battle, in passion. To clash swords and fists and bullets. To greet and caress and lie next to each other near their death.
The same cells in the same blood coursing beneath the same suit of exoskeletons.
Machine, angel, bug. Boiled down to the barest essence of existence; crisp simplicity.
To live, to love.
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I feel like The Father and Hell both understand and experience love in all the worst ways.
The Father sought to create a life form that would follow and love him unconditionally. It wasn't enough that he had a great cosmic kingdom of angels who are unquestioningly loyal, no, he needed something that knew suffering and mortality and the threat of oblivion, and would still find love at the end; love for him above all else. But after numerous implied failures at that, in his desperation, he instead created the threat of eternal damnation to force them to love him in order avert that fate. Lucifer's words must have been like a splash of cold water, but by the time he realized sheer magnitude of suffering he had unintentionally set into motion, it was too late.
He could not destroy Hell; he could not stop the cycle of violence.
That guilt drove him to seek a death that, from the looks of it, eluded him in spite of the hollowness consuming him. And now he is... somewhere, helpless to stop his experiments from consuming one another and themselves in a glorious show of blood and violence.
And then there's Hell itself, who seems to recognize love as an act of violence and cruelty. It is something that derives joy only from the suffering of other living creatures. God gave it so many toys to hurt and break and reform, and Mankind gave it new ones. Why would it understand love as anything but? It gave Minos a facsimile of the son he is most ashamed of, and delighted when he cast it, once more, into a labyrinth. Gabriel flattened all the souls within it's confines beneath his heel and gave those that did bend false hopes.
Now there's V1, tearing its way through the remaining layers and creating a spectacle of violence like nothing Hell has ever witnessed before. How could it not love them all for all the entertainment they've provided?
But deep within its recesses, hidden away from the eyes of Heaven, there was a Gutterman. A machine built for war, who eventually came to love that which it gave it life at the cost of their own. Enough to give the human welded within their coffin the mercy that both Heaven and Hell had denied them; enough to write a single love letter to them, even knowing that it would never be read by its intended recipient.
So, as things turn out, you /can/ teach a machine to love. And they will understand and experience it more sincerely than God or Hell ever could.
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