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The wheel of the year turned and turned and Curnen found herself at an anniversary of sorts that she flatly didn't want to be remembering but got stuck on a loop of anyway.

This time there was no taking the hell off into the wilderness, though. Nor were there endless, circular recitations of "The Queen of Argyll." Rather than be poisoned by the memory of someone she still hated like everloving fuck, she focused on remembering the friend she'd lost. And besides this being Kash's song, she figured it was never a bad time around here for "John Barleycorn." Perched on the roof with her guitar, she sang of John Barleycorn's dying and rising again, subtle magic weaving into her voice to lead anyone lost in their little bubble world this way.

There was three men come out of the west their fortunes for to try,
And these three men made a solemn vow, John Barleycorn must die,
They ploughed, they sowed, they harrowed him in, threw clods upon his head,
And these three men made a solemn oath John Barleycorn was dead.

It was Kash's song, in her mind, but you talked to half the people around here and it wasn't a bad fit for them, either. From her vantage point, she watched the road.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I don't process disgust like humans, if that's what you're asking. Smell plays a role in my pattern recognition." Connor angled his head, straightening his cuffs on lap. He didn't eat, nor was he susceptible to disease. Possessing a sense of disgust was nothing but a barrier to accomplishing oftentimes grisly tasks. Perhaps this was a lead-in to an unsavory favor being asked?

How sad that his initial assumption had been that Xavin was inquiring about unpleasant smells. “I was not. I thought perhaps, since you can not eat or drink, something pleasant to smell would suit. Many teas are very pleasant-smelling.” Jasmine, for one. Various fruit-type teas. “But if there is no pleasant versus unpleasant scale for you it is perhaps not a good idea.”

Connor pressed his lips together. Xavin had, in fact, been trying to do him a favor rather than seeking one. It was...unexpected.

“It’s not a metric I use, no.” He affirmed, LED flickering. All his faculties were devoted to navigating this exchange. The only other soul to focus this much on him was Kamski himself. Connor was an object of utility, and one that could be replaced at any time. Nothing less and nothing more.

“...But, perhaps, you could show me.” He added after a pause.

"Of course." Xavin turned and dropped a jasmine tea bag into a mug, then poured hot water over it. Tea bags weren't the best tea, but if it was just aroma it would be fine. Jasmine tea smelled just like the flowers, so it seemed like a natural place to start.

Once the tea had steeped enough, he placed the mug in front of Connor. "There, try that."

The warm, volatile aroma compounds filled the air, and Connor inclined his head to give it a quiet whiff. Though he could parse out the quantities of certain ingredients--the caffeine from the green tea, benzyl alcohol, linalool, among others--the combination triggered a memory. Lieutenant Anderson, once again, this time hurrying ahead in a dogged refusal to keep pace with him despite the rain. They passed a coffee shop where a barista was offering 4 ounce samples of their new jasmine tea blend, and made a point of offering to some to the detective to calm his nerves. Naturally, it didn't work.

The mug was steaming, and after a quick assessment over the temperature, he stuck the tip of his finger in and pressed it to his tongue. A clearer picture of the chemical composition was painted for him, as well as a few potential sources of the ingredients based on the micronutrients. "Does your biology allow you to experience the same stimulant or relaxant effects of certain substances as humans?"

"I am a shapeshifter. When I am human, I am biologically indistinguishable from a human. When I am an object, I am indistinguishable from that object. In either case, I remain me as it is only my physicality that changes." It was, probably, a good thing that neither Xavin nor any of the Runaways he knew best (he remained unsure about Gert, dead so soon after he'd met her) were given to philosophy. The idea that Xavin still possessed a mind, consciousness, senses, and will while physically in a form that should possess none of those things might have been worrying.

Connor took all that information in as a matter of course--one of his skills was swift adaptation, after all. "Are there limits on your ability to shapeshift?" Though, he was still given to some natural curiosity. He lightly tapped the rim of the mug, fingers and processors at work.

"Not really, no. In practice I mostly stick to this shape," Xavin shifted into her usual female form and, when it felt more like relaxing than flexing muscles, stayed there, "or this one. I believe humans and other fellow residents to be more comfortable when I blend this way."

Watching Xavin shift before his eyes was as fascinating as it was alarming--not the act in and of itself, but if a being with such abilities would render his own obsolete in his own world. "I can relate." Oddly, he wasn't just saying it to fill gaps in conversation, he meant it. "My appearance is simply an outer skin composed of synthetic fluid. If I deactivated it, it would severely compromise my ability to blend in."

Then, a pause. "Now, I'm compelled to ask your preferred pronouns."

"You are very polite." Xavin nodded. "When I look female, as now, I am she/her. When I am male, as I was, I am he/him. If you do not have current direct knowledge, I have decided that she/her is best." After a brief pause, she added, "My ex-fiancée preferred to consider me female unless she knew otherwise, and that is comfortable for me, so I encourage it."

Connor nodded in acknowledgement. Gender identity was only something that he took into account when dealing with humans--and now, humanoids. Beyond the superficial identifying characteristics, gender was meaningless when applied to androids.

"You've been very..." 'Cooperative' seemed innapropriate, "Helpful since we've met, Xavin. I appreciate it."

"Of course. Suddenly arriving here is difficult enough for most people, I think, without adding unnecessary additional difficulty." She smiled pleasantly. "I have seen that some peaceful companionship and conversation helps a great deal, at least for some. I am happy to provide it."

It seemed Xavin took pride in her work, and if nothing else, it had given Connor some space to make sense of things. "Have you seen other arrivals today?" He rose, slowly, pushing the mug back towards her.

"I believe I've seen one other in passing, but I have not spoken to her yet. A young woman with a green scarf around her head." It was a very pretty green scarf, and Xavin was almost sure that it had religious significance, but she wasn't sure enough to hold forth about anything more than the existence of the scarf.

"I see." A woman in a scarf--a hijab, possibly?--didn't ring a bell. Connor straightened his tea and reached into his breast pocket and produced a quarter coin. "Not that that seems to be necessary, but I can't offer compensation. Would you accept something else?"

"There is no need. I regard the conversation as payment enough." And there was no real use for money in the Inn anyway.

"In that case..." Connor paused, considering what approach would suit the circumstances, "In return for when I sample your drinks, I could show you the anti-gravity muscle pass."

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