Chapter Text
*3rd person POV*
The Timekeeper meets and recruits a bunch of arcanists, all somewhat eccentric in their own
ways. John Titor was somehow moved to this squad too, much to her annoyance but alas, the Timekeeper needs a trustworthy engineer like her in her ranks.
Although a new room is nice and all, it is inevitable that someone in this suitcase would barge in and chaos would soon follow. Vertin tends to allow animals and children inside and they're already a hazard in the workplace, the adults she can tolerate but she can't help but think about her old spot in Laplace. She could peacefully program and compute while everyone else leaves her be–likely turned off by how she talks– she writes just fine but many have asked her to speak like a human, it's not her fault they're too stupid to not know how to talk to her…and maybe she doesn't know how to talk to them.
Today was nothing special, many members of Team Timekeeper–the mechanical kind– had
undergone some sort of physical trauma, no, they didn't go out for missions, rather it was from the shenanigans they got themselves into. First, Lucy had missing data that needed to be recovered after her work on the Equilibrium Umbrellas, Ms. Radio had been waterlogged from the island and finally, someone who just won't leave her alone; A stack of cracked TVs.
Then, said imposing stack mysteriously appears behind her, making her jump.
“53746f7020646f696e67207468617421” (Stop doing that!) She kicks the side of a TV in annoyance.
“Waah!” The girl in the TV yelps in brief pain that grows into a fit of giggles. Sprawled across her work table cluttered with documents and tools sits the mischievous offender; TTT. Titor gave an audible sign that doesn't deter the digital girl's cheeky smile. She doesn't seem to find her cracked screens anything to wince about–Titor tested that–not even removing her head from the rest of her body hurts.
“416761696e3f (Again?)” She can't help but roll her eyes at the engineer's remark.
“It's not my fault! That mercenary threw a whole tantrum after I made him drop his gelato!”
“536f2073636172696e672070656f706c652069736e277420796f7572206661756c743f” (So scaring people isn't your fault?)
“Well, people get spooked by me regardless, but I had to give him a fright anyway. Serves him right for using me as a shield all the time! Hmph!”
Suddenly the girl's eyes shone bright and sparkled with a mix of excitement and mischief. ‘Geez
she really needs some brown contacts…’–is what Titor wants to say as she squints away from the screen, but she doesn't seem to want to for some reason–But why would she be worried about her feelings? They've teased each other before. But it's been almost a year since they've met. She couldn't stand her sometimes, she couldn't understand what sort of agenda the Timekeeper takes to recruit the idiots in the room or see how someone who could trade intimate information for her own self-gain and satisfaction would not be a security risk. The Timekeeper seemed to like playing with fire but now she gets it; This is just the Foundation's dump for all the arcanists they can't conform to their standard.
“Say… why don't we have some girl talk? You and me, surely you have time to multitask, right?”
“…” Upon her request being met with feigned ignorance, she knows it, she rests her head on her arm and speaks.
“Come on, you're stuck with me for a while and I'm stuck with you, not that I mind though! So instead of just staring at each other, let's chat and maybe…you'd like to share some secrets with me?”
“492068617665206e6f7468696e6720666f7220796f752e” (I have nothing for you.)
“Come on, everyone has something to hide. You can tell me anything no matter if the secrets are shallow, they'll always be intriguing.”
“596f7520617265207375636820612077656972646f2e” (You are such a weirdo.)
“That’s rude, but it's true when I say it would be intriguing– I mean, secrets are a means of developing a deeper understanding of one another, wouldn't you agree?” Just then, TTT couldn't help but notice the blue square clip in John Titor's hair. It's such a simple shape–plain too– it makes her wonder its significance to the stubborn engineer.
“So… would you like to tell me more about yourself, Miss Military? Or perhaps you'd like to hear my story? Ooh! How about you tell me why you talk funny?” No answer awaits her for a minute. “…Alright, you don't seem to be fond of conversation, fine…”
“436f72726563742e204927642072617468657220666f637573206f6e206d792063757272656e742061737369676e6d656e742e20476f20626f7468657220736f6d656f6e6520656c73652e” (Correct. I'd rather focus on my current assignment. Go bother someone else.)
TTT huffs but reluctantly complies. To her, people are good hiders but she's always found ways to
read them easily but John Titor is an especially tough safe to crack open, her face nary betrays a shred of her thoughts–no, that's not completely true–she's seen the way she goes smug with pride at her fancy Corvette 1966 Black and the way she drools over her breakfast poultry. She'd be lying if she said she didn't miss or wish to have a taste too, it's in those times where she misses her body the most.
Back to Titor, she's enjoying the peace and quiet where TTT had once filled with endless chatter.
But there's one more issue at hand; she can feel her staring very intensely at her, catching every time her hand reaches up to nudge her glasses back up her bridge, every wipe of her brow and every blush she catches. –wait what? Why is she blushing?
John Titor doesn't move her head away from the fried wires but her eyes dare to peek
upwards to confirm if she really was just imagining things–and unfortunately, no she wasn't. TTT is still examining her silently, either she happened to look away in time or she's pretending to be ignorant to that blush on her face. Then, they lock eyes and TTT gives her a smile.
‘Oh God, that fucking goofy smile!’
Titor's inner and most hidden thoughts dance around the right side of her brain, good thing she had already mended all she needed to mend but now she feels something in her brain had short-circuited. Could it be the TV radiation? Possibly. But nonetheless something about this girl was…disconcerting.
“Titor..?”
What pretty blue eyes you have…
“Helllooo?”
Snapping back to reality, she realized what just came through her head in horror and how close her face was to the screen that even TTT felt uncomfortable, so did her eyes.
“Ah, you're back! Did no one ever tell you you shouldn't be so close to a screen before?”
TTT had seen everything, the way John Titor blushed was kinda cute–yes, she said it, she's kinda cute and unlike the tomato for a nerd, she's unabashed by it–Don't get the wrong idea, she meant it platonically, right? She's definitely straight the last time she checked, all that stuff with Vertin was just her playing around.
“416c6c20646f6e652e”(All done.)
Seizing the chance, Titor makes a 180 degree turn for the door to compose herself.
“What, what? Already?! But, you didn't answer my question!” John Titor had already grabbed her IBM5100 and made a dash out the door, lucky for her, one of them doesn't have actual legs but she stopped at the door by instinct.
“576861743f” (What?)
“That hair clip, what's so special about it?.”
“4e6f7468696e672c206a7573742061206d65616e696e676c657373206163636573736f727920492077617320676976656e” (Nothing, just a meaningless accessory I was given.)
TTT doesn't buy it but now she knows there's something she's hiding. The first piece of a
complex jigsaw has been handed to her and she's ever more intrigued to see the whole picture like her otherworldly badge and her numeric ways of speech–afterall, this is how she understands people. Unfortunately, John Titor had already left to attend to other business.
“Hmph! Fine, I'll learn all your secrets one day.”