| abstract
| - In the walled city of Brussels, the passage of time seems to have stopped a century or two ago; step-gabled guild houses, gothic churches, and antique shops from the 14th and 15th centuries line the cobbled streets. At the city's center is the Ilot Sacre, the Sacred Isle, the old merchant heart of Brussels with streets named for the merchandise they sell, such as the Rue des Bouchers (Butchers Street) and Rue des Marches aux Herbs (Herbs Market). Tourists, strollers, and artists crowd the streets, the sound of the French, Dutch, and English languages attesting to the varied heritage of the people. Yet Brussels is the seat of the European Union and of NATO, in direct contradiction to its quaint atmosphere. Contents: Amber MacKenzie [Hidden] Obvious exits: North leads to North Sea. Northwest leads to United Kingdom. Southeast leads to Black Forest, Germany. Southwest leads to Paris, France. Up Amber MacKenzie is staring at the ripped ground where the Atomium used to be. Adding to the chaotic mess are some visibly smashed or shot-up buildings, fallen chunks of concrete and steel in various sizes, but at least no bodies. She saw this from afar; turning north, she fixes her gaze on the building in which she hid and watched. "Was it worth it?" she asks no one in particular. Apocryphacius has volunteered to spend his free time helping with repair work in Brussels! It is /possible/ he just wants some waffles. Who can say? In any case, he's along with a group of other volunteers, who are mostly Belgians for obvious reasons. Most of them are attempting to ignore him. He is currently up on a roof, fixing some roofing tiles that were damaged when some giant robot jumped on top of the building. Amber MacKenzie sighs and turns away from the blown-up and rough earth. A small crowd of Belgians catches her eye, mostly because they aren't gaping at the former site of the Atomium, like she was. Following their gaze upwards, she sees a familiar face or five. Her first reaction is to frown and glance quickly around for any of Cross's goons, but the park seems clear at the moment. After mentally marking an escape route should that change, she strolls in their direction. "Evening, Apocryphacius. I was worried about you, but you seem to have come out on top." Even if they aren't EDCers, she keeps her language generic, her tone friendly. Apocryphacius looks down from the roof, his faces ratcheting. He concludes, "That was a pun. Perhaps a chuckle is in order?" Apocryphacius transforms into his Apocryphacius mode. Amber MacKenzie was speaking of his position in Cross's EDC, but no need to mention that. Consider it a double pun. "That was minor enough that it can be ignored," she responds lightly. "Interesting to find you here... I'd have thought you would be busy with more important things." She glances again at his idle, supposed assistants but manages to bite back the urge to ask if he needs a hand. "Need any help?" she asks instead. Apocryphacius is nailing down roofing tiles. He seems able to keep it up while speaking. There will be no leaks in this roof come winter! At least no leaks due to giant robot activity. He supposes a storm could come along and ruin the roof again, but then it won't be his problem. Dubiously, Apocryphacius inquires, "Do you have experience in construction?" Amber MacKenzie shakes her head, idly wondering if Quintessons have 360-degree vision. At least they don't have to worry about anyone sneaking up on them. "I'm afraid not," she admits, "But I can at least hand up the tiles." Since no one else is. "You're a man of many skills. I wouldn't have expected tiling roofs to be among them." "As you wish," the Quintesson says evenly. If she wants to hand him tiles, he is not going to stop her. Apocryphacius explains, "I find it fairly easy to make concrete with little practise concepts that I understand." Since no one else is helping, why not? Amber picks up a tile to gauge its weight and then collects the number of tiles she thinks she can handle. Then it's up the ladder with the tiles, which are heavier than they look. Finally, she sets them on the edge of the roof. At least they don't slip. "One adapts what they know to what they need to do," Amber agrees cheerfully. "Odd that no one else is doing anything." She gives the lazy Belgians a pointed look in the hopes that they're shamed into doing *their* work. The Belgian volunteers are doing other important work that involves fixing cracked sidewalks and stuff! They just aren't up on the roof with the Quintesson because they have common sense. "They are probably avoiding me," Apocryphacius says, oddly brightly. "That, and I think I stink of American." "That seems to please you," Amber observes as she fetches another stack of tiles. She even suspects the reason: feeling that he belongs, at least to the Americans. "American cooties, eh? Yes, I see that a lot in my travels to third-world countries. There's a lot of contempt for Americans. Instead of racism, there's nationalism. Eh, they have some reason. Americans are known for their arrogance." Apocryphacius corrects, "Things are not as they seem. They are, in fact, more than meets the eye." He pauses to nail down some more tiles. "I am actually from [tiny future fictional island nation]. But I have not been back there in a long time. They do not need the press." Amber MacKenzie is taking fewer tiles and more frequent trips up and down the ladder now. "And no, things aren't often the way they seem." She's not talking about Transformers, either. Cross, too, is not what he seems. Apocryphacius suggests softly, "Some attempt should be made to understand why what is actually there is how it is." Now he needs to yank out some old, bent nails before he can put new tiles down, so he does so. Amber MacKenzie has made a few more trips already, so at least the Quintesson will have a good supply of tile now. "It's not necessarily a conspiracy, Apocryphacius. In some cases, it's an unconscious defense mechanism. And yes, there are some who are doing it deliberately to deceive, but there are any number of reasons why, some good, some bad. Some people feel that they won't be liked because of some perceived flaw, so they hide or disguise it. Others are predators, and take on the seeming of what they're not to get close to their prey. Wolves in sheep's clothing, if you've heard the reference." "But what makes a monster of a man and a man of a monster?" Apocryphacius asks, still working steadily. (He is going to be here a long while.) "Understanding the underlying causes of behaviours may be the key to changing said behaviours." Amber MacKenzie arches a brow at the turn in this conversation. "Ever study psychology? You might find your answers there... but then again, you may not. We could talk about Nature vs. Nurture, operant conditioning, take the religious route, or just take a wild guess. My own opinion is nurture. The majority of people raised in bad environments can be influenced by their surroundings into continuing the behaviors they learned there. The *majority*. There are always exceptions." Apocryphacius 's faces rotate, and he says clearly, "Humans can be induced to change for worse or for better. If one wishes to cause a human to change, one must first understand what that human /is/. Then alterations can be planned." The other volunteers to continue to work on fixing the sidewalks. Apocryphacius transforms into his Apocryphacius mode. Amber MacKenzie notes dryly, "Understanding a *particular* human is on my list of things to do right now. As to whether or not he's easily manipulated, that remains to be seen. People, as you've remarked already, can be more than they seem, but they can also be less. In both cases, they are deceptive, whether or not it's deliberate." She shrugs. "For all I know, the individual in question is innocent, and I was fooled." "Guilty until proven innocent? Where could I have heard that before?" Apocryphacius asks, optics wide and innocent and empty as his faces whirl again. Really, Amber seems out to demonise someone she barely knows. Apocryphacius cannot quite help but feel uncomfortable about that. Two of the volunteers working on patching a huge rift in the sidewalk point up at Apocryphacius, apparently discussing something. Apocryphacius transforms into his Apocryphacius mode. Amber MacKenzie repeats gently, "As I said, for all I know, the individual is innocent, and I was fooled." She studies the guy thoughtfully, though unaware of his disquiet. Too bad she can't speak frankly here. "Though you have some right on your side in chiding me for jumping to conclusions," she begans delicately. "What I have *tried* to do is verify suspicions, suspicions that I still believe are warranted because of specific, undenied actions on his part. However, I have no power over him. I cannot declare him guilty, even if he were. It's not my place. Until the truth is known, there is nothing I can do." "Would you like to go for waffles?" one of the volunteers calls up to Apocryphacius. Apocryphacius says, "Sorry, Miss Mackenzie, but I believe I need to 'take this', as it is said," and he starts to head down off the roof to go enjoy waffley goodness. And then repair some more roofs later.
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