The heavy door closes behind Fathoms, quietly as to not draw attention to the fact that the person being celebrated at the gala was suddenly absent from the event. She takes a breath of the fresh air, cooling her systems and letting it out as a sigh, shoulders lowering as she let the uptight posture fade away. The nice thing about having such a large event is that she wasn't expected to be working much at all over the next two cycles. Less pleasant is the constant talking, touching, and interacting she must do with her citizens and other councils. They all want to know why she's so special, how she can do everything, what does it feel like to be so perfect? Those questions, she lets her council answer. Fathoms can't give the answer they want, and all this sensory input is making her overwhelmed. So much data, and she's too far from her neurons to process properly. Therefore, she quietly let herself out.
She was not expecting another iterator to be there, One that she does not recognize. They are sitting near a patch of greenery, picking at the rocks lining the plants. It is clear this iterator did not hear Fathoms walk out, so she tries to catch their attention. "Hello?" Fathoms asks, standing a few paces away.
"Oh- hello?" the stranger answers, turning to look at her. They have a handful of pebbles, clearly picking through the pile to find... something. "You're an iterator! I heard there was supposed to be a lot of them around tonight!" They stand, bringing the assortment of stones to Fathoms. Now that they're standing, she has a much better view of them. They stand just a bit shorter than her, antennas a similar length, though tilted back and decorated with an assortment of little stones and sparkly things. They wore a caplet over a robe, rather standard and simple for iterators. Certainly not an outfit for a gala, and they looked like a river stone compared to her bright pinkish-red hues and sparkling white pearls.
"Look-" they continued talking, "The pebbles here are very nice! See the stripes?"
She had noticed, in the times she had taken breaks out here. She always notices. "Yes, they are quite nice." Fathoms says, looking over the ones they had picked out.
They grab one particularly round one, holding it up. It seems that this is when they truly notice what she looks like. "Woah!" they gasp, dropping the stone. "You are really dressed up! Is it for that meeting-thing? My current admin was all shiny today too."
"Yes, there is a gala tonight. It's very noisy in there, I must admit. Why aren't you attending?" she says gently, hands folded in front of her.
They wave their hand, shaking their head at the same time. "I'm not exactly supposed to be out of the train. It's okay!"
Fathoms was taken aback by this information, but kept moving along. "What's your name? I'm Fathoms of Dreams, she/her. 489."
"Woah-! We're really close in number! I'm 492!" They exclaim, bouncing a little. "They/them, no name yet!"
She tilts her head. "No name? We're so close in age, how do you not have a name yet?"
The nameless iterator shrugs, keeping their demeanor the same. "I keep going from council to council. Nobody has taken care of me long enough to get a name, you know?”
It's a tragedy to Fathoms, but she doesn't voice this concern. Instead, she offers a hand to them, and leads them to a bench. The two sit, overlooking Fathoms' city. The council house is atop a hill, whereas the rest of the city slopes down what was once a lake, now reduced by a large amount to the center of rows and rows of buildings. The lights on each block sparkle in the night, and by the sounds of it, the whole city is using the gala as an excuse to party. The nameless one gasps in awe, sitting and swinging their legs next to Fathoms.
They deserve something nice, Fathoms thinks. She pulls off one of the bracelets given to her for the gala, a simpler one, made with a string running through a pale pink pearl. When she brushes her hands against the pearl, she gets a brief glimpse of the data written to it, around the holes drilled for the string. It's a prayer of well being, rather standard. She taps her new friend's hand, and they perk up, looking at her. Delicately, she takes their hand, slipping the bracelet on. The nameless one beams, as if Fathoms had just moved the whole world for them. Her eyes crinkle in a smile, watching them admire the bracelet.
"Are you serious? You're just giving this to me?" they whisper-shout, one hand on the pearl.
Fathoms nods, and they practically leap to hug her. She breathes in sharply, and this reaction immediately makes them loosen their grip, looking at her. "It's okay- I'm fine, just wasn't expecting... that," she reassures them.
They shift to instead lean against her, watching the city and running their fingers on the pearl. "I'll get you the best gift ever. I'm the greatest at that!"
"I'm sure. You had a good eye for those stones, you know?"
They nod, excitedly, with so much more energy than Fathoms has ever had. A moment of watching the city, and then they speak again. "Why are you at that big meeting anyways?"
That snaps Fathoms back into the reality of her situation. "It's a celebration. The city we are in is celebrating their iterator and the technological progress," she states.
"Wow. Did you meet them? A party so big must be for someone really interesting!"
Her hands grab the fabric of her dress, silky between her bio-mechanical fingers. "It's... for me." The other iterator stares at her with wide eyes, but she continues. "I'm very experimental. I can process very fast, but there are issues. There's a team of mechanics on hand 24/7 in my memory arrays and main bus, making sure my structure doesn't collapse. The whole city is on top of it. The day it does give up... won't be pretty."
"How can there be a party when there's so many problems to fix?" they ask, watching Fathoms.
"Politics, I suppose. I look finished, therefore I am." A pale pink, nearly white overseer darts up to the two, and at the sight of it Fathoms sits up straight, gripping her dress more tightly. They notice, glancing down to look at it. Her breathing sharpens, and she stands up quickly. They shuffle, following her movements.
"You need to leave, go back to your train. Now," she whispers, pushing the nameless one back towards the way they came from. "Follow this overseer."
Thank the void, the unnamed iterator follows her instructions, disappearing around a corner. She only has a moment to smooth her dress before another iterator walks up behind her.
"Fathoms." She knows that voice. She could never mistake that voice for another. "Leaving your own party now?" She turns, and is greeted by her sibling, Ink Run Dry, leaned against the wall. They tilt their head, not amused with the task at hand. "Get back inside. There's some kind of speech soon. I want a good vantage point, but of course, when you disappear, I'm the person they call. You're always back here. I don't know why it's my problem."
"Yes, of course." Fathoms answers curtly, leading the two back inside, away from the fresh air, from the nameless one, from the momentary peace.