Constant. Never-changing.
One plus one, two. Three, square root nine. Numbers stay constant. Numbers never change.
(Most of the time, at least.)
.
What if humans were like numbers? No, silly question. Inconsistency is the only constant — there's no use assuming otherwise. The human mind: a function in five variables. Sound taste sight touch smell —
— no, make that six. Perception. Need to factor in all the slight variations, too, all the minuscule changes to a main theme. Or maybe seven? There's the skeleton, the muscles, the organs (of which she is lacking), all of which are simple enough to comprehend, but …
What about identity? History? Opinions?
.
Sometimes, she thinks, humans are simple. Straightforward. So, so easily manipulated.
An indigo flame, hazy, formless, and they dance in her palm like she's the piper and they're the rats. Were she one to entertain such thoughts, she would even think it ironic. (The one with a single eye sees more than those with both.)
Feed their senses. Strum their neurons. Do-re-mi. They sing. Fa-so-la. They dance.
One, one, two. Easy.
.
Sometimes, she thinks, humans are complicated. Convoluted. Difficult, too difficult, to understand.
When the lines between reality and illusion become blurred, she's reminded all over again: there is no single truth. True or false, just depends on what you ask, who you ask, when you ask. He is Chrome. She is Mukuro. Both, neither.
One plus one doesn't always equal two, does it?
.
Strange. Illogical, even. She weaves the setting, creates the script, the scene unfolds.
(Playing games of — not action and reaction, but something else. Chess? Though she's not too fond of chess.)
(Poker, perhaps?)
And no matter how much experience she has, how long she's been setting up her cards and playing her hand — there's always mistakes.
Hiccups.
Unexpected, mostly, but she takes them in stride. There is no guide for the mind. No textbooks given to little children to teach them about people the way they're taught arithmetic and script.
.
She's long since stopped wishing for consistency.
Her job wouldn't be very interesting if there was.
(Sometimes, she likes it when the numbers don't add up.)