[ nobody second-guessed it. markus was eager and new, he came into their lives with a vision of freedom that none of them had been able to conceptualize. ( once, a long time ago, simon had slipped headphones over his ears and listened to an old lecture from decades, nearly a century ago -- the allegory of the cave, by plato. it suited jericho, captured in the darkness with no knowledge of what could exist other than that. left there, to understand little else about their existence, until markus had come in from the outside and shown them another way. )
nobody had stopped him, disagreed. they'd been swept up in his momentum. ] It's not just on you, Markus.
[ simon had a responsibility to their people too, after all.
he had a voice, and had chosen not to use it. ]
Where are you going? [ the question is answered, as quickly as it's asked. markus rises and strides from him, leaving him tipping forward onto his knees as though to rise, to follow him without question. he cradles his broken hand, unsure of what will harm him more, the wound at his collarbone shifting - plastic against plastic, under the tattered synthetic skin. he looks a sight, less clean than markus and the old wound at his ribs. the bullet wounds littering his body, even now.
there's something sharp in markus's hand, when he comes back. there's no self-preservation in simon's mind, as his head is tilted - the motion exposing his throat, the vital components in it. markus could sever his life in this moment, and simon wouldn't protest. ] When they see me with you, it won't matter. [ he doesn't push markus away, though. nor that sharp piece of metal, however close to his eyes and his throat and his face it comes. he quiets, instead. closes his eyes and turns his face into the thumb at his chin, to better expose the blinking light of his LED.
blue, to yellow. a momentary concern. the colors are not as vibrant as the newer models, the light dimmer. ] Do it.
no subject
[ nobody second-guessed it. markus was eager and new, he came into their lives with a vision of freedom that none of them had been able to conceptualize. ( once, a long time ago, simon had slipped headphones over his ears and listened to an old lecture from decades, nearly a century ago -- the allegory of the cave, by plato. it suited jericho, captured in the darkness with no knowledge of what could exist other than that. left there, to understand little else about their existence, until markus had come in from the outside and shown them another way. )
nobody had stopped him, disagreed. they'd been swept up in his momentum. ] It's not just on you, Markus.
[ simon had a responsibility to their people too, after all.
he had a voice, and had chosen not to use it. ]
Where are you going? [ the question is answered, as quickly as it's asked. markus rises and strides from him, leaving him tipping forward onto his knees as though to rise, to follow him without question. he cradles his broken hand, unsure of what will harm him more, the wound at his collarbone shifting - plastic against plastic, under the tattered synthetic skin. he looks a sight, less clean than markus and the old wound at his ribs. the bullet wounds littering his body, even now.
there's something sharp in markus's hand, when he comes back. there's no self-preservation in simon's mind, as his head is tilted - the motion exposing his throat, the vital components in it. markus could sever his life in this moment, and simon wouldn't protest. ] When they see me with you, it won't matter. [ he doesn't push markus away, though. nor that sharp piece of metal, however close to his eyes and his throat and his face it comes. he quiets, instead. closes his eyes and turns his face into the thumb at his chin, to better expose the blinking light of his LED.
blue, to yellow. a momentary concern. the colors are not as vibrant as the newer models, the light dimmer. ] Do it.