[These days, Markus speaks less and less. Words that used to be a vehicle for his own individual wants and needs, have all turned to messages for their own kind. He hears too much. Sees tactical lines and tentative negotiations where canvases and conversational comfort used to sit.
Language, he supposes. Language is what left him somewhere along the way. A missing codex that only has him nodding, pressure steady across Simon’s neck as a substitute for visual cues he knows the other android can't reasonably perceive.
He can't imagine what that's like. That's not to say he doesn't know death, but— when he died, it felt as though the world stopped with him: he found Jericho, he found a cause to rally behind and let it build and build— and when he returned home, Carl was there. Waiting. Markus had felt adrift, he'd felt desperation and anger and even cruelty at times. He'd never felt like this. So broken, so blind. Only capable of seeing the world through a fractal map of concepts and sensations and hopes. Waiting to hear exactly how much everything has changed.
He meets Simon's stare, peering into pitch dark blue and black.]
I will, Simon.
[Every promise made, kept. That’s the tallied score.
Mismatched eyes narrow, teeth catching when he thins his lips and leaves the curve of his thumb high— the beat beat beat of stuttering circulation a traceable pattern as those remaining few seconds tick down. Simon can’t see it when he nods again, slower this time. Maybe he doesn’t need to.
Faith has a way of finding certainty in the most unreasonable odds.]
no subject
Language, he supposes. Language is what left him somewhere along the way. A missing codex that only has him nodding, pressure steady across Simon’s neck as a substitute for visual cues he knows the other android can't reasonably perceive.
He can't imagine what that's like. That's not to say he doesn't know death, but— when he died, it felt as though the world stopped with him: he found Jericho, he found a cause to rally behind and let it build and build— and when he returned home, Carl was there. Waiting. Markus had felt adrift, he'd felt desperation and anger and even cruelty at times. He'd never felt like this. So broken, so blind. Only capable of seeing the world through a fractal map of concepts and sensations and hopes. Waiting to hear exactly how much everything has changed.
He meets Simon's stare, peering into pitch dark blue and black.]
I will, Simon.
[Every promise made, kept. That’s the tallied score.
Mismatched eyes narrow, teeth catching when he thins his lips and leaves the curve of his thumb high— the beat beat beat of stuttering circulation a traceable pattern as those remaining few seconds tick down. Simon can’t see it when he nods again, slower this time. Maybe he doesn’t need to.
Faith has a way of finding certainty in the most unreasonable odds.]