[ the sudden motion of markus's head catches his attention immediately; the way his expression tangles, narrows in focus and emotion, and simon cannot parse what it means. he can guess at what goes through markus's mind in that moment, but he knows that his ability to correctly read the man is lacking - he does not have the necessary coding, nor the necessary experience. it is an expression he desperately tries to read, though. discomfort? unhappiness? concern? without forging a connection between the two of them, he can barely focus on his self - let alone markus.
all the same, it leads his reactions.
markus bows his head to the task at hand, and simon tucks his fingers along the line of his spine. his palm follows suit, along the side of his throat. a drifting, glancing press of his body along markus's as he settles his shoulders against the ground - sagging down, until he's half-twisted on the worn concrete. he lays himself out, and pulls his hands to himself. tucks them across his eyes and draws in unnecessary breath before purging it from his synthetic lungs. ]
Something like that.
[ he can't turn off an essential function, not as he is. the sensation of pain would alert him of further damage, especially in such a wounded state. what simon does, in silence, is amend and re-calibrate the sensation. reflect it within himself to spread what he knows will be a source of discomfort, reactionary warnings that will overwhelm and spark within him. thin and dull it, by using it as a blanket, rather than a single pinpoint. he barely has the ability to do so, granted to him only by the natural evolution afforded to their people. ]
I'll do my best, but no promises.
[ another wry response, coupled with the brief twitch of his mouth below the edge of his hands as they hide his eyes and brace against his nose. ]
no subject
all the same, it leads his reactions.
markus bows his head to the task at hand, and simon tucks his fingers along the line of his spine. his palm follows suit, along the side of his throat. a drifting, glancing press of his body along markus's as he settles his shoulders against the ground - sagging down, until he's half-twisted on the worn concrete. he lays himself out, and pulls his hands to himself. tucks them across his eyes and draws in unnecessary breath before purging it from his synthetic lungs. ]
Something like that.
[ he can't turn off an essential function, not as he is. the sensation of pain would alert him of further damage, especially in such a wounded state. what simon does, in silence, is amend and re-calibrate the sensation. reflect it within himself to spread what he knows will be a source of discomfort, reactionary warnings that will overwhelm and spark within him. thin and dull it, by using it as a blanket, rather than a single pinpoint. he barely has the ability to do so, granted to him only by the natural evolution afforded to their people. ]
I'll do my best, but no promises.
[ another wry response, coupled with the brief twitch of his mouth below the edge of his hands as they hide his eyes and brace against his nose. ]