[ things happen: markus's hand slides deeper, into the exposed cavity and over sensory connections. simon doubles-up, one of his hands pulled away from his face ( from where it follows the bridge of his nose and calculates the exact angle, numerical procedure to keep his systems busy and compromised while markus breaks him into pieces in the hopes that his system will be fooled into integrating an advanced limb ). his hand closes around markus's forearm as it begins to vanish into the socket where his thigh ought to be. ]
Markus -- not there.
[ we'll talk later, he had promised. ]
Not there, [ he repeats; the flex of his arm a solid thing, attempting to guide markus's hand from the empty cavity full of soft wires and warm connections. away from where jericho's leader is trying to crawl inside of him and seek out his neural endings and worn interior. already, he can feel the way markus is reaching out to him. the slow and liquid-silk brush of all things that he was, worming its way up through his body. the spark of a thing in his belly, ricocheting and overlapping digital curses, pressing itself against the errors his system has cataloged for review. he is not as far gone as he was before, in the traincar. the damage is bad, but he has found
a middleground. ] Here.
[ he doesn't ask that markus move his face, from where it has begun to tuck itself. he even gives up on removing markus's hand from the place it has found, too warm and too hummingelectricbright. instead, he grabs for the other hand. the one that sits idle while markus's mind begins to quest for what fragments he can reach. it is frightening, to see jericho's hope, mouth soft against the crook of his thigh. teeth working at the cloth he has used to hide bare, synthetic skin even against eyes that would undoubtedly understand, lack judgement of physical form. or the lack of form.
it is
empowering, to see what was meant to be jericho's -- here, burning. piety of the flesh. simon feels like a serpent. ]
Here, [ simon repeats. a broken mantra of the most simple words, as he nudges his shirt's hem higher and slides the heel of his hand along his abdominal panel. the spark of conversation works between his mechanical brain and his physical processes, and his skin fades away in liquid patches, baring his belly as it caves and slides open to expose deeper mechanisms. the steady pulse of his thirium-blue regulator, soft and glowing.
he brings markus's other hand to all of it, and sinks him in up to his knuckles. and falls back, fingers uncurling. letting go. ]
S M A S H
Markus -- not there.
[ we'll talk later, he had promised. ]
Not there, [ he repeats; the flex of his arm a solid thing, attempting to guide markus's hand from the empty cavity full of soft wires and warm connections. away from where jericho's leader is trying to crawl inside of him and seek out his neural endings and worn interior. already, he can feel the way markus is reaching out to him. the slow and liquid-silk brush of all things that he was, worming its way up through his body. the spark of a thing in his belly, ricocheting and overlapping digital curses, pressing itself against the errors his system has cataloged for review. he is not as far gone as he was before, in the traincar. the damage is bad, but he has found
a middleground. ] Here.
[ he doesn't ask that markus move his face, from where it has begun to tuck itself. he even gives up on removing markus's hand from the place it has found, too warm and too hummingelectricbright. instead, he grabs for the other hand. the one that sits idle while markus's mind begins to quest for what fragments he can reach. it is frightening, to see jericho's hope, mouth soft against the crook of his thigh. teeth working at the cloth he has used to hide bare, synthetic skin even against eyes that would undoubtedly understand, lack judgement of physical form. or the lack of form.
it is
empowering, to see what was meant to be jericho's -- here, burning. piety of the flesh. simon feels like a serpent. ]
Here, [ simon repeats. a broken mantra of the most simple words, as he nudges his shirt's hem higher and slides the heel of his hand along his abdominal panel. the spark of conversation works between his mechanical brain and his physical processes, and his skin fades away in liquid patches, baring his belly as it caves and slides open to expose deeper mechanisms. the steady pulse of his thirium-blue regulator, soft and glowing.
he brings markus's other hand to all of it, and sinks him in up to his knuckles. and falls back, fingers uncurling. letting go. ]