[He doesn't know if that's really what he meant. Or not all of it. He wants to know the rest of it, like how suddenly there are circumstances where North can be proving to the humans that retreat is in their best interests.
But he can admit to being distracted by the small symphony of technical data feeding directly under his fingertips now as Markus reseals the crooked shoulder plate. A hundred blinking diagnostic errors ping back and revert to rerunning for resolving damage, logging one after another: green, green, green, connection not detected, connection not detected, green, connected not detected-----
Simom shifts, a full body flex. His hand comes up automatically to touch his own face, blinking rapidly at the feel of his own fingertips against his skin and the deadzones where no contact registers on his face, just his fingers feeling some ragged anonymous edge that might belong to anyone.
It's just for a second though. Then his hand falls away.]
If they're out there being a distraction, we should probably get moving. I think we can go now.
[He can mostly feel all this fingers and toes now because-- Simon turns his face to him. Looks at him directly instead of just edges of Markus's face or fingertios in his rigid peripheral vision.
(Androids don't look tired. Repairs willing, they can look the same forever. But he looks it anyway.)]
Markus-- [Thank you, he could say. Instead Simon touches his arm, squeezes with some modicum of strength to prove he has it.]
no subject
But he can admit to being distracted by the small symphony of technical data feeding directly under his fingertips now as Markus reseals the crooked shoulder plate. A hundred blinking diagnostic errors ping back and revert to rerunning for resolving damage, logging one after another: green, green, green, connection not detected, connection not detected, green, connected not detected-----
Simom shifts, a full body flex. His hand comes up automatically to touch his own face, blinking rapidly at the feel of his own fingertips against his skin and the deadzones where no contact registers on his face, just his fingers feeling some ragged anonymous edge that might belong to anyone.
It's just for a second though. Then his hand falls away.]
If they're out there being a distraction, we should probably get moving. I think we can go now.
[He can mostly feel all this fingers and toes now because-- Simon turns his face to him. Looks at him directly instead of just edges of Markus's face or fingertios in his rigid peripheral vision.
(Androids don't look tired. Repairs willing, they can look the same forever. But he looks it anyway.)]
Markus-- [Thank you, he could say. Instead Simon touches his arm, squeezes with some modicum of strength to prove he has it.]