reconstruction | ETRAYA INBOX.

[he's baffled by her lackadaisical outlook. he's so used to knowing and wanting to learn more in order to evolve. he can't imagine settling. is it possible she's lived so much that she stopped caring?

then again, he's not a human. he has the capacity to recall nearly any memory -- it's all stored. human brains are more complicated. he steers the conversation in another direction, thumb tapping over the other. reincarnation is another form of immortality. being destined to live over and over again, he wonders,]

Are you happy?

No.

[ she hums a sharp noise. ]

I might seem ungrateful because I have a chance to live so many lives. Maybe the hardship makes it more meaningful. But I'm exhausted.

[ and she is alone.

she's always had sylvie, she's always had emmet, even though they had each other. fabian, polina, even theo when he hasn't fucked off to timbuktu — one time literally. she's been alone now for months and months and it's grown tiresome. she feels defeated.

and still she drums up a smile as she exhales heavily. ]

It's— it's hard to let people care about you when you know you're going to leave them before they're ready. It's become lonely.

I don't think it's ungrateful.

[a quick and honest response, leaving him surprised at himself. he sympathizes, even empathizes with her. he imagines himself in her shoes. androids are built to last for hundreds of years, maybe more, only needing a change in their battery after all that time. they're made to survive past everyone else. if Connor shut down for any reason, he's positive he would wake in another body. pre-deviancy, that wouldn't bother him.

now it does. he doesn't know what it would feel like to have to watch people die, or have people he's made connections with lose him.]

Do you feel lonely here?

Yes. I think that's why I let the children roam free around here.

[ she pauses playing for a moment, pats the couch closer to her. ]

Come here.

[he wants to ask why, but there's some partial obedience programming still lingering in his circuits. his eyes flick from the instrument to the couch to Willa, then he's moving next to her, nearly shoulder to shoulder.

he hasn't been close to someone since arriving in Etraya. well, not counting when he had his battery drained by nanomachines and had to be lugged around by the kids. that was involuntary. this is different - the whole situation feels different. intimate. he isn't sure what she wants, so he waits, gaze heavy on her face, on her eyes, analyzing everything. the shape of her jaw, her lashes, any freckle or blemish to commit to memory.]

[ his undivided attention is intense and despite her many, many lives, willa feels heat rise in her cheeks. she can't bear the indignity of blushing and so can't keep holding his unwavering gaze.

she reaches over to take his hand, sliding the mandolin into his lap at the same time before she presses the hand she is hold to the strings. she releases that hand, catches the other, holding it up to the neck and curling his hand around it. ]

Your turn.

[ carefully, she folds his fingers into the correct position on the neck, his hand covered her with own delicate fingers. ]

[even if she's unable to maintain eye contact, he still notes her rise in body temperature. it makes him wonder if he's done something to embarrass her and he opens his mouth to ask, but she's quick to divert his attention.

she'll notice his skin is as soft as any other human who hasn't worked a day in their life. no calluses, only perfection. he's warm - thirium regulating his temperature to mimic that of a human's, too.

he follows her lead with little to no resistance, looking down at her fingers over his. he knows Markus played the piano at home for Carl, but hadn't connected with other androids who decided to pick up playing an instrument. he plucks at each string to test the notes, then looks at her once more. he doesn't need her assistance, but for some reason, he doesn't want to lose the connection between them yet.]

I memorized what you were playing. Is that what you'd like me to do?

[given how she's positioned his fingers, it's what he's guessing. he hasn't ever been given creative direction in this way before.]

[ she bleats a soft laugh, letting her fingers brush over his knuckles like she is going to release him but she doesn't.

she likes the company of the kids, hearing their voices and laughter and the occasional "hi willa" as they pass through, but she hasn't had the company of an adult in a while. she's realizing now that she probably needs it more than she was willing to admit before.

she looks up, laugh still on the curve of her lips. ]

Yeah. Yeah, of course you memorized it.

[her laugh surprises him, rings through the air as its own note. his expression softens and he blinks at her - twice, rapid - as half of a smile begins to take shape. not one too noticeable, but enough of one that it curves into his smile lines. he doesn't think anything needs to be said, so -

he shifts his focus back to the mandolin, to the positioning of his fingers, to hers over his hand. he's hesitant, but not because he's shy. there's another emotion drifting to the surface that he decides to ignore. he plays the beginning of the tune she'd been playing exactly, but there isn't the same feel to it that Willa has mastered. Connor has no connection to it and while he may be playing it perfectly, it lacks the soul, the love that musicians have for their music, instruments and audience.]

[ he plays by rote and that isn't a bad thing, he plays beautifully, but it does sound like something is missing. when he finishes, she shifts up on to her knees to face him fully. ]

Close your eyes.

[ her fingers touch his wrist gently, a press of the pads of her fingers against his skin. she can't heal him, but her power does have a showy side when she so chooses. she does so now.

the sensation of cool water spools out beneath her fingertips, curling around his wrist like the caress of a silken ribbon. it doesn't feel wet, but still cool and refreshing, and it doesn't dampen his clothes, but it smells of salt water as it winds around his knuckles. ]

I was born by the sea. I used to lay on the banks for hours like Narcissus, watching the water ripple in the sunlight or the moonlight, dragging my fingers through it. There's nowhere else I feel more myself than next to the water.

[ it makes sense that her power is the ability to give life with a brush of water. ]

The song is about the ocean. The silver moon reflecting over it like millions of starbursts, a warm breeze carrying salt air, the idea of being wholly free on the water and then looking to shore and seeing the warm lights of home.

[ the sensation abates and her hand lifts to touch his shoulder. he can open his eyes now. ]

You should play it again.

[a small sound of dissatisfaction leaves his throat. he isn't sure what closing his eyes will do, but he does. a deep breath of air he doesn't need, and he's relying on all tangible and audio input once the visual input has disappeared. androids don't dream, aren't able to naturally see something on their mind's eye as humans are. it's possible but takes more effort, more rewiring.

he wants so badly to open his eyes to see what snakes around his wrist. soft, cool with the smell of the sea. his LED blinks yellow as his processors try to determine what it is, but can't place it. it doesn't move like anything he's experienced.

so he puts himself where she wants him to be, or tries to. an ocean, the rise and fall of the sun and moon. Narcissus. and the one focus he can truly empathize with: homesickness.

she prompts him, but he doesn't respond. opening his eyes would take everything away and blur the imagery he's trying to keep. he's reaching deep inside of himself, well past old codes, into an empty space for creation. he plays the beginning of the song once more, but this time there's little additions and complexities to it, more sadness. he's taken the music and created parts of his own. only when he stops does he open his eyes to look at her again.]

Was that better?

[ it wasn't bad when he played it before, but this iteration is beautiful. full and layered and her chest aches for the sea, he's put himself into it and made it something special.

her head bobs in a nod, quiet. ]

It was lovely.

[he notes that she enjoyed this rendition more than the last. or, that something was previously missing and he'd done something to make up for it. been creative to make up for it. no one has challenged him quite like this here. fingers make one final strum, absentmindedly. deep brown eyes boring into hers.]

You did something when you had me close my eyes. What was it?

Edited 2024-09-23 14:13 (UTC)

[ she is about to explain visualization, when she realizes that isn't what he meant. ]

I can heal people, with water. There's nothing to heal on you but I thought it would help with the visualization.

[ she holds her hand between them, palm cupped, and water pools in it from nowhere. ]

[brows furrow at the start of it, a base for confusion, then his eyes widen. more confusion, but also awe. he knows people have special abilities, but he hasn't seen any quite like hers.

without a second thought, he dips one finger into her palm gently, then withdrawals it to bring it to his mouth, tongue darting out to lick it, to analyze the sample. not that he didn't believe her, or that he was unsure of the liquid being water, but he wanted more confirmation. he also wanted to see if there was anything special about the water she produced that he could detect, but - well, there's not. it's only water.

he's also a very tactile person. going on as if he hasn't done anything out of the ordinary:]

Even if there was something on me to heal, I don't know if it would have the same effect. [pause, wait-] Are you not able to heal yourself?

I am not.

[ what a weirdo. she's so charmed by his taste test, fighting a smile that pulls at her mouth as the water sinks back into her body. if she uses it to actually heal people (and doesn't use water from an outside source) he would be able to read dehydration on her, but with nothing to heal, nothing happens. ]

No blood in your synthetic skin then?

[a reincarnated healer who can't heal herself. a frown tugs at his lips out of concern. it doesn't make sense to him, but then again - magic isn't reasonable.]

It's called Thirium, or blue blood. It circulates energy and electronic information in my body. If exposed to air, it evaporates and can no longer be detected by the human eye.

[of course, he's able to see it.]

I don't think water would mix well with that.

[ despite his little frown, or more in spite of it, willa's mouth finally slants into a whole smile. water and tech aren't the best combination. ]

What are you thinking?

[he shakes his head. no, water wouldn't mix well with thirium at all. all of the emotions on her face are being scanned constantly. the smile, whether it reaches her eyes or not. any other expressions that would seem unnoticeable or hidden, he's looking at her so carefully.

not often is he asked what he's thinking - he's thinking about too many things. belatedly he offers a gentle smile in return.]

I'm thinking that magic doesn't make sense, and I don't think I'll ever be able to fully comprehend it.

[ willa laughs, soft but light, sweet, smile spreading wider. ]

It doesn't make sense to me either. There's something existential about it that I prefer not to look at too hard.

[something about that is reassuring, that even she doesn't understand magic completely.]

There are a lot of things here that I don't understand. I don't think that's going to change, but... I'm enjoying moments like these.

I think some things aren't meant to be understood, only felt.

[ that is part of why she doesn't question her own ability — a gift like hers is meant to help, and a curse like hers (often she doesn't consider immortality a curse, but she misses her family) gives her a seemingly infinite well of people to help if need be. there is a clarity of purpose in her power.

and she doesn't seek to understand more than that. ]

Music, happiness or sadness, romance, art, laughter. Things like that.

[an alien concept to him until recently, one that she's had centuries to experience. no matter how much he can feel now, that doesn't stop him from wanting to understand everything, to make something make sense, to solve it. he can't make that part of himself disappear.]

Emotions are ... very complicated.

[a bit of an understatement.]

[ she huffs a soft laugh, smile growing soft and sweet. she's had ages to figure feelings out and she still does not. (sometimes she misses freud. not because he was actually any good at his job and not because he could actually articulate why she felt anything, but there was something delightful about getting spanked by someone who got really excited when she called him daddy.

what a freak.) ]

They really are. I don't think they get any less complicated either, you just learn... to feel them.

Edited 2024-09-28 04:14 (UTC)

[she is very lucky that he can't read minds. he notices how soft her smile is, how it's different than before. Connor hadn't smiled much before Etraya, had only to mimic or encourage camaraderie until he'd seen Hank after the revolution and his expression had been true and genuine; real.

it's more real than ever here and now, too. he returns it, and isn't sure why, only knows that he feels right doing so.]

What are you feeling right now?

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