reconstruction | ETRAYA INBOX.

[ 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?

[ the first thing that comes to mind is an unhinged idiom, but she doesn't want to have to explain "like a dog with two tails". ]

Content. [ she says it with a french slant instead of english.

after a moment she plucks the mandolin from his arms and unfolds from the little couch, standing up and holding her hands out so he will take them. ]

Come with me, I want to show you something.

[most humans he interacts with are not what he would describe as 'content', but by the look of Willa's face he believes her. he thinks if that is also what he's feeling. he isn't sure if he's relaxed enough for that, or if he's capable of relaxing that much. his mind is always working, always on.

clothing shifts and the couch hardly makes a sound when she moves from her spot. he's left staring at her, maybe for a little too long, but that's only in his head. from her eyes to her hands to her eyes again, he (hesitatingly) takes her hands in his and stands up to follow her lead. humans usually hold hands when they care for someone. the Traci's he'd met held hands because they loved each other. his LED cycles yellow as he processes this development.]

Is there a reason you need to hold my hands to show me?

[for some reason, the second that question leaves his mouth he regrets asking at all and he doesn't know why. is this what she'd meant by feeling an emotion, not understanding it?

part of him just wants to know.]

[ she releases one hand but keeps the other. she was going to let him go entirely but not anymore! no, no she keeps hold of his hands. ]

Yes. The reason is I want to.

[ she's clearly leading him toward the house, pulling open the back door and leading him through the kitchen, into the hall, up the stairs. she's leading him to her bedroom (saucy) because that is where she moved all her precious things when she gave the kids free rein of the place. ]

I can offer you three ways to hold hands if you want variety.

Oh.

[he's only left with more questions, but like a lost dog, follows alongside her. he has to adjust his pace - she's shorter, he's used to taking longer strides - and her offer has him looking down at her. the image of them is so human; this is the first time he's held someone's hand. he's well aware of the ways to hold hands, this is just -

new. but his expression gives nothing away. instead, he adjusts his hand to interlace their fingers, pressing his own gently into the back of her hand.]

I think this way is usually more comfortable for both parties.

I think you're right.

[ it needs no more comment. it's very comfortable, his big hand is warm in her smaller hand, her own fingers barely reach his knuckles. she lapses into quiet before she reaches her room, opening the door and leading connor inside. the walls are pale blue, the canopy bed is wreathed with diaphanous white curtains spread wide to reveal a neatly made bed with white linens with blue and green flowers, a blanket that looks impossible soft and warm tossed across it. the wood furnishings, a side table, a dresser, a vanity with a mirror, a bookshelf, are all a honey wood finish. there's also a 1950s style cabinet against one wall that she leads him over to, opening the top to reveal a record player.

now she releases his hand to crouch down and paw through her records until she finds one and slips the record free of the sleeve, setting it on the turntable, and moving the arm with practiced ease to the third song, setting back as the music starts to play. ]

Edited 2024-10-04 02:04 (UTC)

[bedrooms will always feel a little different for Connor. they tell so much about someone - they're intimate, but not the same kind of intimate as holding hands is. he's discovering now that intimacy, in general, has many layers. he analyzes all of the little details; the colors used, the way she's arranged her items, but more importantly, what items are there. the room itself is filled with femininity, something he hasn't encountered much around Etraya.

the record player is one thing he can say he's seen before. Hank kept one in his home, by the tv. he's a silent observer, but he does wander once her hand leaves his. from running his hand along the cabinet and even stopping in front of the mirror to look at himself. he reaches up to fix his hair, adjusts his tie.

his movements mimic someone checking themselves out. when the music starts, he looks to the record player, then to Willa-- he's able to recognize it;]

This is ABBA's Nina Ballerina.

[o b v i o u s l y]

Do you like listening to older music? ['older' because he's from 2038 and this is literally over 60 years old, but. well. time is different here.]

I like listening to anything. Jazz is my favorite, but I do really like ABBA. [ logan teased her about listening to old music too and her smile grows warm with her habit of collecting emotional unavailable men who make her smile regardless.

she leans back against the cabinet, watching connor. ]

I think Nina Ballerina is incredibly underrated.

[ she pats the cabinet softly so she won't make the record skip. ]

You're welcome to listen whenever you feel like it. They kids aren't allowed to touch it though. That's the second of my two rules and it was more relevant when it was still downstairs.

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reconstruction - 2024-10-15 02:35 (UTC) - Expand