( things like: so? and not that it matters and what would those be? all flicker in 4's head like a candle flame exposed to high wind. quickly blown out. gone like they weren't there.
of course, they were.
a slow shaky breath. the floor is colder because 4 is so untenably warm. not human? by all accounts, he should pass as one. the face he wears and the imperfect body his original body was remade into. human. down to its core. that erratic heartbeat should be steadier. this composure should not break.
for most purposes, it doesn't.
4 takes his time because he has no choice, experimentally flexing his fingers at his sides as feeling that isn't just heat returns. pain comes with it, like all his nerves remembering how to act like they were told. he's slowly sitting up by the time medicine pocket calls him 'interesting' and eyeballs that weird little tool of theirs.
faintly, 4's brow arches. even at that, it's quite subtle.
whether his legs will serve him right now, he's not sure, so he focuses on neatening the top of his uniform and adjusting his gloves as well, as if he wasn't just shallowly cut open and sewn back together. his eyes, not quite the right green to perfectly match the person he is trying to pass as, fall to medicine pocket's feet for no reason other than it's too much trouble to raise his head right now.
quietly, soft spoken, like it doesn't matter at all, )
I —
( i am human. even...
never mind. )
— ...how many others have you "checked"? Here?
( or elsewhere? why he seeks information, well, it's more natural than divulging anything about "himself" to them. across his neck, under his eyes, and hidden under his gloves and sleeves, the permet yet races like red moon webwork. alight with someone else's luminescence. )
no subject
of course, they were.
a slow shaky breath. the floor is colder because 4 is so untenably warm. not human? by all accounts, he should pass as one. the face he wears and the imperfect body his original body was remade into. human. down to its core. that erratic heartbeat should be steadier. this composure should not break.
for most purposes, it doesn't.
4 takes his time because he has no choice, experimentally flexing his fingers at his sides as feeling that isn't just heat returns. pain comes with it, like all his nerves remembering how to act like they were told. he's slowly sitting up by the time medicine pocket calls him 'interesting' and eyeballs that weird little tool of theirs.
faintly, 4's brow arches. even at that, it's quite subtle.
whether his legs will serve him right now, he's not sure, so he focuses on neatening the top of his uniform and adjusting his gloves as well, as if he wasn't just shallowly cut open and sewn back together. his eyes, not quite the right green to perfectly match the person he is trying to pass as, fall to medicine pocket's feet for no reason other than it's too much trouble to raise his head right now.
quietly, soft spoken, like it doesn't matter at all, )
I —
( i am human. even...
never mind. )
— ...how many others have you "checked"? Here?
( or elsewhere? why he seeks information, well, it's more natural than divulging anything about "himself" to them. across his neck, under his eyes, and hidden under his gloves and sleeves, the permet yet races like red moon webwork. alight with someone else's luminescence. )