Tick Tick Tick.

After that first exchange, Grey marks down that particular vendor as a place to frequent for scraps. Decently plentiful wares, at such low prices? He'd be a food to dismiss that.

In the coming months, they come by with a relative frequency, trying to get a better feel not only for the shop but for its vendor.

Over the course of those many weeks, a few things would come to be known.

1: The vendor’s name; Viren.

2: He doesn’t seem to ever take off his mask in front of anyone. Whenever he goes to eat the pastries he regularly buys in the mornings, he heads to the very back of his stall before starting a transaction with Grey.

3: Despite the level of familiarity that’s developed between the two, Viren still holds an air of caution around himself, however hard he tries to disguise it as simple nervousness.

Like right now, for example. Though the inaenia chatters on about his newest haul of supplies and his week in such a friendly manner, something still seems off.

“Ahem,” he clears his throat after finishing. “Sorry, sorry. Got carried away. What did you say earlier again?”

"Don't apologize. I don't mind random info."

For the first time in a long time, he feels…not lonely. To be honest, he can’t recall the last time he got the chance to talk like this with someone. He’d call Grey his friend at this point.

But…what if she learned what he is? The only scenario he could think of that happening is if he gets overwhelmed and starts to break down. Literally. It’d be a terrible sight.

Though he treasures the other’s company, time, and self, he can’t help but keep wondering that every time they interact. In the blink of an eye, this fragile relationship could shatter—and he doesn’t want that at all.

“Anyways, like I mentioned before, I ain’t gonna be here to sell anything today; heading to 5-12 soon–the place with the huge shopping centre. Just a lil’ trip to see if anything catches my interest, that’s it. I’ve heard it’s like a city within a city.”

The offer seems to catch Grey off guard and he straightens slightly.

"Uh... 5-12? That's a... busy place. I mean-"

She smiles slightly, though it's awkwardly lopsided.

[][][]

It’s certainly busy.

After having taken two buses and stepped into the sector’s renowned attraction with Grey, Viren had come to 2 realizations. One, he vastly underestimated just how large the centre was— and two, it’s…

It’s too bright. Looking up at a winter sky already tears his eyes up, so this? This mass of neon lights and colours? It’s too much.

He freezes in place at the entrance, staring above at the vast number of floors.

Did he bring his noise-cancelling headphones at least? Upon feeling about his shoulder bag while focused on the sight, he finds the answer to be a definite no. Curse his memory.

“L-let’s get going! Walk around, see stuff, maybe grab a few things,” they hastily exclaim, carefully making sure the automaton is right behind them before they make their first step forward into the masses.

As the two set a steady pace, Viren suggests sticking to only the first five floors to make getting back out of the centre easier; according to what they’ve heard, higher floors tend to be even more crowded than this.

Viren thought that the longer he stayed in this building, the easier it’d get to deal with the lights. That isn’t the case though— if anything, it’s gotten worse. When paired with the noise around them and the sheer amount of people, it’s hard to keep hanging on.

Unbeknownst to the taller, his breathing has gone dangerously shallow over the course of the last few minutes of aimless wandering. All he can process is the invisible force crushing his chest, the ground below, and the noise. The noise, the noise, the noise.

In the end, he snaps. He can’t take it anymore.

He runs.

He pushes forward through the living obstacles in his way, uncaring of who he may bump into. He’s running on pure fear, knowing he needs to hide before his form gets too out of shape— his arms are already starting to tingle, telling him they’re likely warping now.

No. No no no no no no!

The path ahead gives way to signage in the center of the crossroads, which he takes a second to skim over for an exit nearby. There isn’t of course, what with the size of this place.

There are washrooms though. It’ll have to do.

They practically break into the nearest stall the moment they get inside, locking the large door behind them before sinking to the seat and curling up as they hyperventilate.

The…thing…they turn into is not something they’d want anyone to see, but most of all their friend. Their entire being shifts and morphs around an unstable base, tearing itself apart and clumping back together over and over and over again as the air grows hotter.

"Viren," he heaves, stumbling over to the sinks to lean against the counter. He can hear some sort of movement in the stall closest to the door, along with some concerning vocal sounds that seem like Viren's.

Viren can’t respond, not in this state; there’s no tongue to rely upon, not even an underdeveloped mass in any of his newly formed jaws to use. He’s a mess. He can’t speak, he can’t escape, he can’t shove himself back into his typical appearance with how overstimulated he was before and now. Grey is bound to know his nature in mere minutes.

"...Viren," he presses, stepping closer to the stall door, "If- You've gotta breathe, first—talk to me, please? If this is some sort of panic attack, I'm- I can help. I get it. I get needing to decompress, but- you're worrying me here."

Over the course of what feels like an eternity, Viren attempts to encourage himself to just do it and face the fact that this relationship is done for; that it’ll be easier for him to deal with the emotional pain the sooner he gets Grey’s inevitable reaction out of the way.

A pair of weighted footfalls and the click of a lock breaks the tense silence, followed by an ominous creeeeak as the door slowly swings away from its frame, leaving a small gap big enough for someone to peer through.

The first thing that pops out from that gap is a gnarled, spindly hand which grasps that frame.

Some strange, roiling burst of fear and confusion and nausea crashes down on her and their optics blink out in a hard reset as something within his chassis springs a harsh tugging sound. But when her vision comes back online it's still there. It's still there.

Their voicebox stutters out a sound that's purely electronic—no mimicry of organic vocal chords. Just a sound of horror and incomprehension. In their bid to comprehend and understand, something in her processor threatens to give and and his joints lock, anchoring her in place right when it clicks.

But it doesn’t look like him.

A blue-black face mask lies in the entity’s right limb, nearly merged with the flesh that coils around the fabric like vines. That mutated head stares, observes, studies from its perch on a three meter-long neck, which has coiled itself in such a way so that it still fits in the confined space. Attached is the rest of the body, twisted and hunched as it waits for the next move of the other; for any further action.

"...Okay," he breathes. His voice is thick with something like nausea and there's static clinging to the edges of the sound. "Okay, it... makes sense now. Okay."

He takes a few deep pseudo-breaths, more for self soothing than anything else. Doesn't look up from the ground.

“…Mm-mm,” he hesitantly hums as his attempt to reply no, which is echoed by the other mouths like a chorus in a cave. For a moment, he brings the only formed hand up to gesture to where ears would be to refer to the noise, but quickly puts it down when he realizes Grey is staying fixated on the floor.

Right. He isn’t…the most pleasant to look at right now. No offence taken.

The cacophony of voices in the inaenia’s head anxiously jumble themselves together as he tries to get a clearer read on if this situation is leaning toward the positive, or the negative.

He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing his thoughts together to something more streamlined as she processes what's happening.

"...Okay." he breathes, "Not a good situation."

A shaky hand runs through xis hair, a few strands getting briefly caught in xeir finger joints.

"Public bathroom; someone could walk in at any moment. We need to get out of here and get you back to- like- your place. Can't leave here with you like this. Don't know where your place is. Neither of us have an individual ride. Can't take the bus. Need to leave, can't leave, high risk, no time-"

…

. . .

Why?

Though the dread of being caught like this by anyone walking in and the urge to try calming the automaton down (he wouldn’t and doesn’t know how to do so in the first place) registers faintly in the back of his head, the forefront consists of that single word repeated in various ways. Why this outcome? Why not report me? Why stay to help? Why? Why? Why? Why?

His eyes stay squeezed shut and he just breathes. Breathes. Breathes.

"...Can you turn back?" he eventually asks. Xe internally cringes at how shaky and weak his voice is, but breathes out tensely.

What follows Grey’s words is a series of sickening cracks and squelches as Viren molds his body like clay into a form as close to his typical as possible— at least on the outside; he doesn’t bother to make anything proper internally. His fingers are a tad longer than usual and his movement’s janky, but it works.

It takes a moment to register what the gesture means, but when it does, he breathes out and nods.

Honestly, it’s all he is counting on.

A few guttural sounds are made before Viren manages a few words to convey his thoughts. “Alley. Nook. Hide and calm— calm down,” he rasps, “then home.”

After that first exchange, Grey marks down that particular vendor as a place to frequent for scraps. Decently plentiful wares, at such low prices? He'd be a food to dismiss that.

In the coming months, they come by with a relative frequency, trying to get a better feel not only for the shop but for its vendor.

Over the course of those many weeks, a few things would come to be known.

1: The vendor’s name; Viren.

2: He doesn’t seem to ever take off his mask in front of anyone. Whenever he goes to eat the pastries he regularly buys in the mornings, he heads to the very back of his stall before starting a transaction with Grey.

3: Despite the level of familiarity that’s developed between the two, Viren still holds an air of caution around himself, however hard he tries to disguise it as simple nervousness.

Like right now, for example. Though the inaenia chatters on about his newest haul of supplies and his week in such a friendly manner, something still seems off.

“Ahem,” he clears his throat after finishing. “Sorry, sorry. Got carried away. What did you say earlier again?”

"Don't apologize. I don't mind random info."

For the first time in a long time, he feels…not lonely. To be honest, he can’t recall the last time he got the chance to talk like this with someone. He’d call Grey his friend at this point.

But…what if she learned what he is? The only scenario he could think of that happening is if he gets overwhelmed and starts to break down. Literally. It’d be a terrible sight.

Though he treasures the other’s company, time, and self, he can’t help but keep wondering that every time they interact. In the blink of an eye, this fragile relationship could shatter—and he doesn’t want that at all.

“Anyways, like I mentioned before, I ain’t gonna be here to sell anything today; heading to 5-12 soon–the place with the huge shopping centre. Just a lil’ trip to see if anything catches my interest, that’s it. I’ve heard it’s like a city within a city.”

The offer seems to catch Grey off guard and he straightens slightly.

"Uh... 5-12? That's a... busy place. I mean-"

She smiles slightly, though it's awkwardly lopsided.

[][][]

It’s certainly busy.

After having taken two buses and stepped into the sector’s renowned attraction with Grey, Viren had come to 2 realizations. One, he vastly underestimated just how large the centre was— and two, it’s…

It’s too bright. Looking up at a winter sky already tears his eyes up, so this? This mass of neon lights and colours? It’s too much.

He freezes in place at the entrance, staring above at the vast number of floors.

Did he bring his noise-cancelling headphones at least? Upon feeling about his shoulder bag while focused on the sight, he finds the answer to be a definite no. Curse his memory.

“L-let’s get going! Walk around, see stuff, maybe grab a few things,” they hastily exclaim, carefully making sure the automaton is right behind them before they make their first step forward into the masses.

As the two set a steady pace, Viren suggests sticking to only the first five floors to make getting back out of the centre easier; according to what they’ve heard, higher floors tend to be even more crowded than this.

Viren thought that the longer he stayed in this building, the easier it’d get to deal with the lights. That isn’t the case though— if anything, it’s gotten worse. When paired with the noise around them and the sheer amount of people, it’s hard to keep hanging on.

Unbeknownst to the taller, his breathing has gone dangerously shallow over the course of the last few minutes of aimless wandering. All he can process is the invisible force crushing his chest, the ground below, and the noise. The noise, the noise, the noise.

In the end, he snaps. He can’t take it anymore.

He runs.

He pushes forward through the living obstacles in his way, uncaring of who he may bump into. He’s running on pure fear, knowing he needs to hide before his form gets too out of shape— his arms are already starting to tingle, telling him they’re likely warping now.

No. No no no no no no!

The path ahead gives way to signage in the center of the crossroads, which he takes a second to skim over for an exit nearby. There isn’t of course, what with the size of this place.

There are washrooms though. It’ll have to do.

They practically break into the nearest stall the moment they get inside, locking the large door behind them before sinking to the seat and curling up as they hyperventilate.

The…thing…they turn into is not something they’d want anyone to see, but most of all their friend. Their entire being shifts and morphs around an unstable base, tearing itself apart and clumping back together over and over and over again as the air grows hotter.

"Viren," he heaves, stumbling over to the sinks to lean against the counter. He can hear some sort of movement in the stall closest to the door, along with some concerning vocal sounds that seem like Viren's.

Viren can’t respond, not in this state; there’s no tongue to rely upon, not even an underdeveloped mass in any of his newly formed jaws to use. He’s a mess. He can’t speak, he can’t escape, he can’t shove himself back into his typical appearance with how overstimulated he was before and now. Grey is bound to know his nature in mere minutes.

"...Viren," he presses, stepping closer to the stall door, "If- You've gotta breathe, first—talk to me, please? If this is some sort of panic attack, I'm- I can help. I get it. I get needing to decompress, but- you're worrying me here."

Over the course of what feels like an eternity, Viren attempts to encourage himself to just do it and face the fact that this relationship is done for; that it’ll be easier for him to deal with the emotional pain the sooner he gets Grey’s inevitable reaction out of the way.

A pair of weighted footfalls and the click of a lock breaks the tense silence, followed by an ominous creeeeak as the door slowly swings away from its frame, leaving a small gap big enough for someone to peer through.

The first thing that pops out from that gap is a gnarled, spindly hand which grasps that frame.

Some strange, roiling burst of fear and confusion and nausea crashes down on her and their optics blink out in a hard reset as something within his chassis springs a harsh tugging sound. But when her vision comes back online it's still there. It's still there.

Their voicebox stutters out a sound that's purely electronic—no mimicry of organic vocal chords. Just a sound of horror and incomprehension. In their bid to comprehend and understand, something in her processor threatens to give and and his joints lock, anchoring her in place right when it clicks.

But it doesn’t look like him.

A blue-black face mask lies in the entity’s right limb, nearly merged with the flesh that coils around the fabric like vines. That mutated head stares, observes, studies from its perch on a three meter-long neck, which has coiled itself in such a way so that it still fits in the confined space. Attached is the rest of the body, twisted and hunched as it waits for the next move of the other; for any further action.

"...Okay," he breathes. His voice is thick with something like nausea and there's static clinging to the edges of the sound. "Okay, it... makes sense now. Okay."

He takes a few deep pseudo-breaths, more for self soothing than anything else. Doesn't look up from the ground.

“…Mm-mm,” he hesitantly hums as his attempt to reply no, which is echoed by the other mouths like a chorus in a cave. For a moment, he brings the only formed hand up to gesture to where ears would be to refer to the noise, but quickly puts it down when he realizes Grey is staying fixated on the floor.

Right. He isn’t…the most pleasant to look at right now. No offence taken.

The cacophony of voices in the inaenia’s head anxiously jumble themselves together as he tries to get a clearer read on if this situation is leaning toward the positive, or the negative.

He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing his thoughts together to something more streamlined as she processes what's happening.

"...Okay." he breathes, "Not a good situation."

A shaky hand runs through xis hair, a few strands getting briefly caught in xeir finger joints.

"Public bathroom; someone could walk in at any moment. We need to get out of here and get you back to- like- your place. Can't leave here with you like this. Don't know where your place is. Neither of us have an individual ride. Can't take the bus. Need to leave, can't leave, high risk, no time-"

…

. . .

Why?

Though the dread of being caught like this by anyone walking in and the urge to try calming the automaton down (he wouldn’t and doesn’t know how to do so in the first place) registers faintly in the back of his head, the forefront consists of that single word repeated in various ways. Why this outcome? Why not report me? Why stay to help? Why? Why? Why? Why?

His eyes stay squeezed shut and he just breathes. Breathes. Breathes.

"...Can you turn back?" he eventually asks. Xe internally cringes at how shaky and weak his voice is, but breathes out tensely.

What follows Grey’s words is a series of sickening cracks and squelches as Viren molds his body like clay into a form as close to his typical as possible— at least on the outside; he doesn’t bother to make anything proper internally. His fingers are a tad longer than usual and his movement’s janky, but it works.

After that first exchange, Grey marks down that particular vendor as a place to frequent for scraps. Decently plentiful wares, at such low prices? He'd be a food to dismiss that.

In the coming months, they come by with a relative frequency, trying to get a better feel not only for the shop but for its vendor.

Over the course of those many weeks, a few things would come to be known.

1: The vendor’s name; Viren.

2: He doesn’t seem to ever take off his mask in front of anyone. Whenever he goes to eat the pastries he regularly buys in the mornings, he heads to the very back of his stall before starting a transaction with Grey.

3: Despite the level of familiarity that’s developed between the two, Viren still holds an air of caution around himself, however hard he tries to disguise it as simple nervousness.

Like right now, for example. Though the inaenia chatters on about his newest haul of supplies and his week in such a friendly manner, something still seems off.

“Ahem,” he clears his throat after finishing. “Sorry, sorry. Got carried away. What did you say earlier again?”

"Don't apologize. I don't mind random info."

For the first time in a long time, he feels…not lonely. To be honest, he can’t recall the last time he got the chance to talk like this with someone. He’d call Grey his friend at this point.

But…what if she learned what he is? The only scenario he could think of that happening is if he gets overwhelmed and starts to break down. Literally. It’d be a terrible sight.

Though he treasures the other’s company, time, and self, he can’t help but keep wondering that every time they interact. In the blink of an eye, this fragile relationship could shatter—and he doesn’t want that at all.

“Anyways, like I mentioned before, I ain’t gonna be here to sell anything today; heading to 5-12 soon–the place with the huge shopping centre. Just a lil’ trip to see if anything catches my interest, that’s it. I’ve heard it’s like a city within a city.”

The offer seems to catch Grey off guard and he straightens slightly.

"Uh... 5-12? That's a... busy place. I mean-"

She smiles slightly, though it's awkwardly lopsided.

[][][]

It’s certainly busy.

After having taken two buses and stepped into the sector’s renowned attraction with Grey, Viren had come to 2 realizations. One, he vastly underestimated just how large the centre was— and two, it’s…

It’s too bright. Looking up at a winter sky already tears his eyes up, so this? This mass of neon lights and colours? It’s too much.

He freezes in place at the entrance, staring above at the vast number of floors.

Did he bring his noise-cancelling headphones at least? Upon feeling about his shoulder bag while focused on the sight, he finds the answer to be a definite no. Curse his memory.

“L-let’s get going! Walk around, see stuff, maybe grab a few things,” they hastily exclaim, carefully making sure the automaton is right behind them before they make their first step forward into the masses.

As the two set a steady pace, Viren suggests sticking to only the first five floors to make getting back out of the centre easier; according to what they’ve heard, higher floors tend to be even more crowded than this.

Viren thought that the longer he stayed in this building, the easier it’d get to deal with the lights. That isn’t the case though— if anything, it’s gotten worse. When paired with the noise around them and the sheer amount of people, it’s hard to keep hanging on.

Unbeknownst to the taller, his breathing has gone dangerously shallow over the course of the last few minutes of aimless wandering. All he can process is the invisible force crushing his chest, the ground below, and the noise. The noise, the noise, the noise.

In the end, he snaps. He can’t take it anymore.

He runs.

He pushes forward through the living obstacles in his way, uncaring of who he may bump into. He’s running on pure fear, knowing he needs to hide before his form gets too out of shape— his arms are already starting to tingle, telling him they’re likely warping now.

No. No no no no no no!

The path ahead gives way to signage in the center of the crossroads, which he takes a second to skim over for an exit nearby. There isn’t of course, what with the size of this place.

There are washrooms though. It’ll have to do.

They practically break into the nearest stall the moment they get inside, locking the large door behind them before sinking to the seat and curling up as they hyperventilate.

The…thing…they turn into is not something they’d want anyone to see, but most of all their friend. Their entire being shifts and morphs around an unstable base, tearing itself apart and clumping back together over and over and over again as the air grows hotter.

"Viren," he heaves, stumbling over to the sinks to lean against the counter. He can hear some sort of movement in the stall closest to the door, along with some concerning vocal sounds that seem like Viren's.

Viren can’t respond, not in this state; there’s no tongue to rely upon, not even an underdeveloped mass in any of his newly formed jaws to use. He’s a mess. He can’t speak, he can’t escape, he can’t shove himself back into his typical appearance with how overstimulated he was before and now. Grey is bound to know his nature in mere minutes.

"...Viren," he presses, stepping closer to the stall door, "If- You've gotta breathe, first—talk to me, please? If this is some sort of panic attack, I'm- I can help. I get it. I get needing to decompress, but- you're worrying me here."

Over the course of what feels like an eternity, Viren attempts to encourage himself to just do it and face the fact that this relationship is done for; that it’ll be easier for him to deal with the emotional pain the sooner he gets Grey’s inevitable reaction out of the way.

A pair of weighted footfalls and the click of a lock breaks the tense silence, followed by an ominous creeeeak as the door slowly swings away from its frame, leaving a small gap big enough for someone to peer through.

The first thing that pops out from that gap is a gnarled, spindly hand which grasps that frame.

Some strange, roiling burst of fear and confusion and nausea crashes down on her and their optics blink out in a hard reset as something within his chassis springs a harsh tugging sound. But when her vision comes back online it's still there. It's still there.

Their voicebox stutters out a sound that's purely electronic—no mimicry of organic vocal chords. Just a sound of horror and incomprehension. In their bid to comprehend and understand, something in her processor threatens to give and and his joints lock, anchoring her in place right when it clicks.

But it doesn’t look like him.

A blue-black face mask lies in the entity’s right limb, nearly merged with the flesh that coils around the fabric like vines. That mutated head stares, observes, studies from its perch on a three meter-long neck, which has coiled itself in such a way so that it still fits in the confined space. Attached is the rest of the body, twisted and hunched as it waits for the next move of the other; for any further action.

"...Okay," he breathes. His voice is thick with something like nausea and there's static clinging to the edges of the sound. "Okay, it... makes sense now. Okay."

He takes a few deep pseudo-breaths, more for self soothing than anything else. Doesn't look up from the ground.

“…Mm-mm,” he hesitantly hums as his attempt to reply no, which is echoed by the other mouths like a chorus in a cave. For a moment, he brings the only formed hand up to gesture to where ears would be to refer to the noise, but quickly puts it down when he realizes Grey is staying fixated on the floor.

Right. He isn’t…the most pleasant to look at right now. No offence taken.

The cacophony of voices in the inaenia’s head anxiously jumble themselves together as he tries to get a clearer read on if this situation is leaning toward the positive, or the negative.

He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing his thoughts together to something more streamlined as she processes what's happening.

"...Okay." he breathes, "Not a good situation."

A shaky hand runs through xis hair, a few strands getting briefly caught in xeir finger joints.

"Public bathroom; someone could walk in at any moment. We need to get out of here and get you back to- like- your place. Can't leave here with you like this. Don't know where your place is. Neither of us have an individual ride. Can't take the bus. Need to leave, can't leave, high risk, no time-"

…

. . .

Why?

Though the dread of being caught like this by anyone walking in and the urge to try calming the automaton down (he wouldn’t and doesn’t know how to do so in the first place) registers faintly in the back of his head, the forefront consists of that single word repeated in various ways. Why this outcome? Why not report me? Why stay to help? Why? Why? Why? Why?

After that first exchange, Grey marks down that particular vendor as a place to frequent for scraps. Decently plentiful wares, at such low prices? He'd be a food to dismiss that.

In the coming months, they come by with a relative frequency, trying to get a better feel not only for the shop but for its vendor.

Over the course of those many weeks, a few things would come to be known.

1: The vendor’s name; Viren.

2: He doesn’t seem to ever take off his mask in front of anyone. Whenever he goes to eat the pastries he regularly buys in the mornings, he heads to the very back of his stall before starting a transaction with Grey.

3: Despite the level of familiarity that’s developed between the two, Viren still holds an air of caution around himself, however hard he tries to disguise it as simple nervousness.

Like right now, for example. Though the inaenia chatters on about his newest haul of supplies and his week in such a friendly manner, something still seems off.

“Ahem,” he clears his throat after finishing. “Sorry, sorry. Got carried away. What did you say earlier again?”

"Don't apologize. I don't mind random info."

For the first time in a long time, he feels…not lonely. To be honest, he can’t recall the last time he got the chance to talk like this with someone. He’d call Grey his friend at this point.

But…what if she learned what he is? The only scenario he could think of that happening is if he gets overwhelmed and starts to break down. Literally. It’d be a terrible sight.

Though he treasures the other’s company, time, and self, he can’t help but keep wondering that every time they interact. In the blink of an eye, this fragile relationship could shatter—and he doesn’t want that at all.

“Anyways, like I mentioned before, I ain’t gonna be here to sell anything today; heading to 5-12 soon–the place with the huge shopping centre. Just a lil’ trip to see if anything catches my interest, that’s it. I’ve heard it’s like a city within a city.”

The offer seems to catch Grey off guard and he straightens slightly.

"Uh... 5-12? That's a... busy place. I mean-"

She smiles slightly, though it's awkwardly lopsided.

[][][]

It’s certainly busy.

After having taken two buses and stepped into the sector’s renowned attraction with Grey, Viren had come to 2 realizations. One, he vastly underestimated just how large the centre was— and two, it’s…

It’s too bright. Looking up at a winter sky already tears his eyes up, so this? This mass of neon lights and colours? It’s too much.

He freezes in place at the entrance, staring above at the vast number of floors.

Did he bring his noise-cancelling headphones at least? Upon feeling about his shoulder bag while focused on the sight, he finds the answer to be a definite no. Curse his memory.

“L-let’s get going! Walk around, see stuff, maybe grab a few things,” they hastily exclaim, carefully making sure the automaton is right behind them before they make their first step forward into the masses.

As the two set a steady pace, Viren suggests sticking to only the first five floors to make getting back out of the centre easier; according to what they’ve heard, higher floors tend to be even more crowded than this.

Viren thought that the longer he stayed in this building, the easier it’d get to deal with the lights. That isn’t the case though— if anything, it’s gotten worse. When paired with the noise around them and the sheer amount of people, it’s hard to keep hanging on.

Unbeknownst to the taller, his breathing has gone dangerously shallow over the course of the last few minutes of aimless wandering. All he can process is the invisible force crushing his chest, the ground below, and the noise. The noise, the noise, the noise.

In the end, he snaps. He can’t take it anymore.

He runs.

He pushes forward through the living obstacles in his way, uncaring of who he may bump into. He’s running on pure fear, knowing he needs to hide before his form gets too out of shape— his arms are already starting to tingle, telling him they’re likely warping now.

No. No no no no no no!

The path ahead gives way to signage in the center of the crossroads, which he takes a second to skim over for an exit nearby. There isn’t of course, what with the size of this place.

There are washrooms though. It’ll have to do.

They practically break into the nearest stall the moment they get inside, locking the large door behind them before sinking to the seat and curling up as they hyperventilate.

The…thing…they turn into is not something they’d want anyone to see, but most of all their friend. Their entire being shifts and morphs around an unstable base, tearing itself apart and clumping back together over and over and over again as the air grows hotter.

"Viren," he heaves, stumbling over to the sinks to lean against the counter. He can hear some sort of movement in the stall closest to the door, along with some concerning vocal sounds that seem like Viren's.

Viren can’t respond, not in this state; there’s no tongue to rely upon, not even an underdeveloped mass in any of his newly formed jaws to use. He’s a mess. He can’t speak, he can’t escape, he can’t shove himself back into his typical appearance with how overstimulated he was before and now. Grey is bound to know his nature in mere minutes.

"...Viren," he presses, stepping closer to the stall door, "If- You've gotta breathe, first—talk to me, please? If this is some sort of panic attack, I'm- I can help. I get it. I get needing to decompress, but- you're worrying me here."

Over the course of what feels like an eternity, Viren attempts to encourage himself to just do it and face the fact that this relationship is done for; that it’ll be easier for him to deal with the emotional pain the sooner he gets Grey’s inevitable reaction out of the way.

A pair of weighted footfalls and the click of a lock breaks the tense silence, followed by an ominous creeeeak as the door slowly swings away from its frame, leaving a small gap big enough for someone to peer through.

The first thing that pops out from that gap is a gnarled, spindly hand which grasps that frame.

Some strange, roiling burst of fear and confusion and nausea crashes down on her and their optics blink out in a hard reset as something within his chassis springs a harsh tugging sound. But when her vision comes back online it's still there. It's still there.

Their voicebox stutters out a sound that's purely electronic—no mimicry of organic vocal chords. Just a sound of horror and incomprehension. In their bid to comprehend and understand, something in her processor threatens to give and and his joints lock, anchoring her in place right when it clicks.

But it doesn’t look like him.

A blue-black face mask lies in the entity’s right limb, nearly merged with the flesh that coils around the fabric like vines. That mutated head stares, observes, studies from its perch on a three meter-long neck, which has coiled itself in such a way so that it still fits in the confined space. Attached is the rest of the body, twisted and hunched as it waits for the next move of the other; for any further action.

"...Okay," he breathes. His voice is thick with something like nausea and there's static clinging to the edges of the sound. "Okay, it... makes sense now. Okay."

He takes a few deep pseudo-breaths, more for self soothing than anything else. Doesn't look up from the ground.

“…Mm-mm,” he hesitantly hums as his attempt to reply no, which is echoed by the other mouths like a chorus in a cave. For a moment, he brings the only formed hand up to gesture to where ears would be to refer to the noise, but quickly puts it down when he realizes Grey is staying fixated on the floor.

Right. He isn’t…the most pleasant to look at right now. No offence taken.

The cacophony of voices in the inaenia’s head anxiously jumble themselves together as he tries to get a clearer read on if this situation is leaning toward the positive, or the negative.

After that first exchange, Grey marks down that particular vendor as a place to frequent for scraps. Decently plentiful wares, at such low prices? He'd be a food to dismiss that.

In the coming months, they come by with a relative frequency, trying to get a better feel not only for the shop but for its vendor.

Over the course of those many weeks, a few things would come to be known.

1: The vendor’s name; Viren.

2: He doesn’t seem to ever take off his mask in front of anyone. Whenever he goes to eat the pastries he regularly buys in the mornings, he heads to the very back of his stall before starting a transaction with Grey.

3: Despite the level of familiarity that’s developed between the two, Viren still holds an air of caution around himself, however hard he tries to disguise it as simple nervousness.

Like right now, for example. Though the inaenia chatters on about his newest haul of supplies and his week in such a friendly manner, something still seems off.

“Ahem,” he clears his throat after finishing. “Sorry, sorry. Got carried away. What did you say earlier again?”

"Don't apologize. I don't mind random info."

For the first time in a long time, he feels…not lonely. To be honest, he can’t recall the last time he got the chance to talk like this with someone. He’d call Grey his friend at this point.

But…what if she learned what he is? The only scenario he could think of that happening is if he gets overwhelmed and starts to break down. Literally. It’d be a terrible sight.

Though he treasures the other’s company, time, and self, he can’t help but keep wondering that every time they interact. In the blink of an eye, this fragile relationship could shatter—and he doesn’t want that at all.

“Anyways, like I mentioned before, I ain’t gonna be here to sell anything today; heading to 5-12 soon–the place with the huge shopping centre. Just a lil’ trip to see if anything catches my interest, that’s it. I’ve heard it’s like a city within a city.”

The offer seems to catch Grey off guard and he straightens slightly.

"Uh... 5-12? That's a... busy place. I mean-"

She smiles slightly, though it's awkwardly lopsided.

[][][]

It’s certainly busy.

After having taken two buses and stepped into the sector’s renowned attraction with Grey, Viren had come to 2 realizations. One, he vastly underestimated just how large the centre was— and two, it’s…

It’s too bright. Looking up at a winter sky already tears his eyes up, so this? This mass of neon lights and colours? It’s too much.

He freezes in place at the entrance, staring above at the vast number of floors.

Did he bring his noise-cancelling headphones at least? Upon feeling about his shoulder bag while focused on the sight, he finds the answer to be a definite no. Curse his memory.

“L-let’s get going! Walk around, see stuff, maybe grab a few things,” they hastily exclaim, carefully making sure the automaton is right behind them before they make their first step forward into the masses.

As the two set a steady pace, Viren suggests sticking to only the first five floors to make getting back out of the centre easier; according to what they’ve heard, higher floors tend to be even more crowded than this.

Viren thought that the longer he stayed in this building, the easier it’d get to deal with the lights. That isn’t the case though— if anything, it’s gotten worse. When paired with the noise around them and the sheer amount of people, it’s hard to keep hanging on.

Unbeknownst to the taller, his breathing has gone dangerously shallow over the course of the last few minutes of aimless wandering. All he can process is the invisible force crushing his chest, the ground below, and the noise. The noise, the noise, the noise.

In the end, he snaps. He can’t take it anymore.

He runs.

He pushes forward through the living obstacles in his way, uncaring of who he may bump into. He’s running on pure fear, knowing he needs to hide before his form gets too out of shape— his arms are already starting to tingle, telling him they’re likely warping now.

No. No no no no no no!

The path ahead gives way to signage in the center of the crossroads, which he takes a second to skim over for an exit nearby. There isn’t of course, what with the size of this place.

There are washrooms though. It’ll have to do.

They practically break into the nearest stall the moment they get inside, locking the large door behind them before sinking to the seat and curling up as they hyperventilate.

The…thing…they turn into is not something they’d want anyone to see, but most of all their friend. Their entire being shifts and morphs around an unstable base, tearing itself apart and clumping back together over and over and over again as the air grows hotter.

"Viren," he heaves, stumbling over to the sinks to lean against the counter. He can hear some sort of movement in the stall closest to the door, along with some concerning vocal sounds that seem like Viren's.

Viren can’t respond, not in this state; there’s no tongue to rely upon, not even an underdeveloped mass in any of his newly formed jaws to use. He’s a mess. He can’t speak, he can’t escape, he can’t shove himself back into his typical appearance with how overstimulated he was before and now. Grey is bound to know his nature in mere minutes.

"...Viren," he presses, stepping closer to the stall door, "If- You've gotta breathe, first—talk to me, please? If this is some sort of panic attack, I'm- I can help. I get it. I get needing to decompress, but- you're worrying me here."

Over the course of what feels like an eternity, Viren attempts to encourage himself to just do it and face the fact that this relationship is done for; that it’ll be easier for him to deal with the emotional pain the sooner he gets Grey’s inevitable reaction out of the way.

A pair of weighted footfalls and the click of a lock breaks the tense silence, followed by an ominous creeeeak as the door slowly swings away from its frame, leaving a small gap big enough for someone to peer through.

The first thing that pops out from that gap is a gnarled, spindly hand which grasps that frame.

Some strange, roiling burst of fear and confusion and nausea crashes down on her and their optics blink out in a hard reset as something within his chassis springs a harsh tugging sound. But when her vision comes back online it's still there. It's still there.

Their voicebox stutters out a sound that's purely electronic—no mimicry of organic vocal chords. Just a sound of horror and incomprehension. In their bid to comprehend and understand, something in her processor threatens to give and and his joints lock, anchoring her in place right when it clicks.

But it doesn’t look like him.

A blue-black face mask lies in the entity’s right limb, nearly merged with the flesh that coils around the fabric like vines. That mutated head stares, observes, studies from its perch on a three meter-long neck, which has coiled itself in such a way so that it still fits in the confined space. Attached is the rest of the body, twisted and hunched as it waits for the next move of the other; for any further action.

After that first exchange, Grey marks down that particular vendor as a place to frequent for scraps. Decently plentiful wares, at such low prices? He'd be a food to dismiss that.

In the coming months, they come by with a relative frequency, trying to get a better feel not only for the shop but for its vendor.

Over the course of those many weeks, a few things would come to be known.

1: The vendor’s name; Viren.

2: He doesn’t seem to ever take off his mask in front of anyone. Whenever he goes to eat the pastries he regularly buys in the mornings, he heads to the very back of his stall before starting a transaction with Grey.

3: Despite the level of familiarity that’s developed between the two, Viren still holds an air of caution around himself, however hard he tries to disguise it as simple nervousness.

Like right now, for example. Though the inaenia chatters on about his newest haul of supplies and his week in such a friendly manner, something still seems off.

“Ahem,” he clears his throat after finishing. “Sorry, sorry. Got carried away. What did you say earlier again?”

"Don't apologize. I don't mind random info."

For the first time in a long time, he feels…not lonely. To be honest, he can’t recall the last time he got the chance to talk like this with someone. He’d call Grey his friend at this point.

But…what if she learned what he is? The only scenario he could think of that happening is if he gets overwhelmed and starts to break down. Literally. It’d be a terrible sight.

Though he treasures the other’s company, time, and self, he can’t help but keep wondering that every time they interact. In the blink of an eye, this fragile relationship could shatter—and he doesn’t want that at all.

“Anyways, like I mentioned before, I ain’t gonna be here to sell anything today; heading to 5-12 soon–the place with the huge shopping centre. Just a lil’ trip to see if anything catches my interest, that’s it. I’ve heard it’s like a city within a city.”

The offer seems to catch Grey off guard and he straightens slightly.

"Uh... 5-12? That's a... busy place. I mean-"

She smiles slightly, though it's awkwardly lopsided.

[][][]

It’s certainly busy.

After having taken two buses and stepped into the sector’s renowned attraction with Grey, Viren had come to 2 realizations. One, he vastly underestimated just how large the centre was— and two, it’s…

It’s too bright. Looking up at a winter sky already tears his eyes up, so this? This mass of neon lights and colours? It’s too much.

He freezes in place at the entrance, staring above at the vast number of floors.

Did he bring his noise-cancelling headphones at least? Upon feeling about his shoulder bag while focused on the sight, he finds the answer to be a definite no. Curse his memory.

“L-let’s get going! Walk around, see stuff, maybe grab a few things,” they hastily exclaim, carefully making sure the automaton is right behind them before they make their first step forward into the masses.

As the two set a steady pace, Viren suggests sticking to only the first five floors to make getting back out of the centre easier; according to what they’ve heard, higher floors tend to be even more crowded than this.

Viren thought that the longer he stayed in this building, the easier it’d get to deal with the lights. That isn’t the case though— if anything, it’s gotten worse. When paired with the noise around them and the sheer amount of people, it’s hard to keep hanging on.

Unbeknownst to the taller, his breathing has gone dangerously shallow over the course of the last few minutes of aimless wandering. All he can process is the invisible force crushing his chest, the ground below, and the noise. The noise, the noise, the noise.

In the end, he snaps. He can’t take it anymore.

He runs.

He pushes forward through the living obstacles in his way, uncaring of who he may bump into. He’s running on pure fear, knowing he needs to hide before his form gets too out of shape— his arms are already starting to tingle, telling him they’re likely warping now.

No. No no no no no no!

The path ahead gives way to signage in the center of the crossroads, which he takes a second to skim over for an exit nearby. There isn’t of course, what with the size of this place.

There are washrooms though. It’ll have to do.

They practically break into the nearest stall the moment they get inside, locking the large door behind them before sinking to the seat and curling up as they hyperventilate.

The…thing…they turn into is not something they’d want anyone to see, but most of all their friend. Their entire being shifts and morphs around an unstable base, tearing itself apart and clumping back together over and over and over again as the air grows hotter.

"Viren," he heaves, stumbling over to the sinks to lean against the counter. He can hear some sort of movement in the stall closest to the door, along with some concerning vocal sounds that seem like Viren's.

Viren can’t respond, not in this state; there’s no tongue to rely upon, not even an underdeveloped mass in any of his newly formed jaws to use. He’s a mess. He can’t speak, he can’t escape, he can’t shove himself back into his typical appearance with how overstimulated he was before and now. Grey is bound to know his nature in mere minutes.

"...Viren," he presses, stepping closer to the stall door, "If- You've gotta breathe, first—talk to me, please? If this is some sort of panic attack, I'm- I can help. I get it. I get needing to decompress, but- you're worrying me here."

Over the course of what feels like an eternity, Viren attempts to encourage himself to just do it and face the fact that this relationship is done for; that it’ll be easier for him to deal with the emotional pain the sooner he gets Grey’s inevitable reaction out of the way.

A pair of weighted footfalls and the click of a lock breaks the tense silence, followed by an ominous creeeeak as the door slowly swings away from its frame, leaving a small gap big enough for someone to peer through.

The first thing that pops out from that gap is a gnarled, spindly hand which grasps that frame.

After that first exchange, Grey marks down that particular vendor as a place to frequent for scraps. Decently plentiful wares, at such low prices? He'd be a food to dismiss that.

In the coming months, they come by with a relative frequency, trying to get a better feel not only for the shop but for its vendor.

Over the course of those many weeks, a few things would come to be known.

1: The vendor’s name; Viren.

2: He doesn’t seem to ever take off his mask in front of anyone. Whenever he goes to eat the pastries he regularly buys in the mornings, he heads to the very back of his stall before starting a transaction with Grey.

3: Despite the level of familiarity that’s developed between the two, Viren still holds an air of caution around himself, however hard he tries to disguise it as simple nervousness.

Like right now, for example. Though the inaenia chatters on about his newest haul of supplies and his week in such a friendly manner, something still seems off.

“Ahem,” he clears his throat after finishing. “Sorry, sorry. Got carried away. What did you say earlier again?”

"Don't apologize. I don't mind random info."

For the first time in a long time, he feels…not lonely. To be honest, he can’t recall the last time he got the chance to talk like this with someone. He’d call Grey his friend at this point.

But…what if she learned what he is? The only scenario he could think of that happening is if he gets overwhelmed and starts to break down. Literally. It’d be a terrible sight.

Though he treasures the other’s company, time, and self, he can’t help but keep wondering that every time they interact. In the blink of an eye, this fragile relationship could shatter—and he doesn’t want that at all.

“Anyways, like I mentioned before, I ain’t gonna be here to sell anything today; heading to 5-12 soon–the place with the huge shopping centre. Just a lil’ trip to see if anything catches my interest, that’s it. I’ve heard it’s like a city within a city.”

The offer seems to catch Grey off guard and he straightens slightly.

"Uh... 5-12? That's a... busy place. I mean-"

She smiles slightly, though it's awkwardly lopsided.

[][][]

It’s certainly busy.

After having taken two buses and stepped into the sector’s renowned attraction with Grey, Viren had come to 2 realizations. One, he vastly underestimated just how large the centre was— and two, it’s…

It’s too bright. Looking up at a winter sky already tears his eyes up, so this? This mass of neon lights and colours? It’s too much.

He freezes in place at the entrance, staring above at the vast number of floors.

Did he bring his noise-cancelling headphones at least? Upon feeling about his shoulder bag while focused on the sight, he finds the answer to be a definite no. Curse his memory.

“L-let’s get going! Walk around, see stuff, maybe grab a few things,” they hastily exclaim, carefully making sure the automaton is right behind them before they make their first step forward into the masses.

As the two set a steady pace, Viren suggests sticking to only the first five floors to make getting back out of the centre easier; according to what they’ve heard, higher floors tend to be even more crowded than this.

Viren thought that the longer he stayed in this building, the easier it’d get to deal with the lights. That isn’t the case though— if anything, it’s gotten worse. When paired with the noise around them and the sheer amount of people, it’s hard to keep hanging on.

Unbeknownst to the taller, his breathing has gone dangerously shallow over the course of the last few minutes of aimless wandering. All he can process is the invisible force crushing his chest, the ground below, and the noise. The noise, the noise, the noise.

In the end, he snaps. He can’t take it anymore.

He runs.

He pushes forward through the living obstacles in his way, uncaring of who he may bump into. He’s running on pure fear, knowing he needs to hide before his form gets too out of shape— his arms are already starting to tingle, telling him they’re likely warping now.

No. No no no no no no!

The path ahead gives way to signage in the center of the crossroads, which he takes a second to skim over for an exit nearby. There isn’t of course, what with the size of this place.

There are washrooms though. It’ll have to do.

They practically break into the nearest stall the moment they get inside, locking the large door behind them before sinking to the seat and curling up as they hyperventilate.

The…thing…they turn into is not something they’d want anyone to see, but most of all their friend. Their entire being shifts and morphs around an unstable base, tearing itself apart and clumping back together over and over and over again as the air grows hotter.

"Viren," he heaves, stumbling over to the sinks to lean against the counter. He can hear some sort of movement in the stall closest to the door, along with some concerning vocal sounds that seem like Viren's.

Viren can’t respond, not in this state; there’s no tongue to rely upon, not even an underdeveloped mass in any of his newly formed jaws to use. He’s a mess. He can’t speak, he can’t escape, he can’t shove himself back into his typical appearance with how overstimulated he was before and now. Grey is bound to know his nature in mere minutes.

After that first exchange, Grey marks down that particular vendor as a place to frequent for scraps. Decently plentiful wares, at such low prices? He'd be a food to dismiss that.

In the coming months, they come by with a relative frequency, trying to get a better feel not only for the shop but for its vendor.

Over the course of those many weeks, a few things would come to be known.

1: The vendor’s name; Viren.

2: He doesn’t seem to ever take off his mask in front of anyone. Whenever he goes to eat the pastries he regularly buys in the mornings, he heads to the very back of his stall before starting a transaction with Grey.

3: Despite the level of familiarity that’s developed between the two, Viren still holds an air of caution around himself, however hard he tries to disguise it as simple nervousness.

Like right now, for example. Though the inaenia chatters on about his newest haul of supplies and his week in such a friendly manner, something still seems off.

“Ahem,” he clears his throat after finishing. “Sorry, sorry. Got carried away. What did you say earlier again?”

"Don't apologize. I don't mind random info."

For the first time in a long time, he feels…not lonely. To be honest, he can’t recall the last time he got the chance to talk like this with someone. He’d call Grey his friend at this point.

But…what if she learned what he is? The only scenario he could think of that happening is if he gets overwhelmed and starts to break down. Literally. It’d be a terrible sight.

Though he treasures the other’s company, time, and self, he can’t help but keep wondering that every time they interact. In the blink of an eye, this fragile relationship could shatter—and he doesn’t want that at all.

“Anyways, like I mentioned before, I ain’t gonna be here to sell anything today; heading to 5-12 soon–the place with the huge shopping centre. Just a lil’ trip to see if anything catches my interest, that’s it. I’ve heard it’s like a city within a city.”

The offer seems to catch Grey off guard and he straightens slightly.

"Uh... 5-12? That's a... busy place. I mean-"

She smiles slightly, though it's awkwardly lopsided.

[][][]

It’s certainly busy.

After having taken two buses and stepped into the sector’s renowned attraction with Grey, Viren had come to 2 realizations. One, he vastly underestimated just how large the centre was— and two, it’s…

It’s too bright. Looking up at a winter sky already tears his eyes up, so this? This mass of neon lights and colours? It’s too much.

He freezes in place at the entrance, staring above at the vast number of floors.

Did he bring his noise-cancelling headphones at least? Upon feeling about his shoulder bag while focused on the sight, he finds the answer to be a definite no. Curse his memory.

“L-let’s get going! Walk around, see stuff, maybe grab a few things,” they hastily exclaim, carefully making sure the automaton is right behind them before they make their first step forward into the masses.

As the two set a steady pace, Viren suggests sticking to only the first five floors to make getting back out of the centre easier; according to what they’ve heard, higher floors tend to be even more crowded than this.

Viren thought that the longer he stayed in this building, the easier it’d get to deal with the lights. That isn’t the case though— if anything, it’s gotten worse. When paired with the noise around them and the sheer amount of people, it’s hard to keep hanging on.

Unbeknownst to the taller, his breathing has gone dangerously shallow over the course of the last few minutes of aimless wandering. All he can process is the invisible force crushing his chest, the ground below, and the noise. The noise, the noise, the noise.

In the end, he snaps. He can’t take it anymore.

He runs.

He pushes forward through the living obstacles in his way, uncaring of who he may bump into. He’s running on pure fear, knowing he needs to hide before his form gets too out of shape— his arms are already starting to tingle, telling him they’re likely warping now.

No. No no no no no no!

The path ahead gives way to signage in the center of the crossroads, which he takes a second to skim over for an exit nearby. There isn’t of course, what with the size of this place.

There are washrooms though. It’ll have to do.

They practically break into the nearest stall the moment they get inside, locking the large door behind them before sinking to the seat and curling up as they hyperventilate.

The…thing…they turn into is not something they’d want anyone to see, but most of all their friend. Their entire being shifts and morphs around an unstable base, tearing itself apart and clumping back together over and over and over again as the air grows hotter.

After that first exchange, Grey marks down that particular vendor as a place to frequent for scraps. Decently plentiful wares, at such low prices? He'd be a food to dismiss that.

In the coming months, they come by with a relative frequency, trying to get a better feel not only for the shop but for its vendor.

Over the course of those many weeks, a few things would come to be known.

1: The vendor’s name; Viren.

2: He doesn’t seem to ever take off his mask in front of anyone. Whenever he goes to eat the pastries he regularly buys in the mornings, he heads to the very back of his stall before starting a transaction with Grey.

3: Despite the level of familiarity that’s developed between the two, Viren still holds an air of caution around himself, however hard he tries to disguise it as simple nervousness.

Like right now, for example. Though the inaenia chatters on about his newest haul of supplies and his week in such a friendly manner, something still seems off.

“Ahem,” he clears his throat after finishing. “Sorry, sorry. Got carried away. What did you say earlier again?”

"Don't apologize. I don't mind random info."

For the first time in a long time, he feels…not lonely. To be honest, he can’t recall the last time he got the chance to talk like this with someone. He’d call Grey his friend at this point.

But…what if she learned what he is? The only scenario he could think of that happening is if he gets overwhelmed and starts to break down. Literally. It’d be a terrible sight.

Though he treasures the other’s company, time, and self, he can’t help but keep wondering that every time they interact. In the blink of an eye, this fragile relationship could shatter—and he doesn’t want that at all.

“Anyways, like I mentioned before, I ain’t gonna be here to sell anything today; heading to 5-12 soon–the place with the huge shopping centre. Just a lil’ trip to see if anything catches my interest, that’s it. I’ve heard it’s like a city within a city.”

The offer seems to catch Grey off guard and he straightens slightly.

"Uh... 5-12? That's a... busy place. I mean-"

She smiles slightly, though it's awkwardly lopsided.

[][][]

It’s certainly busy.

After having taken two buses and stepped into the sector’s renowned attraction with Grey, Viren had come to 2 realizations. One, he vastly underestimated just how large the centre was— and two, it’s…

It’s too bright. Looking up at a winter sky already tears his eyes up, so this? This mass of neon lights and colours? It’s too much.

He freezes in place at the entrance, staring above at the vast number of floors.

Did he bring his noise-cancelling headphones at least? Upon feeling about his shoulder bag while focused on the sight, he finds the answer to be a definite no. Curse his memory.

“L-let’s get going! Walk around, see stuff, maybe grab a few things,” they hastily exclaim, carefully making sure the automaton is right behind them before they make their first step forward into the masses.

As the two set a steady pace, Viren suggests sticking to only the first five floors to make getting back out of the centre easier; according to what they’ve heard, higher floors tend to be even more crowded than this.

Viren thought that the longer he stayed in this building, the easier it’d get to deal with the lights. That isn’t the case though— if anything, it’s gotten worse. When paired with the noise around them and the sheer amount of people, it’s hard to keep hanging on.

Unbeknownst to the taller, his breathing has gone dangerously shallow over the course of the last few minutes of aimless wandering. All he can process is the invisible force crushing his chest, the ground below, and the noise. The noise, the noise, the noise.

In the end, he snaps. He can’t take it anymore.

He runs.

He pushes forward through the living obstacles in his way, uncaring of who he may bump into. He’s running on pure fear, knowing he needs to hide before his form gets too out of shape— his arms are already starting to tingle, telling him they’re likely warping now.

No. No no no no no no!

The path ahead gives way to signage in the center of the crossroads, which he takes a second to skim over for an exit nearby. There isn’t of course, what with the size of this place.

There are washrooms though. It’ll have to do.

After that first exchange, Grey marks down that particular vendor as a place to frequent for scraps. Decently plentiful wares, at such low prices? He'd be a food to dismiss that.

In the coming months, they come by with a relative frequency, trying to get a better feel not only for the shop but for its vendor.

Over the course of those many weeks, a few things would come to be known.

1: The vendor’s name; Viren.

2: He doesn’t seem to ever take off his mask in front of anyone. Whenever he goes to eat the pastries he regularly buys in the mornings, he heads to the very back of his stall before starting a transaction with Grey.

3: Despite the level of familiarity that’s developed between the two, Viren still holds an air of caution around himself, however hard he tries to disguise it as simple nervousness.

Like right now, for example. Though the inaenia chatters on about his newest haul of supplies and his week in such a friendly manner, something still seems off.

“Ahem,” he clears his throat after finishing. “Sorry, sorry. Got carried away. What did you say earlier again?”

"Don't apologize. I don't mind random info."

For the first time in a long time, he feels…not lonely. To be honest, he can’t recall the last time he got the chance to talk like this with someone. He’d call Grey his friend at this point.

But…what if she learned what he is? The only scenario he could think of that happening is if he gets overwhelmed and starts to break down. Literally. It’d be a terrible sight.

Though he treasures the other’s company, time, and self, he can’t help but keep wondering that every time they interact. In the blink of an eye, this fragile relationship could shatter—and he doesn’t want that at all.

“Anyways, like I mentioned before, I ain’t gonna be here to sell anything today; heading to 5-12 soon–the place with the huge shopping centre. Just a lil’ trip to see if anything catches my interest, that’s it. I’ve heard it’s like a city within a city.”

The offer seems to catch Grey off guard and he straightens slightly.

"Uh... 5-12? That's a... busy place. I mean-"

She smiles slightly, though it's awkwardly lopsided.

[][][]

It’s certainly busy.

After having taken two buses and stepped into the sector’s renowned attraction with Grey, Viren had come to 2 realizations. One, he vastly underestimated just how large the centre was— and two, it’s…

It’s too bright. Looking up at a winter sky already tears his eyes up, so this? This mass of neon lights and colours? It’s too much.

He freezes in place at the entrance, staring above at the vast number of floors.

Did he bring his noise-cancelling headphones at least? Upon feeling about his shoulder bag while focused on the sight, he finds the answer to be a definite no. Curse his memory.

“L-let’s get going! Walk around, see stuff, maybe grab a few things,” they hastily exclaim, carefully making sure the automaton is right behind them before they make their first step forward into the masses.

As the two set a steady pace, Viren suggests sticking to only the first five floors to make getting back out of the centre easier; according to what they’ve heard, higher floors tend to be even more crowded than this.

Viren thought that the longer he stayed in this building, the easier it’d get to deal with the lights. That isn’t the case though— if anything, it’s gotten worse. When paired with the noise around them and the sheer amount of people, it’s hard to keep hanging on.

Unbeknownst to the taller, his breathing has gone dangerously shallow over the course of the last few minutes of aimless wandering. All he can process is the invisible force crushing his chest, the ground below, and the noise. The noise, the noise, the noise.

In the end, he snaps. He can’t take it anymore.

He runs.

After that first exchange, Grey marks down that particular vendor as a place to frequent for scraps. Decently plentiful wares, at such low prices? He'd be a food to dismiss that.

In the coming months, they come by with a relative frequency, trying to get a better feel not only for the shop but for its vendor.

Over the course of those many weeks, a few things would come to be known.

1: The vendor’s name; Viren.

2: He doesn’t seem to ever take off his mask in front of anyone. Whenever he goes to eat the pastries he regularly buys in the mornings, he heads to the very back of his stall before starting a transaction with Grey.

3: Despite the level of familiarity that’s developed between the two, Viren still holds an air of caution around himself, however hard he tries to disguise it as simple nervousness.

Like right now, for example. Though the inaenia chatters on about his newest haul of supplies and his week in such a friendly manner, something still seems off.

“Ahem,” he clears his throat after finishing. “Sorry, sorry. Got carried away. What did you say earlier again?”

"Don't apologize. I don't mind random info."

For the first time in a long time, he feels…not lonely. To be honest, he can’t recall the last time he got the chance to talk like this with someone. He’d call Grey his friend at this point.

But…what if she learned what he is? The only scenario he could think of that happening is if he gets overwhelmed and starts to break down. Literally. It’d be a terrible sight.

Though he treasures the other’s company, time, and self, he can’t help but keep wondering that every time they interact. In the blink of an eye, this fragile relationship could shatter—and he doesn’t want that at all.

“Anyways, like I mentioned before, I ain’t gonna be here to sell anything today; heading to 5-12 soon–the place with the huge shopping centre. Just a lil’ trip to see if anything catches my interest, that’s it. I’ve heard it’s like a city within a city.”

The offer seems to catch Grey off guard and he straightens slightly.

"Uh... 5-12? That's a... busy place. I mean-"

She smiles slightly, though it's awkwardly lopsided.

[][][]

It’s certainly busy.

After having taken two buses and stepped into the sector’s renowned attraction with Grey, Viren had come to 2 realizations. One, he vastly underestimated just how large the centre was— and two, it’s…

It’s too bright. Looking up at a winter sky already tears his eyes up, so this? This mass of neon lights and colours? It’s too much.

He freezes in place at the entrance, staring above at the vast number of floors.

Did he bring his noise-cancelling headphones at least? Upon feeling about his shoulder bag while focused on the sight, he finds the answer to be a definite no. Curse his memory.

“L-let’s get going! Walk around, see stuff, maybe grab a few things,” they hastily exclaim, carefully making sure the automaton is right behind them before they make their first step forward into the masses.

As the two set a steady pace, Viren suggests sticking to only the first five floors to make getting back out of the centre easier; according to what they’ve heard, higher floors tend to be even more crowded than this.

After that first exchange, Grey marks down that particular vendor as a place to frequent for scraps. Decently plentiful wares, at such low prices? He'd be a food to dismiss that.

In the coming months, they come by with a relative frequency, trying to get a better feel not only for the shop but for its vendor.

Over the course of those many weeks, a few things would come to be known.

1: The vendor’s name; Viren.

2: He doesn’t seem to ever take off his mask in front of anyone. Whenever he goes to eat the pastries he regularly buys in the mornings, he heads to the very back of his stall before starting a transaction with Grey.

3: Despite the level of familiarity that’s developed between the two, Viren still holds an air of caution around himself, however hard he tries to disguise it as simple nervousness.

Like right now, for example. Though the inaenia chatters on about his newest haul of supplies and his week in such a friendly manner, something still seems off.

“Ahem,” he clears his throat after finishing. “Sorry, sorry. Got carried away. What did you say earlier again?”

"Don't apologize. I don't mind random info."

For the first time in a long time, he feels…not lonely. To be honest, he can’t recall the last time he got the chance to talk like this with someone. He’d call Grey his friend at this point.

But…what if she learned what he is? The only scenario he could think of that happening is if he gets overwhelmed and starts to break down. Literally. It’d be a terrible sight.

Though he treasures the other’s company, time, and self, he can’t help but keep wondering that every time they interact. In the blink of an eye, this fragile relationship could shatter—and he doesn’t want that at all.

“Anyways, like I mentioned before, I ain’t gonna be here to sell anything today; heading to 5-12 soon–the place with the huge shopping centre. Just a lil’ trip to see if anything catches my interest, that’s it. I’ve heard it’s like a city within a city.”

The offer seems to catch Grey off guard and he straightens slightly.

"Uh... 5-12? That's a... busy place. I mean-"

She smiles slightly, though it's awkwardly lopsided.

[][][]

It’s certainly busy.

After having taken two buses and stepped into the sector’s renowned attraction with Grey, Viren had come to 2 realizations. One, he vastly underestimated just how large the centre was— and two, it’s…

It’s too bright. Looking up at a winter sky already tears his eyes up, so this? This mass of neon lights and colours? It’s too much.

He freezes in place at the entrance, staring above at the vast number of floors.

Did he bring his noise-cancelling headphones at least? Upon feeling about his shoulder bag while focused on the sight, he finds the answer to be a definite no. Curse his memory.

After that first exchange, Grey marks down that particular vendor as a place to frequent for scraps. Decently plentiful wares, at such low prices? He'd be a food to dismiss that.

In the coming months, they come by with a relative frequency, trying to get a better feel not only for the shop but for its vendor.

Over the course of those many weeks, a few things would come to be known.

1: The vendor’s name; Viren.

2: He doesn’t seem to ever take off his mask in front of anyone. Whenever he goes to eat the pastries he regularly buys in the mornings, he heads to the very back of his stall before starting a transaction with Grey.

3: Despite the level of familiarity that’s developed between the two, Viren still holds an air of caution around himself, however hard he tries to disguise it as simple nervousness.

Like right now, for example. Though the inaenia chatters on about his newest haul of supplies and his week in such a friendly manner, something still seems off.

“Ahem,” he clears his throat after finishing. “Sorry, sorry. Got carried away. What did you say earlier again?”

"Don't apologize. I don't mind random info."

For the first time in a long time, he feels…not lonely. To be honest, he can’t recall the last time he got the chance to talk like this with someone. He’d call Grey his friend at this point.

But…what if she learned what he is? The only scenario he could think of that happening is if he gets overwhelmed and starts to break down. Literally. It’d be a terrible sight.

Though he treasures the other’s company, time, and self, he can’t help but keep wondering that every time they interact. In the blink of an eye, this fragile relationship could shatter—and he doesn’t want that at all.

“Anyways, like I mentioned before, I ain’t gonna be here to sell anything today; heading to 5-12 soon–the place with the huge shopping centre. Just a lil’ trip to see if anything catches my interest, that’s it. I’ve heard it’s like a city within a city.”

Rap-tap-tap-tap. Rap-tap-tap-tap.

No customers yet. Odd…there’s usually that one metalworker that comes around this time at the very least. Perhaps she’s busy?

The vendor drums their fingers against the counter for the nth time before they start to survey what they’ve managed to loot last weekend, turning themself away from the bustling street to approach the shelves at the back of the shop. It was a measly haul really; a few bits of scrap metal here and there, plus some old bolts. They have their other wares to be considered too, so something should be sold today— whether that be cloth or some doohickey.

And on the off-chance no profit is made? Well, then there’ll at least be one person curious enough to satiate their boredom and come on by to browse what they have. Same ol’, same ol’.

As soon as those steps are heard, Viren makes their way back to the front as quickly as possible; people don’t like to be kept waiting, after all.

“Afternoon,” they greet automatically as they cross their bulky arms over the hardwood surface. “Looking for anything in particular?”

The first thing on the inaenia’s mind isn’t to figure out what this individual would buy from them, no; their initial thought is to check if said individual poses a threat to their safety. Is there a weapon? Can this person use magic? What is their expression, both body and face? Hostile? Docile?

Luckily, this automaton seems friendly, at least in his eyes. He can’t see any weapon, and the other isn’t snarling at him for taking a bit to get here.

Sensorwork, sensorwork. Ah…these? No, no. These? No, no again. What about—no! Agh…

The noise of other shopkeepers declaring their wares and the stampede that is the citizens walking about floods the inaenia’s ears overwhelmingly, but he ignores it as usual in favour of attending to his first customer of the day.

There's a faint hastiness in the 'bot's movements as they kneel and begin to root through the box.

Grey's not... hoping for much. She knows better, with this kind of shop and their budget. To get more tailored, specific wares would be more expensive than he will likely ever be able to afford. A scavenger they are and a scavenger she will remain.

Few of the scraps are softer, more moldable metal and even fewer are compatible with sensors, but even so there is plenty of metal nonetheless. If it can be worked with, Grey'll take it.

In the end, he places 6 scraps on the counter.

This…person seems rather nice, yes, but he still wants to avoid any potential awkwardness.

Even if the questions on the tip of his tongue would’ve clarified what kind of silicone is being asked for.

“Notes, notes, where did I leave my notes—ah, here we go,” he mumbles aloud, flipping through the notebook’s lists until he reaches the to be sorted category.

Yeah…it’s been months. Viren still needs to figure out which section silicone would go into.

He proceeds to spit out words rapid-fire under his breath in a way that’s hardly coherent. “RTV-1, RTV-2, LSR, fluorosilicone—no wait I don’t have that one, ha; expensive stuff. Crossing that out.” He takes a pause to shake his head at his own stupidity before continuing where he left off. “High-consistency…”

The next part under that list of types is the forms of silicone.

He gives up. Screw his past self. He isn’t going to fumble over more words.

“Ah…tch,” the inaenia scoffs to himself as they rush back to the ‘bot. “Mind telling me what kind of silicone yer lookin’ for?” Underneath their mask they grimace at their own tone, which they perceive as nothing short of awkward-as-hell.

A lot more shuffling is heard this time along with the flipping of papers before the vendor comes back with two small tubs of choice, setting them atop said counter beside the bits of metal that were chosen.

Though Viren tries to hide their own relief for the confirmation of the materials, they aren’t the best at doing so with such an emotion; the tension he’d been holding in his shoulders drops immediately like a dead weight.

He did manage to keep his voice even at least.

The pandemonium of the rest of the market continues to thrum in his ears incessantly. By the Ring does he hate it, but this is the only way he can make money with as little risk to his safety as possible, and so he has no choice.

He makes a mental note to take a painkiller later for the oncoming headache.

Like usual after a transaction, the inaenia checks his criteria for potential dangers, quickly scanning his eyes over the environment. Does anyone in the background appear to be suspicious of this shop? Is the customer he dealt with now/still docile?

It appears all is well, so he steps away from the counter, snatches the set-aside box and begins the way to the depths of the shop to sort the scraps out into neater assortments.