a laugh and a shake of her head answered him. “no,” lucrezia added, “not too obvious.” a small tease wouldn’t go amiss, would it? in turn, the intention gave way to a thought, another question: did androids have a sense of humour? was it developed alongside sentience or something injected into their code? “it makes sense. although appreciating the complexity and beauty of the human body is very different from doing the same thing with the human mind.” that connor failed to allow the same consideration, the same admiration, to his own kind still seemed different to her. he had been created by people, by the same humans he could now talk to and look at, touch and feel; men and women couldn’t whether their beliefs grounded them in a rational atheism or the blind devotion of a faith. “recreating a living thing isn’t outside the realms of possibilities. cloning… it’s not possible yet but it could be one day. human cloning, i mean.” was it so daunting to humankind? it certainly would administer a massive blow, set shifts into motion from which they wouldn’t recover. “if you could, would you like to experience what we do? pain and misery?”

it was more than that in every aspect save for appearances, and they both stuck to those like actors did to  lines and stage direction. cesare wondered why. there was no one else to witness the kind of show they were putting on so why? why bother? troubled more than he was hurt by what came next, some ugly concern she spilled out without much of a prompt, he leaned in and for an instant, for a split second that seemed to stretch, he looked as though he meant to touch her. his hands, though, remained cupped around his mug, his fingers a tight lace to cage its warmth. hers would be warm, too. and soft. touching them wouldn’t mean anything more, stand as anything more than a brotherly gesture of comfort. still, he didn’t. he sat there and looked at her. “why would not have me? what… how could that even happen, lucrezia?” what was it? their family? or some phantomatic threat whose existence was confined to the dark recess of her mind? “we’re different,” he stated, a lie that wasn’t one, not entirely. “it’s just us here. there’s nothing and no one to fuck this up.”

“it’s not up to you, robin.” whatever brockbank would do, whatever alyssa would do. strike wanted, to give her some sort of blessing (and he oddly wondered whether she was seeking it at all) for acting on benevolent intentions but the truth was: her actions had triggered brockbank to flee - and had perhaps placde alyssa and her daughters into graver danger. bloody hell, she might have even put herself in a hazardous situation. “i understand,” he leaned in, forearms resting on his thighs. “i do understand but i don’t condone it.” she was clever enough to get it. “you allowed your emotions to guide your decision when you knocked on alyssa’s door. there was a proper time to do this and this…” a shake of his head, disappointment plain as day on his face,” this was premature.”

it was harrowing, to know about what they had known, to stay put and quiet, the sit on their hands whilst abuse unfolded. it was harrowing and strike had already encountered, already experienced to know better than to act without gauging the consequences and the collateral damage. “i can’t let you wreck the case robin and most importantly, i won’t let you endanger yourself.” strike was certain that the state she was in at that moment, mentally and physically, would erect barriers to her accepting a blunt, harsh and necessary truth. risking his own life was one thing, putting robin’s on the line was different. “he could have killed you, do you get that? fucking hell, he still can!” there it was. that anger rising again. fear, strike realised, was making a good job of bringing it back full swing.

She wanted to tell him that he didn’t know what he was talking about, that in this situation she knew better than him, that there was no such thing as being premature when a kid was at risk, but these were only excuses to not feel the weight of her mistakes on her shoulders. Instead of saying all this, she remained quiet because she knew that Strike was right. She should have waited, perhaps for a few days or probably a week or two and everything would have ended differently. “The police will get him before he can go too far… before he can hurt anyone else.” They had to because thinking like this was the only consolation that she had. Yes, perhaps what she had done had forced him to remain away from those girls, but how long for him to end up doing the same thing all over again? -- She needed to remain positive, if he got caught, then everything she had done and including each one of her injuries would have been worth it.

          of course she wanted to stop him, why else would she have gone ahead, following her heart instead of her head? her motivations weren’t being questioned or judge here. if part of strike understood it, the whole of him failed to condone it, to brush it off as a rooky mistake because on top of the damage inflicted on her, robin had triggered a chain of reactions harming not only their investigation but that of the met. “you knew better, robin.” quietly, a tired and disappointed reply devoid of any trace of anger. “there will be consequences. i hope you’re aware of that.” as ominous as it could get, he didn’t expand on anything.

his head hung heavy between his shoulders, his lips parted to heave out a sigh, his eyes closed for moment. “what did you tell alyssa?” would it be enough for her to start thinking, to consider pressing charges? strike had been around enough cases of child abuse to know nothing ought to be taken for granted and that the fear hooked deep into the victims served as a proverbial prison ensuring their silence. in the end, there was nothing more either he or robin could do.

Robin had been well aware of the consequences, she knew that there was a probability for things to go wrong and she had thought of both a negative and positive outcome and at that moment she thought that not doing anything was more harmful than actually doing something. Now she regretted what she did and not because the consequences that she could be facing now, but because she had solved nothing. -- She couldn’t look at Strike, if there was disappointment in his eyes, she didn’t want to see it. What she couldn’t stop herself from listening were his words and in her, there was this fear hearing him say that he was going to let her go, that she couldn’t keep working for him anymore and if this happened, what was she supposed to do next? She had to make him understand.

“i thought you might.” a smile of her own oddly mirrored his own - as though she was following suite and matching him, mood and expression alike. “mean it, that is.” looking at her own kind through the eyes of someone that hadn’t been born, a machine thought, designed, created by humans, wasn’t something she’d ever thought of doing; nor would she have believed herself interested in when their father had bought a seat on the cyberlife board of owners. “you haven’t bored me,” she smiled again, amused that his fears veered in that direction. better than his concern of offending her. “i suppose that when you put it that way, we do sound fascinating.” but something was missing for lucrezia to fully appreciate the near adoration conveyed by his observations, something connor seemed to possess. was it a trait of his? or a common feature shared by other androids. “what about you though, connor? don’t you find yourself, and other like you, interesting enough to contemplate the way you do humans?”

“no, don’t be.” she reached out, fingers uncurled to wrap about his hands where a soft squeeze was delivered; and just as quickly, they retracted. the touch, lucrezia realised, had been meant to give weight to her words, but connor might not have needed it - or perhaps he simply disliked physical contact. “some people do both, they don’t care and they regret it at once.” her brother was a prime example of so blatant a paradox. profound observations on the human race had been made, their naked truth and wretched state unveiled by someone who wasn’t human in spite of regrets and aspirations, and she wondered whether he knew, whether he’d ever realised how much of a person he already was. “did you only say these things because they sounded right?” or was it a convenient blanket thrown over words he’d apologised for in fear of offending or causing harm. “or do you believe them, those observations you’ve made after all this time being among us?”

          “my family isn’t me, connor.” juan hadn’t been. his father, yes, but his father was almighty. and lucrezia… lucrezia was all the good and pure and redeemable they had, cesare clinging on to it as though he were a pilgrilm kneeling to worship the feet of a saint. “and you still know jack shit.” should he feel guilty that he didn’t feel guilty. if he had to do it again, he would. killing juan had been a necessary evil and the blame couldn’t have befallen anyone - anyone human. androids were machines, objects, pieces designed by the human mind, crafted and assembled to resemble their masters but failing to be anything like them. what they felt, what they thought, what they did, it was nothing more than data, codes fed to their system. that connor failed to consider what he had learnt meant or even implied for cesare, of for the family he claimed to know, spoke volumes and sparked cesare’s anger back to life, its flames only gaining in intensity with each word he dared add.  if before he had considered accepting an apology, it was clearly an option no longer on the table. it was not pride so much as a stronger, greater sense of rejection, of contempt almost dripping from connor’s lips and stance.

the chair groaned and skidded over the floor when cesare sprung to his feet to round the table and catch up with him. he touched his arm at the elbow, stopping his where he moved away; and before he could respond, he was on the android. against his throat, his forearm pressed, arm folding and elbow jutting out to shove him backwards and slam him against the fridge. there was a rattle and clinking sound from within. “i warned you.” the weight of his body was exerting pressure, the bone of his arm digging into connor’s windpipe. he doesn’t need to breathe. “are you trying to provoke me or are you just unable to shut up when fucking asked to?” was he aware that it was more than the shallow surface he was wounding? that his family was everything? that the bond of blood ran deeper than anything his deviancy could ever come close to? “keep your holier than thou judgments to yourself because i can throw you out without an ounce of concern about it. and if you know anything about me, connor, you must know this to be true.”

Before he decided to say anything, he had considered the probabilities for this to happen, but that hadn’t been enough to stop him from saying what he thought and he didn’t regret it. Unlike him, Connor seemed extremely calmed. He felt the pressure of his arm against him but did nothing to try and defend himself, not yet. The empty look he gave him and the blank expression on his face, made him seem void of any emotions, it made him look more like the machine he was and not like the man his artificial skin helped him pass for. — Connor had been built for combat, durability, his body was able to resist more than that one of the average android. He was a weapon and he could easily bring him down if he wanted to, he could kill him if he wished to and walk away as if nothing had ever happened. There was another side of him that he was yet to see and he was testing him. Did he really think that threatening him with throwing him out was going to force him to remain quiet? What he believed in and what he thought was far more important and valuable than having a roof over his head.

was it empathy that connor was after? or simply for someone to listen. understanding, relating, lucrezia could only stretch so far. she was human, he wasn’t - and no amount of considering him and treating him as a person would change it. “oh this maker.” there was a flutter of a smile just then, amused, sad. how droll how those emotions often combined. “i’m not sure,” she confessed. faith had always been at the very centre of their family, a vine around which their lives were entangled; and it seemed that none of them could pry themselves free of its grip - as though it had merged with who the borgias were. quite hypocritical, wasn’t it, considering what they were involved in? “i’d ask him why we suffer so much or why we hurt others so badly.” she paused, watched him for a moment. “you know, we believe that we are made in his image.” a small, bitter laugh sounded. “can you believe it?”

Send me Ⓐ and my muse will rate yours ;; @monstersaremade

Attractiveness:

repulsive || hideous || ugly || not attractive || unappealing || not unattractive || meh || no preference || ok || mildly attractive || nice looking || cute || adorable || attractive || pleasant on the eyes || good looking || hot || beautiful || gorgeous || hot damn || perfect || godlike || holy fuck there are no words

Personality:

grating || irritating || frustrating || boring || confusing at best || awkward || unreasonable || psychotic || disturbing || interesting || engaging || affectionate || aggressive || ambitious || anxious || artistic || bad tempered || bossy || charismatic || appealing || unappealing || creative || courageous || dependable || unreliable || unpredictable || predictable || devious || dim || extroverted || introverted ||  egotistical || gregarious || fabulous || impulsive || intelligent || sympathetic || talkative || up beat || peaceful || calming || badass || flexible

Level of Friendship:

never in a million years || worst of enemies || enemies || rivals || indifferent || neutral || acquaintance || friendly toward each other || casual friends || friends || good friends || best friends || practically the same person || would die for them || true friends || my only friend ||

First impression of them:

I hate them so much || I don’t like them || I don’t trust them || they annoy me || they’re weird || I’m indifferent || meh || they seem alright || they’re growing on me || truce || I think I like them || I like them || I’m not sure if I trust them || I trust them || they’re cool || they’re genuine || I think we’re going to get along || I really like them || I think I’m in love || oh fuck they’re hot || I love them

Current impression of them:

I hate them so much || I don’t like them || I don’t trust them || they annoy me || they’re weird || I’m indifferent || meh || they seem alright || they’re growing on me || truce || I think I like them || I like them || I’m not sure if I trust them || I trust them || they’re cool || they’re genuine || I think we’re going to get along || I really like them || I think I’m in love || oh fuck they’re hot || I love them

How good of a kisser:

         not him. lucrezia trusted him to help her stay away, to maintain that distance ensuring that she was not only safe, shielded from their family’s deeds, but happy. was she though? he didn’t ask, feeling as though, once again, the tenuous line between their closeness and their respective need for space was blurred. “you wish?” now that was new. and hurtful. his gaze flickered upwards and from under a creased brow, cesare stared at her with a combination of disbelief, confusion and pain. “you can. of course you can, lucrezia. why do you…  i’ve always been on your side, by your side, you know that.” what transpired between remained between them, it always would. when the sight of her was more an ache than a relief, his eyes lowered again. “it’s us,” he eventually added, that small phrase encompassing all the unspoken and obvious truths, all the withheld feelings and the latent emotions shaping their relationship.

“you don’t…” no. not him. the others. those he’d once hunted with a ruthless determination. “the androids,” she amended. “they weren’t all lost.” how could they be? that feeling, that deep and, dare she think it, intrinsic feeling belonged to the very soul, to a sentience that a machine, by definition, couldn’t possess. connor did. now, though, now they had opened their eyes, now they were thinking. ignorance is bliss, she bit back. “and you’re not useless, connor. you only feel that you are.” would he grasp the difference? lucrezia should have expected the question to be flung back at her. “my maker?” a small smile graced her lips, sadness a fleeting shadow across her face - and as though she was ashamed of letting it show, she looked down. “which one? my parents or god?”

@dieorclimb / ctnd.