#luna 01

This was a face he was fine with seeing once again. He could at least hope she wouldn’t dump a large amount of very crucial information on him out of nowhere. And he could relax. Just a tiny bit.

Smile on his face as he jogged over to her, he stopped midway, thinking about it. Maybe she didn’t actually want to see him. What if this was one of the versions of her he’d met before in this city. He fucked up both of those times pretty badly---or well. His older self did, but regardless, the impressions weren’t so great. Maybe he should be hesitant to talk to her again.

God why was everything he knew outside of the city so fucked.

Toning down the smile just a bit on his face, he walked over to her more slowly, waving to get her attention. There was no use in not trying to have a decent conversation.

Luckily subways tended to not have much to look at for those who could see, so it was certainly not an event where he was missing some intrinsic part of an experience. He knew nobody was sitting by him, and while he had nothing to read he could busy himself with learning the joints and grooves of his new arm. 

He did not pull up the sleeve, but instead contented himself with running his fingers across the palm, feeling the finger joints - they were stiff enough they they did not simply flop around when he moved his arm. It was stable. Heavy, but stable.

His only concern was whether or not the joints were metal. Perhaps he could have one of the others help him.

Without looking up, he heard the seat in front of him become occupied. Felt the slight movement of a chair in front of him as he instinctively pulled lanky knees tighter.

Admittedly, her timing was welcome - he had been on the train for twenty minutes now, and he was wondering:

White walls, white tiles, white noise. The occasional crimson stain, but there was little more to his clinic.

Yet today, he finds that he’s greeted by locks of ginger hair.

Not so literally, of course--that particular color merely stuck out to him. It always would.

He would love to claim that he hadn’t noticed her initially, as he sits in his leatherback chair, legs crossed while ink rapidly dances across his paper.

But he can’t. His gaze flickers on and over towards the door prior to her even entering.

He sees hair first, it’s always her hair, and then her face. Something in his chest stirs, and for a moment, a single word attempts to part from his lips, so desperate to escape through gaps between his gritted teeth: Diana.

But she isn’t Diana, and he knows well she won’t ever be.

His features are softening, and he’s well aware, because even if it isn’t Diana it’s Luna and truth be told that did little good for his heart. She’s found him, and he knew she would, she was competent, she was clever, she was docile, she was so much more than what his blueprints once entailed.

She’s devoted, too. Some part of him loathes that.

He doesn’t look at her as he speaks. He gaze flickers towards her, only for a second, and then towards the side, and then the chair that sits across from his desk and towards his papers once again. 

“Take a seat,” he starts.

“And tell me what you last remember.”

"I-I-Is this dumb thing rec-rec-rec-recording? Shaz... useless piece of j-j-j-junk..." The android held her head between her knees, her mutterings fluttering between her distinctive robotic voice and that of a young male, distorted by static feedback. Every skip in her voice was met with a slap to her head by her own hand, a meager attempt to get things working. To feel normal. To hear that voice. Even for a moment.

"If anyone is listening, if this thing has-hasn't been w-wiped, then I'm probably dead dead dead dead dead---"

No.