Beck gave a soft sigh. “Raaay..” He groaned, although he couldn’t really get himself to argue with her. He just had to trust that she had a good reason to, and by the sound of it she did. He sighed, blinking his deep emerald optics. “I guess I understand.” He did understand, but that didn’t mean that he agreed that it was a smart thing to do.
Y’know, he also couldn’t help but wonder.. Why was she letting him this close? Why was she letting him come into physical contact with her? The Xelbots look softened as he pondered the strange thought. He never would’ve guessed that he’d ever be in this situation, but here he was. Beck snapped back to reality once Ray had started speaking again. The dark-haired android hadn’t seemed to realize that he’d just paused entirely while he was thinking, so he quickly got back into rubbing the blood back off.. Although there wasn’t any blood anymore. He’d finished the job. Beck removed his left hand from Rays shoulder and glanced at the bloody cloth, shuddering a bit. He was definitely going to throw it out once he got back home. Glancing back up at her curiously he began,
“They’ll what..?”
He.. Didn’t think they’d try and fight her. So long as he told them not to. Was that what she was thinking?
“Oh.” Beck blinked his emerald optics slowly, “Do you think they’ll try and fight you..? I really don’t think they would, so long as you weren’t trying to fight me or anyone else. And even if they did show up and try to start something, I’d stop them. You really aren’t.. Well, trying to kill me, so why would they?”
Did he? Did he really understand? What she has to go through nearly every single day of this wretched, cursed life–no, it can’t even be called a life, can it. This wasn’t life, this was not living. Surviving and living are two completely different things.
Ray stared as she saw his spine shake at the sight of blood. Strange, how similar and alike they really were. She almost enjoyed being covered in the red, sticky substance sometimes. Almost. Being bathed in the blood of your foes loses it’s charm after a few decades–it dries and cakes over, making it harder to wash off.
“…Thank you, I suppose.” She says, casting her gaze off–only to snap it back at the better model
“Beck–don’t you KNOW what I am?”
The question is delivered in a more harsh tone than she realized.
“What do you mean, ‘they won’t fight me?’ Beck–you know what I do, do you really think your family–your father–will see it that way as well? Like…like you do? You ‘understand’–they won’t.”
She shouldn’t remind him like this, did he just forget everything they–
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