❛ yeah . ❜ to all , really . it’s intricate , the system that makes up clear ; a playground of mechanics and circuitry that he understands at their basic application , but has yet to see them put together like this . despite that , he understands enough —— and he’s a fast learner anyway , this being one of the few situations where not understanding something right away is a reason for excited curiosity and not frustration .
he doesn’t say anything more , hasn’t bothered to look up once in their conversation sans the occasional shift of focus to his coil , logging in information and adjusting others and he doesn’t ask when he needs clear to move his arm , simply ceasing the use of his tools momentarily to grab his wrist and flip his arm over to reveal the back side of his wrist , more whirring metal and wires and things that fill the space between clear’s man made skeleton . ❛ … tch . ❜ a noise more for himself than anything else , reaching down into the toolbox at his side to produce a pair of thin , silver tweezers and sets himself to work in removing the piece of dislodged metal that’s wedged its way between two wheezing tendons . clink … clink … rattle , clunk , scrape … pop ! —— and it’s free , snapping back into place along with everything it was blocking . ❛ move your wrist . ❜
his breath catches. that could be programming , too , the pleasure that surges in him at hearing that he is pleasing , that something about him is of interest , that it incites a positive emotion ------ a feeling he has not had since the death of grandpa ; the feeling that he matters , that he is of use , that he can have something akin to a use. he shudders underneath noiz’s touch , feels warmth pool in an artificial stomach , knows the anxious crackling of his metals as not a fearful motion , not at all , but a response to sudden nervousness : from where , and from what , and why? it’s so frustrating to have no answers.
❛ … ! ❜ his breath hitches when noiz flips his wrist over , makes way into a pained hiss between his teeth when noiz pops the offending metal in his clockwork , but clear flexes his fingers instinctively in response , the motions smoother , more fluid , as close to the structure of a human being as scientific progress will allow. noiz’s demand makes clear halt , worry settling in a whipstitch between his eyebrows , and when he speaks it is in almost childish whine , with a draw of noise that drags the consonants out , ❛ … it still hurts. i caaan’t , noiz - san. ❜
origamiaround
theartofmadeline
snowghoul
discoholicmusic
areudirty
