#theatricalgladiator

[princebot-blog]

Friends page updated.

[demosthenes]

Well if this wasn't a little atypical. He threw on a hoodie and shoved his inhaler in the pocket, standing stupidly at his door, frowning. Did he really want to do this? He hadn't been outside in. Well. Forever, actually. He'd lost track (not that he'd been keeping up on how he was slowly turning into a hermit or anything) of the last time he'd seen sunlight that wasn't streaming obnoxiously through the window. Ah, well, if he counted standing on the balcony sometimes he saw sunlight last week. But it had been somewhat windy and it made it hard to breathe, so he hadn't stayed out long.

AR, sleeping on the end of his bed, made a sound in his sleep and Dirk wasn't sure if he wanted to roll his eyes or coo at how frustratingly adorable it was. He was understandably a little irritated by the whole matter of him having a body now, but he couldn't tell if it was irritation that AR had gone to someone else for it, or the fact that it had happened at all. Maybe both, even if he'd vehemently argue the fact that AR didn't really deserve a body after what he'd done. D was right though, the little AI was pitifully tiny and much less of a threat like this. Still, it worried him to a degree that AR's freedom might go to his head and cause problems, but Dirk was adamant with the rule of 'you're still mine, you don't leave for anywhere without my permission.' It was actually holding up semi-decently.

But that was neither here nor there, and Dirk, with a sigh, pushed open his door and went down the hall, leaning outside his brother's door.

"You ready to go?" He hoped he didn't sound as unsure as he felt.

[demosthenes]

Hey.

[tenebrificthanatophile]

You poor man. You have my sincere condolences as well as my sympathetic ear.

Oh dear. That sounds serious. Have you explored what may have caused this problem? I don't recall you mentioning this before my leave of absence.

[tenebrificthanatophile]

been a while hasnt it how was europe

Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes.

Europe was wonderful. I never grow tired of seeing the world. And the food, as always, was exquisite. I may go back soon if I can find someone to look after the shop for me. Otherwise I can perfect the illusion with books like usual. Immersing yourself in an imaginary world does wonders for the soul. Though I'm sure you're aware.

How have you been, darling?

[demosthenes]

He probably should have figured that he'd be coming home via transportalizer, but that was a weird experience in and of itself - being what he was, with the proper networks he could just jump from computer to computer without actually having to go anywhere. But he had a body now, he was tangible and he had to travel like people did. Exciting. So fucking exciting. 

And right now he was an AI on a mission.

Definitely (probably) over that stupid little crying thing (which was hella embarrassing (though he cherished the ability to feel embarrassed in and of itself)) he was heading home in his soft, squishy new body in search of a hug promised very long ago. He knew Dirk was sleeping (the super cool ability to remain linked to his shades and computer was especially awesome, even though he was basically a self-sustained computer himself) so he wasn't too concerned about that blonde's reaction - he'd promised himself he'd have a real heart-to-whateverhehadthatwasaheart talk with him when Dirk was feeling better. It was best that way.

He stepped off the pad and looked around. Sawtooth was probably with Dirk, and Squarewave had that near unhealthy fascination with the rats. Good. Less impediments. But his target wasn't around ether. Hm.

He rounded the corner into the living room, spotting D on the couch doing something or other. Would speaking or waiting until he was seen startle him less? Stupid humans and their fragility.

[demosthenes]

Today had actually started out somewhat normal, honestly (completely ignoring the fact most humans didn't typically sleep for 17 hours and then turn around and call it 'normal') until he'd been awake for about three hours. It was at that mark that he started feeling, as he'd classify it, 'like shit', and did stuff to try and keep his mind off it. Talked to Sawtooth. Tried to make himself something to eat. Played video games. He even fell asleep for a stint.

As the day wore on he just felt worse and worse, and it was pretty late in the evening that it started to scare him. Breathing was actually difficult; he was light-headed and dizzy and he'd actually nearly fainted twice from pure exhaustion. Which was actually kinda pissing him off; he'd worked so hard to get to where he was mentally and physically and it honestly felt like it'd been for nothing if he was just gonna end up like this. He'd lament about his relapse into 'helpless baby colt' status later - right now he just wanted to make the bad-feelings go the fuck away. And that meant finding his brother and whining to him about it. 

With Sawtooth's help he managed to shuffle out of his room, and a quick glance in the living room showed that his brother wasn't there.

"Fuck." Saw readjusted his grip on Dirk as he winced, gasping a little uncomfortably. "Room?" The bot nodded and altered his course, blonde head tucked close against the black hoodie he wore. This was almost unbearable.

At D's door, Saw knocked but didn't wait for an answer, opening it and pulling his charge in with him.

"Hey bro. Kid's fucked up." Dirk grunted weakly in ashamed affirmation. He'd have been swaying if he didn't maintain a death-grip on his robot. "Says he ain't breathin' right. Dizzy n' shit."

[demosthenes]

"Do you trust me?"

The question, at first, makes you give him one of those 'are you a fucking idiot' looks. As if he's really asking you that, as if he really needs to fucking ask at all. But your face relaxes after a moment and you settle down a bit and your muscles un-tense because maybe he actually does really need to ask. You're impossible to read almost ninety percent of the time, and the other ten you spend holed up in your room. How could he know that you spoke of him at length? How could he know that you still had that childish adoration you did when you were so much smaller? How could he know that you rued the day you realized it might be more?

You've been shit. A literal steaming pile of ugly fat nasty trash that dared to get it's sorry, half-dead carcass hauled here. He could have turned you away. He might say the choice was obvious, but it was still his choice. He chose to keep you, chose to take you in and nurse you back to health like some pathetic baby bird with a broken wing. You weren't a baby bird. But you are broken.

He needs the reassurance because you've spent a majority of your life in secrecy, surrounded by piles of parts and pieces of men that you're absolutely certain he thought were around to replace him. Your faith rest within something cold and unfeeling, something he could never be. You knew he was convinced of this and it broke your heart - a cruel, bitter mockery of what little you managed to hold together of your so-called 'title'. 

His words aren't defensive. They're hurt and you know the reason they're so damaged and desperate is because you fucked up. Somewhere along the line, you fucked up bad. You could take a lifetime to put a little pin in every single fucking horrible thing you'd ever done to make him have to ask this question. You'd have a goddamn galaxy of pins. 

You really are a horrible brother.

You stand up straighter. You slide your shades into your hair and implore him with an honest nod and look that speaks literal volumes of what you're feeling. It's a goddamn shame it might as well be written in another language.

"With my life." You know he knows you can't die. You just hope the sentiment remains the same.