Los nodded at his “master”’s assessment, frowning slightly— trying to avoid the memories of his past as they pried at his thoughts, attempting to overpower his attention to the present. It was very true; not that he was destructive— he’d been “taught” not to act in such a way quickly, his former master’s “lessons” written in scars along his back and sides— so much as difficult, pride and rage and a burning desire for freedom by any measure making him increasingly hard to tame. It didn’t help that he’d prepared himself for death so long ago, erasing the last dregs of what he had to lose. Once his masters realized that, and that he would not be easily subdued, he assumed he began to unnerve them, and so he was sold to another. Again, and again, and again. Shaking his head, he sighed heavily, pressing his nails into his palms to keep himself from drifting. ‘Inhuman’… Los couldn’t help but flinch at the word, gritting his teeth to keep a seething snarl at bay; not human, LESS THAN human. Oh, those were words he had more than enough experience with. He knew, of course, that Wheatley had meant to ill will with his statement… But it stung all the same, reminding him once again of the one thing he wished above all else to be— to be treated like— and the one thing it seemed so impossible to obtain… Not with these scars, not with this monstrous form. But— this one said the opposite, that he already viewed him in such a light… That he was already human in his sorrowful azure eyes. That he understood the pain he and all these slaves like him had endured… That PEOPLE, like them, didn’t deserve that treatment. He’d never heard one like him acknowledge such things before. It was— almost comforting. Almost. He forced his eyes to harden again, a timid softness almost cracking through his shell. Words meant nothing; he reminded himself of that, withdrawing from the sense of relief that ANYONE— slave or owner— could look upon such ugly mechanics, bolts, and plastic-like burns, and still think ‘human’. Still, he kept calm, carefully calm. And he listened, just as carefully, to the slaveowner’s words— begging him not to harm him, though not for his own sake, seemingly willing to be caused pain as long as it wouldn’t hinder their freedom. A small nod was given in response. “If you do not betray me, I will not betray you. It is that simple. I promise you no harm will come to you if you keep your word.” He intoned quietly, his eyes showing intensity and undoubtable sincerity. If Wheatley stayed true to the plan, he’d have gained his trust— he’d have no reason to do any damage to him, as he seemed to expect him to do. In Los’s eyes, at least, he would have earned reconciliation. It was more than obvious that “they”… Hypothetically only THOUGHT he used slaves for his pleasure; that sentiment he didn’t react to. But, a few more marks… Los averted his gaze, shivering at the thought. What kind of marks was he thinking? W— whip marks…? Or— or did he mean the kind he’d bestowed upon his neck more than once now, the kind much less painful but that shook him to his core? He didn’t know how to cope with those, those strange feelings of submission and some malformation of pleasure they elicited… “… Whatever it takes.” He croaked finally, determination thick in his voice. He’d do anything to make this plan work, anything to make it go off with as few hitches as possible. Now to the plan itself. Los listened with a calculating lack of expression, taking in each word with slow consideration; he was sure he was powerful enough to do as Wheatley asked, and more than willing to do the same— if killing was what he’d need to do, he’d revel in the blood he spilled. And with this slaveowner as their guide… it was almost— Almost FEASIBLE. The more he spoke, the more Los’s eyes brightened, real excitement visible for the first time in ages. It could really, truly work— they could really free them, ALL of them, they could— they could truly escape, couldn’t they…? /No, no, don’t let yourself get your hopes up… Don’t let him crush you. We have no way of knowing if he’s sincere./ Biting his lip to keep down the taste of the summer sky he’d already begun to savor, he closed his eyes for a moment to gather his bearings. Right. There was time for that if everything went as was promised. “This plan could work.” He whispered finally, a tremor in hands pressed hard to his stammering heart. “I believe I can do everything that my part in this scheme entails. Is everyone else informed of the details…?” ~~~ ~~~ Los’s flinch made Wheatley’s heart sink to the pit of his belly. Wrong word, inhuman… He thinks his specialties are bad… With as much respect as possible, Wheatley shifted a bit away to give more space. “Ah– I’m sorry… That was an incorrect term, I suppose… There is nothing wrong with such strength and abilities– you will not be alienated for what you can do, I promise. Personally, your … above-human … capabilities amaze me.” Wheatley’s eyes shone as he gestured just slightly towards Los’s arms, a hinted smile brightening his eyes even more. Such a smile fell, eyes lowering; Wheatley was aware of his power in this situation, the negative connotations of his power to Los and everyone else – his opinion did not matter. His opinion meaning nothing was not what disheartened him, though – it was that others may never say the same, even though it is the plain truth. “…Again, I am so-so-so-so sorry for the, erm, suddenness of this entire interaction – the, the grabbing and all of that.. If it is any help, maybe we can get away with what is already here..” Rather awkwardly, he unbuttoned a few buttons of his dress shirt, one hand quick to splay out in front of Los, as if keeping a scared animal from running, “I-I promise, nothing bad is happening, I’ve just got to play the part a bit when that door opens. You can sprint out as fast as you wish, but I will have to be visible a bit..” The silence was killing him, urging him to just let Los out immediately. Maybe fucking up for once would be okay… They’d be fleeing soon enough, right? What’s one last mistake— oh, but what was he saying?? He’d fucked up so many times before! Complete and utter internal turmoil going on in Wheatley’s head, he pressed his face into his own hands with a long and heavy sigh. His fingers curled around his hair, rather shaggy after so many hours of planning behind their country’s back. “So…” Wheatley started with a deep inhale, as if really breathing oxygen for the first time in months, “..Everyone has been ready. They’ve been waiting on you. If you accept this kind of duty, you will be their saviors. Everyone has a role– ones they chose for themselves, mind you… I am sorry that you have an assigned role, but you’re … you’re just perfect for this role, mate. But I’m not lettin’ you die on us. I’m not letting any of you die on me, not when you’re so close..” His gaze hardened as he spoke of them living to see this freedom – firmness and determination for them, not at all meant as aggression or hatred. It’s what they deserved. It’s what he owed them all.
