sunderings: (or hang myself on treason)
SION ASTAL. ([personal profile] sunderings) wrote in [community profile] overjoyed_logs2017-04-16 12:09 am

[CLOSED] like waking up from a fantasy

Who: Julius & Sion
Where: Leith
When: W9D3
Summary: Company supply collection, nanotech malfunction, and hand-holding. Oh my.
Restrictions/Warnings: Light body horror and violence?? Will update as needed!



[ Though the Director had arrived upon Leith while its vast farmland still burned, ash falling thick as snow from the sky, it had been in the days after, and upon receiving a Company wide directive—maintain the peace—that he had again found himself at Julius' side. Had he not volunteered himself for a task in the field, Sion would have likely received instruction to move into another's office, to share a desk, but for having taking the initiative, the present sees him overseeing the gathering and reallocation of supplies; of food which is desperately needed both moon and Quad-wide. And perhaps selfishly, he'd taken Julius as escort, partner, and guard, participating in the collection of funds by paying visit to the estate which he had once called his childhood home.

As expected, the reception they'd received had been cold but polite, the distant cousins which had claimed his late father's trade empire and wealth bending not to Sion, nor to Julius, but to the uniforms they donned—the Company's influence by far stronger than blood in their noble regard. Still, Sion had smiled, cordial in their discussions of monetary donations, wishing the family which he did not know good health and prosperity despite--...

Seeming unwell to the discerning eye (Julius' gaze), agitation manifesting in the most minute of ways (involuntary flexes of his fingers, quickened breath, and a heavy aura of disquiet settling upon him where the Director is so often serene). But the audience draws to a close all the same, and after giving warm words of parting—call upon me, should you be in need of anything—they take their leave with a proffered sum of joy, though they do not make it far before: ]


Julius. [ —so soft is the sound of Sion's voice that it is almost startling, perhaps more so than the sight of that which is revealed when the Director removes the leather of his right glove from his hand: vivid gold, light limning from beneath the skin in patterns which do not mirror that of blood vessels, but those of circuitry. ]

Something... [ He gives pause, as though it were overwhelming to speak, and in a way it is—beyond the thrum of pain he bears day in and day out, there is something else, a sensation of everything in him being overturned, the programmable matter he is a vessel for coursing throughout the whole of his body as though it were a thing alive. ] ...is wrong with me.

[ And whatever it may be, worsens by the instant, the vivid gold patterning creeping up, along Sion's jawline like the spread of a virus, the glow of it just visible from beneath the edge of his jacket-collar. ]

Keep your distance.

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