[There's a moment of silence, a brief pause, before he decides to close up the distance between them again, move over to stand beside her at the bar. There's nothing immediately pressing for him to be doing-- it's rowdy and cloying in here and there's a deep thrum of waiting violence beneath it all that suggests maybe - maybe - the tension will eventually break and the noisy crowd will come undone, descend into brawling, give him something to do. For now though, that tension holds, and he needs something to pass the time, to keep him focused and poised. It's a difficult thing, sometimes, holding onto that. Not giving in to the impulses that push and gnaw at his insides, whisper yesyesyes to the thought of tearing those around him apart with his nails and teeth and--
--this is why he leans back, loose and boneless, against the bar behind him, close enough to reach out and touch her should he wish to. From further off in the crowd his Handler catches his eye, raises a warning brow, but subtly Giovanni shakes his head. He's all right. He's behaving. No cause for concern. His Handler stares at him intently a moment longer before frowning and looking away.
Unit 68 turns back towards her then, flashes his smile, the teeth like little razorblades, inhuman.]
I was made for the leash, Ms King. [Because apparently dropping polite honorifics is a difficult thing for him to do even when he's asked to, just another signifier of his conditioning.] And it's a good thing, too. I'm not sure you'd want to see me released from it.
[He, too, shares her history of violence and torture and terror, but it's a thing that has been happening to him since the very first moment he opened his eyes and as such, it's inside him now, irrevocable. Branded down into his bones, and that means there's something of stability in it, of certainty. He isn't happy, it isn't nice, but it's full of a crushing restraint he finds a certain kind of cold comfort in.]
no subject
--this is why he leans back, loose and boneless, against the bar behind him, close enough to reach out and touch her should he wish to. From further off in the crowd his Handler catches his eye, raises a warning brow, but subtly Giovanni shakes his head. He's all right. He's behaving. No cause for concern. His Handler stares at him intently a moment longer before frowning and looking away.
Unit 68 turns back towards her then, flashes his smile, the teeth like little razorblades, inhuman.]
I was made for the leash, Ms King. [Because apparently dropping polite honorifics is a difficult thing for him to do even when he's asked to, just another signifier of his conditioning.] And it's a good thing, too. I'm not sure you'd want to see me released from it.
[He, too, shares her history of violence and torture and terror, but it's a thing that has been happening to him since the very first moment he opened his eyes and as such, it's inside him now, irrevocable. Branded down into his bones, and that means there's something of stability in it, of certainty. He isn't happy, it isn't nice, but it's full of a crushing restraint he finds a certain kind of cold comfort in.]
Free will isn't for everyone.