[ He gives a slight nod of his head, the fringe of his hair bouncing lightly with the motion, his hands reaching to envelop her own as he smiles, appreciative of levity introduced by Lapis' bright tone of voice; the way she has entrusted herself to him, unburdened by fear of rejection. Of what he might think, because she should know it, shouldn't she? That he is her friend, and that she is a piece of his heart, not only in memory, but in the present. In the here and now where his thumbs brush over the backs of Lapis' hands in a tender caress, his eyes falling closed--...
(Inhale. Exhale. Then, a whisper of a thought which resonates through the mind, waking the technology inside of him.)
Then reopening, lambent and alight, flashing with an iridescent quality which may be difficult to look at for long with human sight. ]
Lapis. [ —her name is a whisper upon his lips, his gaze drifting off, becoming distant, his eyes fixed upon some pinpoint in the aether which only he might be able to glimpse. ] There is...
[ Falling silent, he shakes his head, blinks one, two, three times in swift succession before the light fades from his eyes, dissipates as though it had never been. And still, he holds fast to her hands, his fingers curling in a familiar squeeze, offering what reassurance he may (and all the care and compassion he can give). ]
Neural technology at the cortex of the brain, far more refined than my own. It... is what responsible for your sensory modality, but--... [ A light furrow of his brow, a search for how to explain: ] ...there are signs of spurious bioelectric signals.
Or, for a lack of a better term, a "glitch". Perhaps one stemming from disuse. The voices you hear... I think that you may be able to control them, given time and practice.
no subject
[ He gives a slight nod of his head, the fringe of his hair bouncing lightly with the motion, his hands reaching to envelop her own as he smiles, appreciative of levity introduced by Lapis' bright tone of voice; the way she has entrusted herself to him, unburdened by fear of rejection. Of what he might think, because she should know it, shouldn't she? That he is her friend, and that she is a piece of his heart, not only in memory, but in the present. In the here and now where his thumbs brush over the backs of Lapis' hands in a tender caress, his eyes falling closed--...
(Inhale. Exhale. Then, a whisper of a thought which resonates through the mind, waking the technology inside of him.)
Then reopening, lambent and alight, flashing with an iridescent quality which may be difficult to look at for long with human sight. ]
Lapis. [ —her name is a whisper upon his lips, his gaze drifting off, becoming distant, his eyes fixed upon some pinpoint in the aether which only he might be able to glimpse. ] There is...
[ Falling silent, he shakes his head, blinks one, two, three times in swift succession before the light fades from his eyes, dissipates as though it had never been. And still, he holds fast to her hands, his fingers curling in a familiar squeeze, offering what reassurance he may (and all the care and compassion he can give). ]
Neural technology at the cortex of the brain, far more refined than my own. It... is what responsible for your sensory modality, but--... [ A light furrow of his brow, a search for how to explain: ] ...there are signs of spurious bioelectric signals.
Or, for a lack of a better term, a "glitch". Perhaps one stemming from disuse. The voices you hear... I think that you may be able to control them, given time and practice.