The android continues to stalk closer, his posture imbued with new angles and energy unlike any Kit has seen in him before, despite the other's claims of damage. The odd-colored fluid splattered across pale synthetic skin turns purple as a neon light flashes over his passage.
A day previous he wouldn't have thought to draw a correlation between such disparate beings, but he half expects that sharp-edged smile to bring with it the wafting smell of blood and roses, so reminded is he of Louisa. Yesterday, he would've said he had a grasp of Connor's strangely sweet disposition. Today, there is wildness. Irreverent savagery without her silks, but the same smile. It's the one feature the de Clermont siblings share when they're in a mood.
"Connor." Again, the android's name--but this time with a curl of mild protest to it. An air of chiding, as one indulges the sheet-thin performance of a child hiding a stolen treat behind their back. "You could do better."
You're not fooling me, that comment says. Not that something's gone awry here--and not what Connor is doing. Danger and hunger hum in a place deeper than his ears, joining the buzz of neon lights.
As Connor's steps into conversational range and slips beyond, now is the time anyone might have taken a closer look at the android's dishevelment and begun asking questions. Still, Kit stands.
The sweep of his gaze softens, slows. As does his voice when he says, "You're not yourself. What's happened?"
Something. Something's happened. And what may happen should he let the other close those last few feet feels foreboding. But, it seems, not enough to summon resistance. Even as he pulls his head back, as if anticipating what part of him has gathered the most attention, he doesn't so much as move a step to try and reclaim polite distance.
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A day previous he wouldn't have thought to draw a correlation between such disparate beings, but he half expects that sharp-edged smile to bring with it the wafting smell of blood and roses, so reminded is he of Louisa. Yesterday, he would've said he had a grasp of Connor's strangely sweet disposition. Today, there is wildness. Irreverent savagery without her silks, but the same smile. It's the one feature the de Clermont siblings share when they're in a mood.
"Connor." Again, the android's name--but this time with a curl of mild protest to it. An air of chiding, as one indulges the sheet-thin performance of a child hiding a stolen treat behind their back. "You could do better."
You're not fooling me, that comment says. Not that something's gone awry here--and not what Connor is doing. Danger and hunger hum in a place deeper than his ears, joining the buzz of neon lights.
As Connor's steps into conversational range and slips beyond, now is the time anyone might have taken a closer look at the android's dishevelment and begun asking questions. Still, Kit stands.
The sweep of his gaze softens, slows. As does his voice when he says, "You're not yourself. What's happened?"
Something. Something's happened. And what may happen should he let the other close those last few feet feels foreboding. But, it seems, not enough to summon resistance. Even as he pulls his head back, as if anticipating what part of him has gathered the most attention, he doesn't so much as move a step to try and reclaim polite distance.