A jerk of his chin at Asriel. There's an unnerving picture. They can't pull it together, the many scattered pieces that make no sense. The disk - the disk is Asriel's. It is editable. It can change the parts and pieces of him, and he'd already offered himself up, willingly, to be pulled apart and put back together again on a whim. That is his choice. That is his choice, completely and utterly, and it is not his fault that an aversion to change and a lack of mental-physical control sends their world spinning.
The lights beam in and out in a static flicker. Plaster crumbling to the floor in a hiss of white dust, and they flinch, powerfully. Weakening. Placing all their softer parts on display, for the world to see! Asriel stammers a litany of apologies that mean nothing, nothing, nothing.
Again, for reasons untold, their gaze slides laterally, fixating on the robot lying still and dormant in the corner of the room.
Panic.
They'd called it for what it was, and he'd breathed again. Pieced himself back together, with their reluctant, disgusting aid. But it displayed itself in forms recognizable, and now - and now, all that is obvious of Rinzler's state of mind is the way the smooth, inhuman fluidity of his movement has been sacrificed for something sharp and hard-angled and uncontrolled.
Seize the corners of their mind. Draw it all inward again. Speak. Speak. Be the inconsolable force of nature. Be the demon. Words emerge as a violent snap.
no subject
A jerk of his chin at Asriel. There's an unnerving picture. They can't pull it together, the many scattered pieces that make no sense. The disk - the disk is Asriel's. It is editable. It can change the parts and pieces of him, and he'd already offered himself up, willingly, to be pulled apart and put back together again on a whim. That is his choice. That is his choice, completely and utterly, and it is not his fault that an aversion to change and a lack of mental-physical control sends their world spinning.
The lights beam in and out in a static flicker. Plaster crumbling to the floor in a hiss of white dust, and they flinch, powerfully. Weakening. Placing all their softer parts on display, for the world to see! Asriel stammers a litany of apologies that mean nothing, nothing, nothing.
Again, for reasons untold, their gaze slides laterally, fixating on the robot lying still and dormant in the corner of the room.
Panic.
They'd called it for what it was, and he'd breathed again. Pieced himself back together, with their reluctant, disgusting aid. But it displayed itself in forms recognizable, and now - and now, all that is obvious of Rinzler's state of mind is the way the smooth, inhuman fluidity of his movement has been sacrificed for something sharp and hard-angled and uncontrolled.
Seize the corners of their mind. Draw it all inward again. Speak. Speak. Be the inconsolable force of nature. Be the demon. Words emerge as a violent snap.
"Edited how."