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oneluckydragon · 3 months ago

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got hit with the echo+sora brainrot so i am once more rambling in your askbox about it. because reasons.

anywho i think there is something truly saddening about echo's struggles to make peace within herself and how she truly finds it hard to find that peace when she is so certain that if the truth about her origins were to be revealed to the world, much less to *sora*, everything she achieved, everything she worked for, all of which matters to her most, will crumble away in a moment's notice.

but the fear of losing all your life's work is none compared to the fear of losing sora. the feeling of poison that settled itself within themselves and between each other out of fear and tragedy of what had happened to them is familiar. echo's resemblance to dusknoir was already enough to set the two off because of how much it had all hurt to see someone you love and yourself turn into a mockery and a splitting image of someone who had pretended to care yet showed he never did at all, but this poison is louder. it hurts to bare, to carry, and to have none but yourself to be its sole holder.

but this poison, this feeling of heartache is different. because whereas the previous pain was something both of them felt, sora was lucky enough to not have known the truth about the person who she cares for so dearly.

echo knows that she used to be darkrai. and it haunts her to have known that her previous incarnation was so *cruel*, all for the sake of it just feeling right. wishing to engulf an entire world in darkness, solely for whatever desire she used to have.

and for how much she knows, how much she will hammer it into her own head that she is *not* like that anymore, that she looks at her past with sneer and disgust and that she will not be the barer of evil anymore, it will not matter in the slightest when she will have to look at sora if she were to ever find out.

how afraid, angry and dejected she would look when finding out, and how she will go on the defense/offense because of how much this will overwhelm her.

because when echo looks at her own shadow, she sees herself for what she is. she knows what she is, be it out of shame or guilt.

but when sora will look at it, she will see a tall, contorting and menacing shadow, towering over with a bright cyan eye doing nothing but looking at her, as if tempting her to make the next move.

and she defends herself. from someone she knows will not harm her. she raises her arms up in self defense from a hand that would never hurt her more than the world has already did.

she knows echo will not hurt her. and thats why she is afraid.

Oh my oh my OH MY, Sinnoh!!! YES YES YES!

HOW!!! IN THE WORLD!!! Are you so good at crawling into my head and creating these vivid analysis/snippets on my OCs??? I've barely shared ANY information about Echo and Sora because I've been wanting to hoard most of my stuff for when my fic is finally finished... but... I think you've broken my resolve a bit, if I'm entirely honest.

You know what? I'm so inspired by your accuracy and eagerness to talk about my girls that I'm gonna forgo my crippling anxiety regarding my writing skills and instead post a snippet of my WIP fic here as a treat for you. A teaser, if you will. Since I have no idea when the fic in question will actually be done and ready (or when I will be satisfied with it, cause the thing is currently 36,000 words and still slowly climbing). And now you've got me eager to share SOMETHING of my fic with you and anyone that might want to take a peek at it.

Please enjoy this conversation between Dusknoir and Echo. The topic deals a lot with what you'd described up above!! c:

[Note: this is an unedited part of my fic because I am still in the process of writing and it may change in the future, so please be gentle w/ me but I'd love to read any thoughts/comments that pop up while reading!! pls send asks or replies or anything really cause I love you guys]

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“I’m going to tell you something now, and you are going to listen.” Echo commands with a sharp bite in her voice that Dusknoir cannot fathom ignoring. He pauses and then offers a slow nod, waiting, wondering what she could possibly desire to tell him at a time like this, of all things.

Minutes pass as Echo remains rooted in place, still as her own shadow, and her eyes dart around as she stares at the patches of dry grass and sand beneath her paws. Her claws clench and unclench, digging into the earth like daggers as the wind of the forest (it’s trees so close, just behind them, a looming sort of presence that could engulf them whole) whistles through the surrounding branches, carrying stray leaves of many bright greens through the chilling breeze. Dusknoir watches them dance around Echo, twirling, floating down, down, down… but it’s quiet, too quiet, and Dusknoir feels a shiver pass through him when Echo’s voice finally rings out through the silence.

"When I evolved, Sora was petrified," She says, nearly a whisper, an admission that melts away her confidence and appears to bring her a flood of both shame and regret. Her face twists up then, strangely, like she’d felt a twinge of pain from somewhere deep inside the very fabric of her own soul and was unable to quell it. "She couldn’t even bring herself to look at me most days. At first, my appearance… well, it reminded her too much of you. And eventually of someone I used to be.”

Someone I used to be. At that, Dusknoir’s immediate reaction is to recall Echo’s previous life as a human, as the miserable shell of a creature surviving alongside Grovyle that he’d relentlessly hunted in the dark future. A human made of contempt and anger and apathy, who never smiled or laughed or cried or screamed like the old legends said humans would-- an entity that simply existed rather than lived. An echo of a life long dead and buried. But, judging by her tone, by her voice, by some uneasy intuition itching in the back of his mind like a swarm of pestilent Ninjask… he knows that she means something else entirely. Something that she isn’t willing to share. And frankly, that concept utterly terrifies him.

Someone I used to be. Dusknoir wants to speak, to break his own silence, wants to ask the myriad of questions bubbling up in his throat because this isn't the first time she's hinted at another life beyond being human, but those questions die at the source like a flame doused in water. And always the coward, coward, coward, instead he takes the easy way out by doing nothing at all. Whether Echo notices his surge of inner conflict or not-- the nervous wring of his hands and the tremble in his spine that he cannot control under her gaze-- she does not react.

“I’d take a step and Sora would flinch away.” Echo confesses, her markings flickering with light before going dark and dead, as if her body wished to snuff them out entirely, a deep seated rejection, a self-loathing so strong that Dusknoir cannot help but recognize it and empathize, and his heart aches, “It took ages for her to stop shaking when I’d speak. To stop looking at me like-- like I was going to…”

Echo grimaces like she’s enduring waves of grueling torture and doesn’t finish that string of thought, but it’s not hard to make an educated guess on what went unsaid. Like I was going to betray her. Hurt her. Break her heart. She’s been through so much already and I couldn’t bear to be another influence in the history of her suffering. I hate myself because of how I made her feel. When her eyes went wide in fear and through them I could see myself staring back like some sort of burden, some sort of curse.

“I am not my past.” Proud and true, Echo straightens up and holds her head high, a spark igniting in her eyes, a glint of determination, a will to keep going and going despite such circumstances and strife, despite this horrid, unspeakable past that haunts her so, “And I am definitely not you. It’s taken a while, but I know that much now. I’ve accepted it.”

I am not my past. And I am definitely not you.

A sigh, a breath, and Echo glances at him with a certain sorrow that cannot be described, a sorrow that lingers even through the veil of her tenacity, "But no matter how I feel, no matter my conviction, my shadows still find ways through the cracks. Every time I think I'm getting a grip and that I might finally understand myself… I change all over again." She admits, sounding more angry and tired than defeated now-- like a mirror of her old self, her human self that had clawed and damned and cursed him, despised him more than anything. "I hate it. I hate that I never truly know who I am. That I have to learn about my past through stories others tell me, or through fragments of twisted, broken memories that I wouldn't wish on anyone. Through conflict and pain and… and..."

"Echo," Dusknoir murmurs her name softly, an offering, a potential escape if only she would wish to drop the subject and forget this conversation had ever happened-- if she'd overstepped and needed an excuse to back out, a diversion, an understanding. And briefly, Dusknoir wonders why she is opening up about this particular information, why she would delve into something so vulnerable, so personal. Why she would bring up this hurtful history when it obviously brings her great discomfort.

And then, he gets an answer.

“You’re lucky, Dusknoir." There it is, that wildfire burning in her eyes again. A spark that’s new and bold and startling. But lucky? No, never. He'd have to disagree, accounting the mountain of evidence that was his life and regrettable deeds.

"You already know exactly who you are and what you’ve done, and most importantly why. You have more than a tattered picture of yourself that reflects broken answers. And you can change with that knowledge. I see you trying.” She tells him, searching, looking for something so deeply and Dusknoir wishes he knew what it could be so that he could give it to her, because he would, he would gladly give it to her without a second thought if it meant they could be close again. But he isn’t a fool, and he’s wise enough to know they’ll never be like they were before. “And if somehow I could change, even as half-assed as I have. Well, then what’s your excuse?”

You can do it, say her unspoken words, I believe in you.

#Sinnoh I have so many Echo and Sora feels right now and IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT HOW DO I COPE #like... i am so amazed with what you wrote in this ask i honestly don't even know HOW to reply because I'm stunned it's so perfect #my fic is from Dusknoir's POV and explores his relationship with Grovyle and Celebi and also his reconciliation with Echo and Sora #just stating that for anyone who hasn't seen my previous post about my WIP fic cause that was like... more than 6 months ago #I am... really REALLY nervous posting this because Dusknoir is very beloved by the community and I wanna do him justice #and there are SO many amazing writers amongst my mutuals and I wanna be a COOL KID like you guys #I realize this snippet is mostly just about Echo and that Dusknoir has no actual dialogue... (even tho he talks A LOT in the fic)#but the portions of Dusknoir's thoughts and descriptions I want to GET RIGHT the vibes need to be ACCURATE #(pls tell me the vibes are accurate)#note: he is majorly nervous rn tho cause he and Echo have not fully reconciled and he's TRYING to listen and be there for her now #(insert his attempt at dadnoir; he's giving it a shot guys)#Meanwhile Echo is dealing with BIG TIME problems and regrets and guilt cause Dusknoir returning to the past resurfaced all of that grief #Me; the writer; knowing that the truth about Echo's past would mess up Dusknoir for YEARS: oh my idiot ghost dad... you have NO idea bro #echo/umbreon #sora/lucario #pmd ocs #dusknoir #pmd eos #pmd2 #wip fic #Yes I have a fic title but I'm not sharing it cause it's spoilers ok

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neonhellscape · 4 months ago

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so i got ideas about mr haneumann and the local murder elf being compatible so. this is with the tone of them getting together as a couple, though theyre both insane enough they would never call eachother boyfriend yknow??

reminder ive not played the game so if i characterise them wrong or whatever please forgive that. im running off my partner's discussions and screenshots, one video of the party members chatting to eachother, and then just my own pure undiluted mental illness.

idk if this needs warning tags, like. theres some details where wow these two are freaks but all pretty par for the course with tech priests and drukhari yknow? if you're interested in that lot youre used to them being a bit fucked in the head, theres nothing startling i dont think. let me know if otherwise

wibbly wobbly keep reading link time

It was a slow discovery of his- that perhaps flesh may yeild some purpose in this life beyond being a target to strive against. Soft, squishy bits of pale meat interspersed between severing masses of silver… it was clear which he preferred.

Despite what may be presumed were he to word such observations, this was not a statement contradictory to his faith. Rather… one that coexisted, within his personal classification of it. While some permitted their metalwork to rust or tarnish, some polished it to a bright shine. He personally had tended to a delicate patina over many years- a cultivated, gentle age that took time and life to create, and became a point of pride. There was purpose to his cleaved respirator, scarred as it might be, remaining his, rather than being replaced as another might insist upon.

His skin bore the same scar as it. For weeks his reflections had considered that perhaps, by logic of his own fondness in that unique mark, his skin should be cultivated in the same tender way. Where he desired it be kept, at least. There was at least a small list he intended to act upon yet.

Leaning further into the mirror, he squinted. Then opened his eye wide. Blinking once, then looking left, then right. The lens of his optic allowed him to observe the function in entirety, not drifting in the same manner as the organ embedded in his skull. In tandem, it was optimal- a demonstration of his latest discovery. Manifestation and observation within one unit. Flesh and machine working cohesively.

A trilogy of satisfyingly tuned clicks permitted him to see closer in increasing magnification, the creases settling heavy around his eye seeming cavernous with the observational closeness. It downturned from the central point, practically heavy with itself and lending to a sadness or dismissiveness that had been inquired of cause from him numerous times- often followd by frustrated statements noting how his expressions were little showing even within the expanse of his face that remained uncovered. More recently, the frustration was instead an apparent care, expressed by a Rogue Trader keen to know his emotional wellbeing and not satisfied with the statement that his emotions could be vaulted and were already minimal in days before then.

Sparse, fine hairs darkened the border of each eyelid- he had forgotten the term for such hairs, likely so obscurely referenced and commonly known he had purged the record of it to provide space for another. Web-like blood vessels sprawled across the white of his sclera, and with the soothing touch of metallic fingers he prised away the lower lid to see where they stemmed from. With it gapping away, he could see closer inside himself than he'd found possible without wounding, a mass of veins and a… squishy casement.

Everything about flesh was squishy. There was no better word that contained both the textural description and the inherent desire to poke or squeeze. It… was gradually losing the sickening revulsion that it had previously held for him. Fascination at the intricacy distracted from the goreless yet undeniably visceral sight.

A slight pain, weak enough to be felt purely by his original nervous system rather than entering the network of alerts, appeared in his cheek. Permitting it the focus it meekly requested from him, he looked to the staples still decoratively lacing his scar, and the slight soreness between the two that had pinched together with his inspection. Pressing the cool fingerpad of the fourth digit between them, a cascade of neural connections expressed themselves in a marginally deeper, relaxing exhale through his respirator. A fascinating cause and effect.

Perhaps the Omnissiah would impart news of his yeilding to the Biologis who once argued so feverently to her cause.

Of course, there was reason to these new contemplations beyond the practically ancient conversation with a Magos of whom he could scarcely recall. A reason that he had long believed was rejected through petty ignorance, now more than ever, yet endlessly unnerved some part of him aware of repercussion.

It was no longer enough to deter him. Were he to be challenged, he would have argument enough to any wise Magos and the protections of the intriguingly considerate Rogue Trader to excuse him- a feral devout would brand him for any number of more minor transgressions, and he cared little for their opinion as a result. There was no need to justify himself to anyone lesser. With no sign from the Machine God to the contrary, he held confidence in their mutual safety.

If a threat were to emerge against those odds, Marazhai was certainly capable of defending them both. Getting him to cease and retreat when was wise instead of following the delighted urge to create more bloodshed would be the issue.

Depicted in a bloodstained memory was his smile. A sharp, taunting thing that even on recall brought a small flutter to the complicated systems that comprised his vastly spanning heart. The sensation made him feel somewhat queasy with awareness of his internals and their movements, yet… he decided to settle with that awareness, rather than seek to avoid it.

Marazhai had often mentioned such things, talking about it more casually and knowledgably than any other. Enjoyment seemed not just in tandem with the concept for him, but directly tied to it- within it, inherently part of it. The internal sensation of a pulsating circulatory organ rotating the order of contractions within its chambers at an elevated rate was apparently part of what was thrilling to him. Particularly in unison with one of said circulatory organ held in his hand. Whether it was somebody else's or his own seemed open for discussion.

Hand raising to his chest, he felt the bulky plating that simultaneously served as armour and external structural support to keep the sheer weight of his own body from punching clean through the select parts of his ribcage he had kept. Aware that concealed beneath the plate and gently threaded into it's supports was a structure of spokes of different lengths throughout his torso, at least three requiring openings be constructed through the artificial lungs that connected directly to his respirator. The various extended chambers, sub-chambers and adjoining injectors that marked the core of his circulation laced between it all like vines about a trellis, cables threading into the thick plating encasing his spine to relay fuel and power back and forth.

Slim, prising fingers had already forced their way through that casing once, nails scraping along the brittle vertibrae without the reasonable fear of the metal clamping down and crushing the spindly, intruding digits. Perhaps- 80% chance- even enjoying the thrill of the threat. One that had never manifested- it had taken diverting and shutting down a number of automatic systems, but he had remained curled up on himself for the curious touch, head bowed to the floor and back curved to keep the spacing as wide as possible without permenant damage. The most he had moved was to constrict a mechadendrite around the skinny figure looming over him, squeezing his waist in need for a grounding touch that earned shallow, gasped breaths and nails raked down the patches of skin at his sides. In sheer overwhelm, he'd forgotten himself, beginning a binharic trilling that concisely conveyed every alert, sensation of panic and pain that he'd felt. Not once had he requested cessation, and enjoyment had been interspersed far more frequently than he'd anticipated- the recall could never be misinterpreted as begging.

Marazhai's feelings on the matter required no clarification. Prising through the tubation of his respirator to grip his throat and draw his head close, hissing praise and encouragement for the sounds. Nails finding the seam where his skin had been tucked in against the metal, splitting it away slowly, sinking in to his knuckles with audible desire in his voice at the distorted screech it earned. Encouraging him, taunting him, urging him for more-

There were things that needed to be done. Recalling this before doing them was unwise.

The first step he took was with weak enough legs to sway, instinctively driving his mechadendrites into the ground to stabilise himself.

Certainly unwise.

It was rare to see pure, untainted anger in the Drukhari- an expression of unenjoyed frustration. The matter brought an ominous intensity to him, intimidating between his towering stature and the unusual shuffling clicks of his armour.

Turning his back, he began finalising his prayer to the machine spirit, raising a hand in a request for a moment he hoped would be respected.

With the wrenching snap of two metallic digits and the firing of a spring into some distant corner of the voidship, it was not.

"Iron mon-keigh!" his voice boomed, spinning the unit away from his task to hook a fist around the collar of his chest plating, weaponising knowledge of his precarious balance to lean him back and force him to stagger into the wall and be pinned. The snarl on his face was one of hatred, yet by that uncomplicated existence openly proclaimed vulnerability. The fact he had taken to petty name calling and careless damage only reinforced that fact.

"What am I to you?"

Hesitant to provoke him with misinterpretation, the list of potential answers was kept aside for a moment. "This unit requests clarification."

"Well, let us see. The teachings you devote yourself to demand my eradication, and yet here you are- pliant in my hands. You are taught to deafen yourself to the words of the xenos, and yet we have had any number of conversations to date. I am keen to know- am I a curiosity to you? A thing to observe while you have the chance, to prod and poke with no intention of indulging anything to completion, let alone satisfaction? Or am I perhaps here to prove to your fellow mon-keigh that their path is correct, informed by our inevitable- mutual- destruction in your idiocy." A snarled smile then crossed his face, the taunting look hollow compared to its usual enthusiasm even as his fingers flexed in a dramatic display of squeezing the main intake line of his respirator. "Or am I perhaps a contradiction that you are oblivious to, unable to differentiate between the feelings of your meat from the determination of your metal…"

Feeling his lungs seize as the automation attempted to cycle air that never came, he latched on for stability, staring into his eyes with an unchanging expression. Marazhai's pupils had contracted somewhat, revealing more of his iris colouration than could usually be witnessed.

"Remove the obstruction of the air intake and this unit will provide an answer."

With a hiss, he squeezed tighter, presumably then seeing the flaw in demanding answers while inducing a loss of consciousness. Sighing, he released the pipe, permitting a few seconds for him to recalibrate before snatching his hood. Leaning in close, sharp elbows resting on his shoulders in a way that no doubt tore into his robes, flicking the magnification lenses over his optic idly with a sickly tone to his voice. "Now, indulge me. Explain."

Briefly reducing the function of the optic to ignore the irritating distraction, he turned his head enough to compensate and maintain a direct visual contact. "The observation of the x-" he stalled, refiling the name allocation in a way that only seemed fair given context of his impending argument, noting the curiosity masked behind impatience in the face looming close to his own. "-of the unit Marazhai lends to new observational data of the unit Pasqal."

It had captured his focus, if not his approval yet- with a twitch to his eye that eluded to a smirk, he continued his infuriating assault on the magnifiers. "An unusual statement. Elaborate on… 'the unit Pasqal's' observations."

It was hard not to be irritated by the accumilating taunts, encouraging him to employ the division of such emotions from himself. Automatically announcing, "This unit has employed emotional vaulting procedures due to persistent irritating behaviour."

Had he not already removed such feelings, he'd have been annoyed further at the fact Marazhai stopped his fidgeting in response. He could've at least had the courtesy to continue after that effort. "Summary: this unit has taken note of numerous observations contradictory to it's prior stance."

"So-"

Clamping his hand over the impatient Drukhari's mouth to prevent him speaking further, he was consequently reminded of the damage dealt as the two damaged digits hung slack. Despite the damage preventing proper silencing, it enabled the same result with apparent compliance. "The prior stance concluded the teachings of the Biologis to be inferior and misguided, and that of the common attachment to the flesh to be deluded. Flesh could not be refined and moulded in the manner of metal- an inherent degredation and deterioration that cannot hope to compare. With observation…"

Despite his emotional containment, he felt dread. A combination of truth and fear combining to form an abomination assaulting his being, an internal conflict spanning a lifetime that had been entertaining to contemplate until now. Until offering it to a location it may be witnessed. The increasingly bored eyes watching him pressed him to proceed. Taking granular comfort from the nature of the man recieving the discussion and the near impossible threat of a betrayal from him, he continued.

"This unit has observed xenos processes that warrant the maintenance of flesh. Through the application of Drukhari cultural phenomena, there is merit to the study of the flesh."

"What does this mean, iron-"

Snapping, he allowed a static hiss to briefly distort his communication. "Name-calling is beneath you. Demand for cessation, communication will resume once applied." On being met with an exhausted silence that made his pulse deafening, he continued. "The statement was intended to notify an observation of compatibility in practices. This statement is not to be relayed further."

"My, my…" his voice practically purred, "your fear… Is your conviction truly so fragile in such an obscure statement?"

Allowing his eye to close, he bowed his head in a way that caused his hood to slip and obscure Marazhai from his vision. Rapidly, the fear melded into hollowness- if nothing more, he had hoped for the statement to yeild a conversation of interest to merit the risk it posed. Instead, it seemed…

"No- no! What is happening within you? This-" he trailed off in frustration, seeming to struggle articulating his feelings. "Why does your fear retreat in such a manner? Surely you had not hoped I would be pleased with this wittering-"

"It was this unit's belief that, by communicating an alteration in perception of practices, it would convey a keenness for discussion. Academically or recreationally. It would seem this statement is false, it will be logged-"

"You speak in such riddles. If I am forced to to entertain myself in the midst of further droning I will prise those sweet, shrill sounds from you once again-"

"Compliance with will identified. This will be satisfactory."

Somewhat taken aback, he allowed his weight to sway to one hip. "Satisfactory? Do you wish for me to make you scream once again?"

"Keenness to experience, observe and analyse expressed."

"…do you wish to learn from me?"

Taking his broken fingers in the opposite hand, he began inspecting the damage for repair. "An exchange. To learn and to educate."

Scoffing, the Drukhari settled his hands on his hips with an aggressive sneer. "And what could you possibly teach me?"

Extending his hand forward abruptly, he insisted plainly, "Repair." On recieving a confused look and hesitation to comply, he insisted again, "Repair."

"You mistake my intentions and my skill, I-"

"This is the education this unit will provide."

"And why would I allow a creature such as you to learn from me, let alone indulge the concept you could educate me? The nuances of my lifestyle would be lost on a mon-keigh, and there is no knowledge of value that you possess which I do not already know."

Allowing silence and contempt to build, he began the process of repair, returning his hand to primarily functional use- the loss of the spring prevented the flexing of the last knuckle on his index finger, and he mentally logged to locate a replacement for later. By the time he was done, Marazhai was leaning in to watch, some depraved concept visibly concocting in his mind.

"This is the education the unit will provide. Relay, edited: 'The nuances of my lifestyle would be lost on a xenos'. Relay end." Grasping his face with the now repaired digits, he squeezed, pressing the metal into the hollow of his cheek. "Magos is a title and knowledge bestowed to few. Unit Marazhai has previously identified and expressed keenness toward this unit's persistent suffering under the rites of augmentation. Unit Marazhai would learn to better utilise the blessed machine within his… lifestyle."

"If you intend to express yourself as my equal-"

"Equal to or greater than," he hissed, squeezing tightly enough to make him decide: part his jaw or grit his teeth and permit them to be broken. The former was selected, adjoined with a rough shake to pull free- hooking his fingers in Marazhai's mouth, he pinched behind his lower teeth and under his chin to create a steel loop that all but pierced him. Watching his attempts to wrench free at the indignity, biting fruitlessly into metal that would not yeild to mere bone and drooling as he was held, snarling as it was used to pull him down to an even height. "My lifestyle has been earned through the blessings of the Machine God and precise augmentation to craft the body into a unit even the great Marazhai has expressed appreciation and desire for," he spat, allowing a sarcasm protocol to emphasise the 'great'. "To aspire to perfection through agony is to aspire to this unit. You have much to learn. Proposal to begin education: a more satisfying purpose for that ignorant, sharp tongue."

The wording held a significantly more sexual implication than he had intended. Marazhai's eyes lit up on it being expressed- in both desire and amusement, all encapsulated in a desire to taunt. He refused to correct the implication for the risk it would be misconstrude as yeilding. A swift redirection back to the point at hand.

"The proposition is one of equal exchange. It requires mutual cessation of ignorance and mutual acceptance of equal role in varied manner or expression. It requires unit Marazhai learn to repair and maintain this unit in proper fashion and timeliness. It requires unit Pasqal learn to repair and maintain unit Marazhai in proper fashion and timeliness." Leaning closer, he used his free hand to tenderly wipe the line of drool from where it threatened to drip from his sharp jaw. "It includes a bond that, on severing, revokes all access to each unit beyond baseline social protocol. Is the proposition understood?"

Head held still by the grip on his jaw and pride, the resulting nod was felt rather than seen, followed promptly by a tongue openly dragged along the fingers in his mouth in some convoluted statement of… presumably an oddly expressed approval. Perhaps a request to speak. Withdrawing his hand before there was risk of drool seeping between the joints, he offered the opportunity, noting how Marazhai rubbed his jaw and almost hesitantly straightened- not through fear, but through something else. An unusual submissiveness.

"I will say, that was quite the experience. An intriguing proposition too, much akin to arrangements I have had before, although… I retain one question."

"Ask."

"You have not clarified what I am to you in satisfying enough terms."

Nodding, he pressed his fingertips together as he considered the best way to conclude what he had struggled to articulate. "You inspire curiosity for this unit's flesh, in ways that had been previously unrealised. In this way, in the parallells to the state of xenos, you are my flesh. A thing containing many marvels and yet neglected for a not insigificant quantity of time, now entering a period of research where it may be better enjoyed and appreciated. …does this satisfy your question?"

Seeming lost in contemplation for a moment, he finally returned to the conversation with a smirk. "Only if I am permitted to truly indulge us in our mutual education, Magos."

#uhhhhh im not tagging this. too nervous for it to be seen by wider world.#listen marazhai and pasqal both think theyre better than everyone else by merits of being freaks. i think they should do stuff about that #im gunna post this now before i can regret it

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