[When the offending vine is severed, allowing the local to skitter away (which Connor can hardly blame him for; there’s nothing much else to be done here but attempt to get away when the situation allows it), it means he has one less variable to account for. Data realigns accordingly, working furiously to adjust to the situation. Himself and Arenvald, the priority now a matter of extracting themselves from the situation much like the citizen they saved.
They’re ill-equipped, he realizes, when the vine reaches towards Arenvald, wrapping around his arm. But Connor doesn’t come completely unprepared, and finds time to scuffle to his feet, vine wound tight around his ankle.
He still has enough leeway to unsheath the knife at his hip (given to him by Cayde; perhaps Arenvald might recall seeing it before now), and he has just enough time to plant it right into the vine assailing his friend. Not much more time than that, though, the one around his leg tugging again, and he has to reach out with a free hand to steady himself against Arenvald himself.
The knife stays embedded in the vine, which flails for a few seconds, uncoiling.]
[ Arenvald spares a precious moment to watch the local make his escape, but an inkling at the back of his mind bids him to refocus his attention at the matter at hand. He jerks his shield arm up just in time to deflect another vine, snapping his way like a whip. It bounces off the surface of his small buckler, unable to find purchase to coil around him.
Well, there's the question of his Echo answered, then.
He's half a second away from switching his sword to his off-hand when Connor takes care of the issue for him, a familiar-looking knife flashing through the air to impale the vine trying to squeeze his sword arm despite the armor. ]
I've got you!
[ His now-free sword comes down in a quick arc to sever the vine around Connor, while his shield arm curls about his friend's waist to keep him upright. Now dead, the offending bit of plant goes slack, releasing him. Arenvald is quick to usher them away from the remaining vines, easing them back a few paces. ]
[Connor's quick enough to make a reach for the knife in the flailing vine, wrenching it out by its handle. It oozes something viscous and questionable when freed, and though the android could've done without it, there's something telling in wanting to retrieve an item from a friend no longer present. Representing an organization he's not sure they'll ever see again: Astoria's Circle.
But of course, this much goes unsaid. When he's practically ushered away at a distance, an actuator moves across his jawline, and he nods, fingers gripped around the knife and turning it over idly in his hands, a slightly anxious gesture.]
I- yes. [Then he looks up at Arenvald, gaze serious but thankful. He nods.]
Yes, I'm fine. Though I can't say I would've been if you hadn't been nearby. You're not hurt, are you?
[ His eyes linger on the blade in Connor's hand for a breath or two. It is hard to see it and to not think of the people they'd left behind – Cayde, Konoha, Hank, and others still. The lieutenant must weigh especially heavily on Connor's mind, but as ever, when presented with a task, his friend jumps in with both feet. ]
I've weathered worse. I'm just glad you're alright.
[ He flashes a small smile, even as one hand comes up idly to scratch at his neck. The plant never touched his skin, but that doesn't matter when there's enough pollen drifting around to present a problem. ]
[He eventually puts the knife back in the holster hanging from his hip a moment later. Kept close, not only for self-defense purposes — memory and experiences associated with an item, much like the quarter resting idly in a pocket, is not something Connor is willing to treat recklessly.]
I’d say that the both of us have been through worse together, more than once.
[The storm on Struxta, the shadow creatures on Akvos. An angry plant seems almost mundane in comparison, if he’s to compare the apparent risks associated with each situation.
Still, the android notices Arenvald reaching for the back of his neck, brow knitting slightly.]
Itching? You might’ve gotten a small amount of pollen on you. Would you like to turn around and let me see?
[ They have been through an awful lot in the moons they spent within the Circle, and most of them were far scarier than some wayward vines. It does make him miss his sunlight powers, he’d come to rely on them quite often, but he did get through nineteen whole years of his life without them. This is simply going back to basics. ]
Ah, sure. If you want.
[ Turn around he does. The rest of him is pretty well covered, but that itch is starting to creep up the back of his neck something fierce. Connor may be right. ]
[The skin’s getting swollen and red, not unlike a rash or the beginning of an onset of hives. A scan confirms it, even tracking an estimation of where it’ll begin to crawl across Arenvald’s skin if not tended to.]
Does it itch very badly?
[Where his friend’s already scratched, it appears worse. The question is almost a rhetorical one.]
We’ll need to stop this from spreading. Will you stay still for me, Arenvald?
[ The fact that he’s scratched it at all while wearing gauntlets is something of an achievement, but he’s done himself no favors with it. The urge to keep scratching is very real, and Arenvald fidgets a bit while Connor looks him over. ]
A bit worse now that I’m aware of it.
[ It was just sort of annoying before.
At Connor's prompting, he does his best to stand still, though his fingers still twitch with the urge to scratch. ]
There have been numerous reported cases of this... plant’s pollen affecting organic skin in such a way that it causes extreme itching. Almost chronic, if not dealt with in an expedient manner.
[There’s not much warning, however, before Arenvald will feel a light touch right around the crook of his neck. Connor is careful to not brush where it’s gone red, to avoid irritating it more. The press of his fingers is steady but gentle enough.]
Though apparently, extended physical touch with another “Moonblessed” will aid in the removal of this irritant.
[ He’d heard that as well, but he sure didn’t think it would actually work, so he just sort of brushed it aside. He supposes he ought to know better than to dismiss things that seem a bit strange, given all he’s been through.
In any case, he’ll find out whether it works or not now. It’s a good thing he doesn’t glow when he’s embarrassed anymore, though there is definitely color rising to his face. Connor goes about the whole thing almost clinically, but that doesn’t really take away from the fact that it feels… quite nice actually. Distractingly so, but Arenvald just chalks it up to his stupid crush getting the better of him. ]
It, ah. It’s nice. I think it’s helping?
[ He’s certainly distracted from the itching if nothing else. ]
[A strange sensation, brought by the touch of two Moonblessed. Connor is still unused to it, not an experience that can be completely explained away by the manipulation of his programming. Pain and pleasure alike were not something he was supposed feel (he wasn’t supposed to “feel” at all) and if it were not for his strange experiences in the Circle, he might be all the more concerned about it.
But familiarity with the strange and sometimes illogical dulls that anxious edge. If he’s affected by an outside force, he can hardly blame it on errors of his own programming — easy logic to fall onto, in that case.
So, as it stands, yes, the touch is pleasant. He approaches it as one might expect: coolly curious, pleasantly earnest. A little questioning.]
[ He was perfectly ready to sit here and keep whatever thoughts he’s having about the way Connor’s fingers traverse his neck to himself, but then Connor has to go and say that. Connor asks in such a… such a Connor way that he has no idea how to take that question. He tenses just a bit, unsure of how to even respond to that, or if he even should. ]
I, uh…
[ Gods above, he is not prepared for this, but what else has he got but the truth? Arenvald is such a poor actor when it comes to this sort of thing that Connor would see through him in an instant, anyway. ]
That’s interesting. I’ve been told of this phenomenon, though I’ve yet to experience it myself until just now.
[Yep, just standing behind his friend all casual-like, fingers pressed against the skin of his neck. Beneath his touch, attuned to collect data with every facet of every “sense”, Connor can feel the uptick in the other’s heartbeat. A growing warmth registering in his systems.]
I’m sorry, am I embarrassing you? I wouldn’t normally touch you without due cause, Arenvald, no matter how pleasurable the illusion of feeling might be. But this is to keep your itch at bay.
[ Ah, called out anyway. Of course Connor would notice he’s having a slight freak-out – it’s Connor, not to mention Arenvald has no idea how to be subtle about this sort of thing. ]
No… no, it’s fine. I just. I didn’t realize you could feel it too. It surprised me.
[ Please stop saying the word “pleasurable”, Connor. ]
Yes. It’s almost completely gone, but I don’t want to sever the connection just yet. Not until I’m sure.
[Sorry you’re stuck with this, Arenvald.
But Connor falls into a contemplative kind of silence, difficult to tell when one can’t see his expression: brow beginning to knit, head tilting ever so slightly. His LED blinks twice, and he pipes up once more.]
This constitutes the first time I’ve ever felt physical pleasure; something that my programming doesn’t normally allow. It’s hard for me to quantify. [A pause for a second time.]
[ He’s not sure if being able to see Connor’s face would make this better or worse, but it does make him nervous being unable to see his friend’s expression, for as little as it often gives away about what he’s thinking.
Arenvald opens his mouth a time or two, but in the end he’s not certain what he wants to ask or talk about, so he abandons the endeavor each time. Connor ends up being the one to break the silence, and the situation is made no less awkward for his question. ]
Not exactly? I mean, I don’t really have much experience when it comes to… pleasure, [ save him ] but just touching someone isn’t supposed to feel like this.
I guess what I mean to ask is if this kind of pleasure — this “Moonlacing” — is different than any other pleasurable or satisfying sensation you’ve experienced over your lifetime. That is, if it’s the baseline for the human experience. I have nothing to compare it to.
[ Is there a lake around? Because Arenvald feels the very real urge to fling himself into it—
No, okay, that’s an overreaction. He shouldn’t fault Connor for trying to understand when this is something he’s never experienced before, even if it is embarrassing him to the point where he wants to find someplace to hide.
He sucks in a breath, letting it out in a sigh in an attempt to calm his nerves. It works a little bit ].
It’s… definitely different. Warmer, almost? It’s kind of hard to describe but…
[ I like it. He stops again, wondering just what he’s supposed to do with that information. This feels like a chance, something that Rion would probably scold him for letting pass by. He can see the disapproving look on her face now, and it’s ultimately what spurs him on. There’s a little bit of a clatter as he works one of his gauntlets off, pulling away from Connor’s fingers at the back of his neck only to turn around and offer him his hand. ]
[Hard to quantify, Connor had said, and it certainly is that. Even with Arenvald’s description providing a small amount of context, in which the android tries to wrench secondhand understanding out of, it’s hard to process. He doesn’t know where to categorize nor partition it aside — it’s “other”, not belonging with his normal senses or sensors, but not quite egregious enough to squirrel away in that corner part of his mind, where all the (doubts) errors exist that he tries to ignore.
Being an outside influence, not wrought from internal uncertainty, precludes it from that anyway. On those grounds alone, Connor can feel little guilt in admitting that pleasure feels… well, pleasurable. A faint novelty, a new curiosity. Insight into what it must be like to be human, one sensation in a veritable array of them.
He opens his mouth to say something — possibly to prod for more clarification in his rather unyielding manner — but there’s the sound of something clattering, and Connor barely manages to assume that it’s the removal of his friend’s gauntlet before Arenvald is turning around, offering his hand.
Connor’s still, only giving him a blink and a single spin of blue at his temple. But his lips quirk into a small grin, eyebrows rising by small degrees, and sees no reason why he shouldn’t take Arenvald’s hand.]
I would hope so, otherwise I’ve put you in a very uncomfortable situation.
[YOU ALREADY DID CONNOR
But, out of nothing more than pure curiosity, not thinking of whatever implications might come from it just yet, Connor reaches out and grasps Arenvald’s hand lightly with his own fingers, a straightforward but not unkind touch. Is the sensation any different like this, he wonders?]
[ In the split second before Connor smiles and reaches out, Arenvald feels like his heart is liable to beat its way right out of his chest. A dozen “what ifs” fly though his head in that single moment, none of them good, but they do not come to pass.
He laughs a little, a sound that is still slightly nervous at the edges though he tries his best to mask it. ]
It’s alright. I know you were just trying to help.
[ Even though it most certainly was awkward – though that’s mostly his own fault, he thinks, for not being able to keep his cool when confronted with Connor’s extreme straightforwardness. This is a bit better, now that he can actually see Connor’s face.
Connor slips his hand into Arenvald’s in a way that is very… Connor, and Arenvald cannot help but shift his grip a bit, lacing their fingers together instead. He would wager this feels even better than Connor’s gentle touch on the back of his neck, but that could very well be due to who he’s holding hands with as much as it is the fact that they’re, well, holding hands. ]
[Arenvald’s fingers lace with his own, a gesture that has Connor adjusting his own grip to accommodate, digits slotting into the open space between.]
It’s…
[His look is one of a man trying to describe a feeling that’s beyond his experience, like trying to speak in a foreign tongue when he doesn’t know the language. The consequence, at least, is easy enough to recount: the pleasurable feeling increases, spreads across his form from where it seems to originate in his core. Warm, in a way that’s more than mere external data inputted across the tract of sensors embedded into his body, all zeroes and ones trying to describe an organic experience to a synthetic being.
Instead, it’s more like an entity of its own. A wave passing across him. Caught in the fluid contours of his working bioccomponents when he looks at Arenvald, making something in his chest stutter in unexpected malfunction, even if all reports show nothing wrong, everything functioning optimally, it must be a consequence of Moonlacing, there’s no other explanation—
Connor swallows, looking faintly distracted. A learned gesture, that belonging to a human more than it has any right to an android.]
…nice. Stronger than before. But I don’t think it’s something I could keep doing for a long period of time.
[ He waits as Connor puzzles through it all, his eyes flicking from his friend's face to their joined hands. The last time they held hands like this was when Arenvald was sick in bed, wasn't it? Connor had been his lifeline, then. An anchor to keep him from drifting away into the darkness of his nightmares.
The memory makes him feel warm in a way that has nothing to do with recalling his fever. That had been the moment he'd realized he was in deep, and nothing's really changed since then, has it?
When next he glances up, he and Connor's gazes catch for just a second, and Arenvald would like to hope he doesn't just imagine the way something sparks between them, catching the breath in his lungs for a split second. ]
That's... [ A little disappointing, and Arenvald has to kick himself for being selfish. This isn't about him. It's about Connor. ] That's understandable. But if... if you want to explore it a bit more, uh, ever, I don't mind helping.
That’s a generous offer, he thinks, one that he should consider at a later date should curiosity continually get the better of him. But as it is now, that strand of pleasure winding itself in his Thirium pump, growing faintly larger as the moments pass, he can only think of how increasingly difficult it would be for his systems to process. How distracting this kind of gratification is in the moment, and how very difficult it is to say no if simply giving into temptation.
And yet if he’s to build a new association of something physically pleasant, why not with someone he’s grown close to over time? Was there a boundary that he’d be overstepping, he wonders, his social programming trying to loop itself in circles in a useless attempt to judge what might be acceptable and to what degree. The feeling diverts even his rational thought; equal parts worrying and intriguing.]
Do you want to explore it more? It’d be a two-way street, as they say. Disregarding the idea of chroma, holding hands like this in public is generally a gesture shared between two intimate parties.
[ There’s still a bit of color on his cheeks, a holdover from a few moments earlier that he can’t seem to will away no matter how much he wants to. There’s probably no getting rid of it so long as he and Connor are holding hands, or even talking about holding hands and what that might mean. ]
I know.
[ Oh boy does he know. He clears his throat a bit. ]
I don’t mind, really. [ He really likes holding hands with Connor, and he doesn’t really care if other people get the wrong idea anyway. ] It’s uh, it’s got a lot to do with the way this world works, right? I’d rather figure it out with you than someone else.
[Easy for him to see the flush in Arenvald’s skin, the minuscule registering of his pulse with their hands entwined like this. But his voice is earnest, embarrassed but sincere — mixed signals of a sort.]
That’s true, but... Even if it’s embarrassing for you?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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They’re ill-equipped, he realizes, when the vine reaches towards Arenvald, wrapping around his arm. But Connor doesn’t come completely unprepared, and finds time to scuffle to his feet, vine wound tight around his ankle.
He still has enough leeway to unsheath the knife at his hip (given to him by Cayde; perhaps Arenvald might recall seeing it before now), and he has just enough time to plant it right into the vine assailing his friend. Not much more time than that, though, the one around his leg tugging again, and he has to reach out with a free hand to steady himself against Arenvald himself.
The knife stays embedded in the vine, which flails for a few seconds, uncoiling.]
The one around my leg—!
[you know in case he didn’t already notice]
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Well, there's the question of his Echo answered, then.
He's half a second away from switching his sword to his off-hand when Connor takes care of the issue for him, a familiar-looking knife flashing through the air to impale the vine trying to squeeze his sword arm despite the armor. ]
I've got you!
[ His now-free sword comes down in a quick arc to sever the vine around Connor, while his shield arm curls about his friend's waist to keep him upright. Now dead, the offending bit of plant goes slack, releasing him. Arenvald is quick to usher them away from the remaining vines, easing them back a few paces. ]
Are you alright?
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But of course, this much goes unsaid. When he's practically ushered away at a distance, an actuator moves across his jawline, and he nods, fingers gripped around the knife and turning it over idly in his hands, a slightly anxious gesture.]
I- yes. [Then he looks up at Arenvald, gaze serious but thankful. He nods.]
Yes, I'm fine. Though I can't say I would've been if you hadn't been nearby. You're not hurt, are you?
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I've weathered worse. I'm just glad you're alright.
[ He flashes a small smile, even as one hand comes up idly to scratch at his neck. The plant never touched his skin, but that doesn't matter when there's enough pollen drifting around to present a problem. ]
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I’d say that the both of us have been through worse together, more than once.
[The storm on Struxta, the shadow creatures on Akvos. An angry plant seems almost mundane in comparison, if he’s to compare the apparent risks associated with each situation.
Still, the android notices Arenvald reaching for the back of his neck, brow knitting slightly.]
Itching? You might’ve gotten a small amount of pollen on you. Would you like to turn around and let me see?
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[ They have been through an awful lot in the moons they spent within the Circle, and most of them were far scarier than some wayward vines. It does make him miss his sunlight powers, he’d come to rely on them quite often, but he did get through nineteen whole years of his life without them. This is simply going back to basics. ]
Ah, sure. If you want.
[ Turn around he does. The rest of him is pretty well covered, but that itch is starting to creep up the back of his neck something fierce. Connor may be right. ]
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Does it itch very badly?
[Where his friend’s already scratched, it appears worse. The question is almost a rhetorical one.]
We’ll need to stop this from spreading. Will you stay still for me, Arenvald?
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A bit worse now that I’m aware of it.
[ It was just sort of annoying before.
At Connor's prompting, he does his best to stand still, though his fingers still twitch with the urge to scratch. ]
Sure. Is everything alright?
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[There’s not much warning, however, before Arenvald will feel a light touch right around the crook of his neck. Connor is careful to not brush where it’s gone red, to avoid irritating it more. The press of his fingers is steady but gentle enough.]
Though apparently, extended physical touch with another “Moonblessed” will aid in the removal of this irritant.
Let me know if you feel anything different?
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[ He’d heard that as well, but he sure didn’t think it would actually work, so he just sort of brushed it aside. He supposes he ought to know better than to dismiss things that seem a bit strange, given all he’s been through.
In any case, he’ll find out whether it works or not now. It’s a good thing he doesn’t glow when he’s embarrassed anymore, though there is definitely color rising to his face. Connor goes about the whole thing almost clinically, but that doesn’t really take away from the fact that it feels… quite nice actually. Distractingly so, but Arenvald just chalks it up to his stupid crush getting the better of him. ]
It, ah. It’s nice. I think it’s helping?
[ He’s certainly distracted from the itching if nothing else. ]
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But familiarity with the strange and sometimes illogical dulls that anxious edge. If he’s affected by an outside force, he can hardly blame it on errors of his own programming — easy logic to fall onto, in that case.
So, as it stands, yes, the touch is pleasant. He approaches it as one might expect: coolly curious, pleasantly earnest. A little questioning.]
Do you feel a pleasurable sensation as well?
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I, uh…
[ Gods above, he is not prepared for this, but what else has he got but the truth? Arenvald is such a poor actor when it comes to this sort of thing that Connor would see through him in an instant, anyway. ]
Y-yeah. A little bit.
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[Yep, just standing behind his friend all casual-like, fingers pressed against the skin of his neck. Beneath his touch, attuned to collect data with every facet of every “sense”, Connor can feel the uptick in the other’s heartbeat. A growing warmth registering in his systems.]
I’m sorry, am I embarrassing you? I wouldn’t normally touch you without due cause, Arenvald, no matter how pleasurable the illusion of feeling might be. But this is to keep your itch at bay.
[And therefore a practical reason!]
It shouldn’t be much longer.
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No… no, it’s fine. I just. I didn’t realize you could feel it too. It surprised me.
[ Please stop saying the word “pleasurable”, Connor. ]
Is it… looking any better?
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[Sorry you’re stuck with this, Arenvald.
But Connor falls into a contemplative kind of silence, difficult to tell when one can’t see his expression: brow beginning to knit, head tilting ever so slightly. His LED blinks twice, and he pipes up once more.]
This constitutes the first time I’ve ever felt physical pleasure; something that my programming doesn’t normally allow. It’s hard for me to quantify. [A pause for a second time.]
Is this generally how it feels? For you, I mean.
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Arenvald opens his mouth a time or two, but in the end he’s not certain what he wants to ask or talk about, so he abandons the endeavor each time. Connor ends up being the one to break the silence, and the situation is made no less awkward for his question. ]
Not exactly? I mean, I don’t really have much experience when it comes to… pleasure, [ save him ] but just touching someone isn’t supposed to feel like this.
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[He offers a clarification.]
I guess what I mean to ask is if this kind of pleasure — this “Moonlacing” — is different than any other pleasurable or satisfying sensation you’ve experienced over your lifetime. That is, if it’s the baseline for the human experience. I have nothing to compare it to.
[Another (awkward) pause.]
I like it.
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No, okay, that’s an overreaction. He shouldn’t fault Connor for trying to understand when this is something he’s never experienced before, even if it is embarrassing him to the point where he wants to find someplace to hide.
He sucks in a breath, letting it out in a sigh in an attempt to calm his nerves. It works a little bit ].
It’s… definitely different. Warmer, almost? It’s kind of hard to describe but…
[ I like it. He stops again, wondering just what he’s supposed to do with that information. This feels like a chance, something that Rion would probably scold him for letting pass by. He can see the disapproving look on her face now, and it’s ultimately what spurs him on. There’s a little bit of a clatter as he works one of his gauntlets off, pulling away from Connor’s fingers at the back of his neck only to turn around and offer him his hand. ]
I like it too.
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Being an outside influence, not wrought from internal uncertainty, precludes it from that anyway. On those grounds alone, Connor can feel little guilt in admitting that pleasure feels… well, pleasurable. A faint novelty, a new curiosity. Insight into what it must be like to be human, one sensation in a veritable array of them.
He opens his mouth to say something — possibly to prod for more clarification in his rather unyielding manner — but there’s the sound of something clattering, and Connor barely manages to assume that it’s the removal of his friend’s gauntlet before Arenvald is turning around, offering his hand.
Connor’s still, only giving him a blink and a single spin of blue at his temple. But his lips quirk into a small grin, eyebrows rising by small degrees, and sees no reason why he shouldn’t take Arenvald’s hand.]
I would hope so, otherwise I’ve put you in a very uncomfortable situation.
[YOU ALREADY DID CONNOR
But, out of nothing more than pure curiosity, not thinking of whatever implications might come from it just yet, Connor reaches out and grasps Arenvald’s hand lightly with his own fingers, a straightforward but not unkind touch. Is the sensation any different like this, he wonders?]
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He laughs a little, a sound that is still slightly nervous at the edges though he tries his best to mask it. ]
It’s alright. I know you were just trying to help.
[ Even though it most certainly was awkward – though that’s mostly his own fault, he thinks, for not being able to keep his cool when confronted with Connor’s extreme straightforwardness. This is a bit better, now that he can actually see Connor’s face.
Connor slips his hand into Arenvald’s in a way that is very… Connor, and Arenvald cannot help but shift his grip a bit, lacing their fingers together instead. He would wager this feels even better than Connor’s gentle touch on the back of his neck, but that could very well be due to who he’s holding hands with as much as it is the fact that they’re, well, holding hands. ]
Well, uh… what do you think?
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It’s…
[His look is one of a man trying to describe a feeling that’s beyond his experience, like trying to speak in a foreign tongue when he doesn’t know the language. The consequence, at least, is easy enough to recount: the pleasurable feeling increases, spreads across his form from where it seems to originate in his core. Warm, in a way that’s more than mere external data inputted across the tract of sensors embedded into his body, all zeroes and ones trying to describe an organic experience to a synthetic being.
Instead, it’s more like an entity of its own. A wave passing across him. Caught in the fluid contours of his working bioccomponents when he looks at Arenvald, making something in his chest stutter in unexpected malfunction, even if all reports show nothing wrong, everything functioning optimally, it must be a consequence of Moonlacing, there’s no other explanation—
Connor swallows, looking faintly distracted. A learned gesture, that belonging to a human more than it has any right to an android.]
…nice. Stronger than before. But I don’t think it’s something I could keep doing for a long period of time.
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The memory makes him feel warm in a way that has nothing to do with recalling his fever. That had been the moment he'd realized he was in deep, and nothing's really changed since then, has it?
When next he glances up, he and Connor's gazes catch for just a second, and Arenvald would like to hope he doesn't just imagine the way something sparks between them, catching the breath in his lungs for a split second. ]
That's... [ A little disappointing, and Arenvald has to kick himself for being selfish. This isn't about him. It's about Connor. ] That's understandable. But if... if you want to explore it a bit more, uh, ever, I don't mind helping.
[ He's trying his best. ]
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That’s a generous offer, he thinks, one that he should consider at a later date should curiosity continually get the better of him. But as it is now, that strand of pleasure winding itself in his Thirium pump, growing faintly larger as the moments pass, he can only think of how increasingly difficult it would be for his systems to process. How distracting this kind of gratification is in the moment, and how very difficult it is to say no if simply giving into temptation.
And yet if he’s to build a new association of something physically pleasant, why not with someone he’s grown close to over time? Was there a boundary that he’d be overstepping, he wonders, his social programming trying to loop itself in circles in a useless attempt to judge what might be acceptable and to what degree. The feeling diverts even his rational thought; equal parts worrying and intriguing.]
Do you want to explore it more? It’d be a two-way street, as they say. Disregarding the idea of chroma, holding hands like this in public is generally a gesture shared between two intimate parties.
[IN CASE YOU DIDN’T KNOW………..]
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I know.
[ Oh boy does he know. He clears his throat a bit. ]
I don’t mind, really. [ He really likes holding hands with Connor, and he doesn’t really care if other people get the wrong idea anyway. ] It’s uh, it’s got a lot to do with the way this world works, right? I’d rather figure it out with you than someone else.
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That’s true, but... Even if it’s embarrassing for you?
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