slukhtis | ic inbox.

[it's a very flattering thing to hear. that's why he used to like him, isn't it? that, and his fire. his anger. his unwavering dedication and obsession. he was fun. still is, probably.]

I know. I was never actually on the Marsiva... I think I got here when the trip was just starting.

You might like the ships better. They're shitty, but the engines have a nice hum to them. Everyone gets cozy. The rat vents are kind of cute.

[he pauses.]

I'm kidding. They're ugly. Have you tried ripping out your augment, yet?

[ Calm enough now that he picks up the communicator again, cradles it in his hand. Too far, doesn't like it, he itches to leave the Marsiva, itches to find Robin. What he'll do he isn't sure; maybe just cling, steal his bed and wrap himself in anything that bares his scent for a few hours. ]

Lived in worse places, it'll probably be fine. [ A beat. ] Used to eat rats too.

[ The next pause is longer... ]

No?

Ah, well. There's an augment in your neck, under your skull. Feels like a little bump, in most cases.

[...this is nice, just talking about something stupid. normal. he clings to this instead of thinking about going forward, or all the time they're going to have to wait.]

I don't recommend trying to remove it. You'll probably pass out. It's psychologically taxing.

[ Silence.

Michael reaches around to the back of his neck, feeling the bump with his fingers. How didn't he notice it before? Occupied likely, hadn't bothered to see whether or not they had done anything to him. Or listened if they told him. Yeah, he's real shit at listening. ]

Well shit.

[ For a moment he considers actually trying to pull it out. ]

Think I'll pass.

Good thought. [he figures he'll get bored and try it later anyway, but.]

You'll probably find that it went and put a few things in your head. Information, mostly. Got any idea which job you're supposed to have?

[ Eventually maybe. When he is bored and free of this ship, when Robin is closer and can probably peel his ass off the floor something. ]

Yeah it's... [ How he explain it? It's weird for anyone, but for him it's even worse. He doesn't just know things. He never has. ] uncomfortable.

Something about security.

[ Fingers press into skin, press against the augment, and he hisses. ]

I don't like it. I try not to think about it, most of the time.

[because he then has to consider how Atroma could put a foreign object in his flesh without his blood trying to destroy it. even he doesn't have a complete mastery over his own body--how could Atroma have done it?]

Figures you'd get the guns, though.

Don't want to think about it. Makes me feel sick.

[ Information, words, things he knows he shouldn't know but he does. The slight tingle where flesh tries to knit itself back together, but can't. Obstructed. Michael groans, poking at the lump once more before dropping his hand. ]

Yeah? [ A sniff. ] I've always been good at fighting and shit.

I have the enginessss. [he says it through a sudden smirk, through his teeth, since the thought strikes him as hilarious. despite it all, despite everything they'd just said.] Someone thinks it should be up to me to keep us in the sky.

[ Michael scoffs, screwing up his nose. Shifting easily into this, despite everything, casual conversation as if the rest of it was never broached. ]

Who that that was a good idea?

Atroma. That's what they call them. No one's seen them, but at least they've got some puppets to talk through. More than the Tower ever gave us.

Mysterious overlords, great. [ SOUNDS FAMILIAR. ] Surprised you haven't blown any ships up yet.

You know what? I like the ships. I don't think they've done anything wrong.

You missed the space fight, though. That was a riot.

Too much metal.

[ He already misses the feel of solid ground beneath his feet. ]

Really? Damn.

ic inbox.

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