PSL; [THE BELL WAS RINGING]

[saviorexe]

[There are good days. The ones where he helps Carl with his art, sunlight streaming in through the glass walls of the studio. Calm, quiet, seemingly detached from the outer world. Markus likes those days the best; where routine hastens along its little track, unerring and steady. Medications, injections, breakfast in the morning. A clear schedule (not always the case, but sometimes), no appointments to be ready for, to be late for. Only the scent of coffee, the quiet clack of chess pieces against a black and white board, or the melodies from a pianoforte threading through the air. They always talk about art, but sometimes Carl will talk to him about literature. About philosophies that he can’t still quite grasp, but he thinks he can see the shape of it if he focuses enough — the state of humanity, and all of its beautiful, unflattering forms. Markus listens, and he learns, tending to his duties easily enough. Happily enough, he thinks. There’s always paint to be cleaned from his fingertips when the afternoon comes to a close, and evening ushers itself in.

And then there are bad days.

Days where it’s hard to ignore something as fleeting as mortality; Carl’s health worsening, fluctuating, pains and soreness. A shadow of frailty casting a pallor over all the man is, opening the door for something they had worked to keep at bay for a long while yet — depression. He knows when he sees it creeping in, he can hear it in the tone of the older man, views it in the lines of his aged face. Markus talks to him, calmly, coaxing for him to tell him how he’s feeling, or to rest when he needs to. That his work will be there for him tomorrow, when he feels better, and that he should eat something while they wait for the doctor to come in.

Carl grumbles something at him, dry and a little sarcastic, and Markus just smiles. Says something witty in return, willing his LED to stay blue — (can he will it to stay that way? He had always wondered, but the thought slips away, like sand through a sieve) — for the other’s sake. Tells him he’ll be downstairs if he needs anything.

And he waits downstairs, thinking of what will pass the time until the doctor arrives. What needs straightening, what needs cleaning. To push away distracting thoughts via distractions itself. Yet Markus finds himself merely standing there, alone, looking at the door, while the false birds in their cages sing, echoing in the foyer.]

Comments

[saviorexe]

[An advantage when it comes to art. A comment that forces a faint grin across his features, yet threatens to wrench his Thirium pump out of place all the same. Carl. The loss is poignant and he doesn't know what yet to do with it, not in the wake of everything that's just happened to him. What's happened to the both of them.

He pushes it down and away, and nods at Arthur, determination sinking over the surface of that wound once more.]

If you have a pair of keen eyes at your disposal, that's all the help I'll need. [He turns and gestures for Arthur to follow him. They've a ways to go.] Come on. No point in staying here.

[They have a subway train to catch.]

* * *

[It's strange, trying to fit in with the humans. As the subway careens down its track, the lights flickering and momentum swaying, he occasionally looks over at Arthur to judge how he's doing. Markus attempts to keep the tension out of his own shoulders and expression the best he can. It's easy enough to be android-still, but how does one strike that balance between being calm and too synthetic?

So it's a faint relief when they exit the subway after it lurches to a halt, passing by the doors hissing open, and out into the terminal. Passerby's roam in all directions, paying them little to no heed.]

...That went more smoothly than anticipated. [-he remarks to his companion when he draws closer.]

[inklongdry]

[ Arthur has spent his entire life watching over humans in various stages of life and health. One would think that would help him to blend in with them a bit better, but much like Markus, he’s a bit out of his depth on the train. He’s never traveled by subway before, first of all. His rare forays into the field were always by hospital-provided transportation.

Plus, it’s very hard to act natural. To sway with the motion of the cars on the tracks like a human might. He’s probably over-thinking it, surely no one is paying either of them enough mind to notice how still they’re standing or not, but still. It’s a definite work in progress, and Arthur can’t help but feel relieved once they finally step off the train at their destination. ]

Worried someone was going to figure you out, hm? Me too.

[ This is a lot to get used to. ]

[saviorexe]

Yeah.

[Yes, it is a lot to get used to. Too much, the world feeling like it's spinning backwards on its axis, both of their realities turned upside-down ever since they found themselves caked in the mud of a junkyard.

Markus frowns, eyes casting out at a distance, where there's a colorful display of street art and graffiti lining the walls of the terminal enclosure. The android motions at the other to follow him in that direction.]

Though I don't like pretending to be something I'm not. [Even though it's necessary, even though it benefits their survival to be human... there's something about hiding that irks him. He cannot quite put a finger on why.]