Solo Sidewinder (July 2021)
DANTE
To find a body in the desert (along with long forgotten derelict ships), whether it was organic or metal, had become a cliché at this point. A sad, horrible cliché. Unfortunately, Abaddon was a dumpster landfill for all body disposal needs, especially if you’re a Lux bastard who needed to toss a cheap backstory on some sad idiot who happened to get caught in their crosshairs. Woe! Another wormhole victim, alas!
Unfortunately, that’s just how our story begins. With a cliché.
One Lux agent who drew the short stick grumbled as he flew all the way to Abaddon by ship for the sole purpose to drop off a body. He didn’t know who the guy used to be, but it didn’t matter, now. He, she, it—was dead. Very dead. In pieces, shot in the metallic skull and pretty damn certain the chip fried past any attempt to extract in the attempt to reanimate it in another body. That was the hope, but nobody bothered to check just to make sure the chip was toast.
Now the butchered body was currently bagged up and acting as a glorified paper weight to a stack of paperwork needing filled out and turned in by the time the agent got back to his boss. These sorts of jobs always ended in paper work. Those were the worst. Especially since it’s goddamn paper. Why waste trees when there’s a perfectly good computers, transmitters, and emails to document this godawful trip?
Once the grumpy Lux agent made it to Abaddon and descended to the surface, he lowered his ship and opened the hatch. He wanted to toss the body and be done with it, but there was a sick sense of needing to make this trip feel worth it.
He unceremoniously tossed the body bag onto the vast expanse of windy desert. It was hot, he was thirsty, and dressed all in black. The last bit was, in retrospect, a bad idea. He cursed the bag for being a general pain in the ass, kicked it, and tossed some sand on it, and kicked it again before demonstrating his loyal Lux salute to nobody in particular. Anyway, the wind would surely cover it before long.
The Lux agent left, ship and all. The body bag was getting good and covered with wind pulling sand over it, like a blanket…
PERCY
How many years had Percy complained about the galaxy’s litter box? The heat, the lack of resources, the dangerous, desert wildlife that was more populous than the planet’s local (and often equally inhospitable) life forms; not to mention the veritable trash chute the Delta Wormhole was!
…so why was it, after all this time, coming back to this barren wasteland of a planet felt more like returning home than a trip to the Elysian Titan—native planet to all Prometheans—ever could?
Much to Percy’s triumph (and Virgo’s dismay), he’d proven a point simply by GETTING his rolling turd of a space RV out here in the first place. Sure, the landing had been a bit rough, but it was HARDLY a death trap mom! But the next challenge that presented itself was…remembering where the fuck Jethro had parked their camouflaged headquarters.
The Notorious R.I.G. was, perhaps, even more of a rickety scrap heap than Percy’s flying RV was, if you could believe it. But where it had long since taken its last flight, the green Sidewinder had spent countless days (weeks? Months!) ensuring its defense systems, including the high-tech, exterior chameleon coating would outlive them all.
But for obvious reasons, he’d never documented the coordinates of said, grounded vessel. And now, after more than a year of being gone, watching him search was not unlike Wonder Woman forgetting where she parked her invisible plane…on top of a needle in a very sandy haystack.
“I know it’s around here somewhere!” Percy yelled at his RV, which was packed full of a menagerie of alien beasts rival to the Rahal-Zhang’s own family zoo. Marvin in particular was INCONSOLABLE as he squawked and flapped and repeatedly pecked at the ship’s air horn (pretty much the ONLY feature on board that Percy was NOT a big fan of). >>
Kicking around the sand about thirty yards in front of where he’d landed and parked, where Percy was fully expecting to stub his toe on the unseen but presumably unavoidable hull of his team’s abandoned HQ, what he uncovered instead was far more unexpected and unnervingly happenstance (especially considering his history with the vigilante group).
His foot connected with the body bag, turning just enough silt to reveal a blackened, zippered corner.
“What the hell?”
Percy crouched down, brushed off the bag, and unzipped it. To find a face there would have been alarming enough, but the familiarity of its busted, beaten, and broken apart android body sent white hot flashes of guilt and the exposed, copper cheeks of Mylo’s freckled face searing through his mind. “Fuck.”
“Fuck!” The Promethean swore, stood, and stepped away from the mangled body and its disemboweled gut of mesh and wire. “Come on!” Percy stamped his foot and paced back and forth, looking up at the desert sky and rubbing his forehead anxiously. This…he wasn’t ANYWHERE near Abaddon’s drop point. The Delta’s dumping grounds were at least two klicks north from base! Not to mention bodies didn’t normally fall out of the sky wrapped up all pretty like a Christmas gift.
Regardless of its origins, Percy couldn’t very well LEAVE it out here! …especially if he was as close to the Rig as he thought himself to be.
With four strong arms, the Promethean would heave the zippered bag of mechanical bones over his shoulder and back into his RV. “Alright, everybody out!” Percy yelled at all the animals on his interplanetary camper-turned-ark. “Critter, you’re in charge.” The Thylagator would follow the Kakapo and Gakki off the motorhome and out into the sand, and herd the two as necessary. >>
Dumping the body out onto his pop-up diner-style table, Percy realized that, despite being visibly drawn and quartered, if the intent had been to KILL…whoever was responsible was woefully unfamiliar (or just plain lazy) of what it took to actually, thoroughly DESTROY a sentient being.
Rooting around in the android’s strewn guts, Percy plugged that in here and this in there and attempted to cycle life back into the body with a bit of power juiced straight from the RV itself…which promptly stuttered and stalled out when asked to do anything more than just GET them here in the first place.
Groooooooooooan.
Mow. Mow. MOW. Mreowwwwww!
“Ugh, what now?!” Percy yelled outside. Daphne’s high maintenance cries for attention were hard to ignore. Leaving the still immobilized body inside, the Promethean exited the RV and went looking for his spoiled Gakki. He’d find her, with the rest of the gang in tow, screaming at…nothing?
Yep. Nothing. She was just sat there, in the middle of the desert, yelling into the void. “Knock it off. Hey! Pipe down. Seriously Daphne, I JUST fed y—“ Walking around to try and get in front of the Gakki to give her a stern talking to, Percy swiftly and full-on ran into an invisible obstacle…mime-style.
The keycard implant he had embedded in his wrist promptly unlocked the unseen front door of the Notorious R.I.G.
…and Daphne waltzed right inside.
“You’ve GOT to be kidding me.” Percy said in disbelief after peeling himself face-first off the side of the camouflaged hull he’d been unable to find himself.
Well, at least now it was only a hop, skip and a jump to move than android from RV to a PROPER base and see if he’d power up THIS time.
DANTE
Percy was an astute fellow, correct on many points and then some. This feller looked like a slop job. Carelessly murdered, but no less brutal in the manner of which the body was ended. Plainly unrecognizable, considering the absolute mess of his limbs and face (assuming it was male, of course). Judging the length of hacked-off limbs, he might have been a beanpole. There was no telling if he might have been handsome or plain, not with that face missing a jaw, some skin, and an eyeball. One thing for certain is that this guy was as dead as a doornail.
Until he wasn't.
The RV's juices was enough to make the arm still barely attached to the torso shoot up and nearly hit Percy in the face. And that was it. A surefire sign that this fella was not as dead as thought. Good job, Lux. Slow clap.
The base was an entirely different story. The generous dose of electricity it provided sent a shuddering jolt through the hacked-up android. What followed was a shrill scream, but the sound was wrong, like a computer having trouble emulating what a real human voice should sound like (think Neo leaving the Matrix for the first time). It did not stop. The face lacked a jaw, but its vocal processors was determined to show that they worked perfectly fine (or not) as it continued, stuttering hellishly before resuming a perfect E note.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
PERCY
That short-lived jumpstart was definitely a good sign. However, Percy was entirely unprepared for the death rattle the android had left in its system upon being Lazarus’d back from the dead.
You know, it was bad enough being resurrected from what had undoubtedly been a hate-filled, brutal murder, but then to have insult added to injury when the tech who resuscitated you freaked out and began beating your shrieking face with the nearest thing to him (which just so happened to be…let’s see here…oh dear it was one of Jethro’s old nudie mags) that wasn’t exactly the warmest welcome back to the world.
Percy screamed too: “AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
Honestly, while any IT support would tell you it probably wasn’t the best solution to beat your computer into submission, a couple of panicked whacks to the face with a rolled up (sticky paged???) magazine might very well do the trick of engaging a sentient enough part of the bot boy that even inorganic instinct would say raise your hands in front of your face and defend yourself. Even detached, wireless synapses could very well still fire and leave those hacked off limbs flopping around like a fish out of water trying to defend the zombified beanpole.
What a hot mess this impromptu rescue and rebuild mission was turning out to be. I think it was clear to see Percy was just a little out of practice.
DANTE
The android’s arm flailed like a rogue fire hose when the dirty magazine whacked him in the face. Bizarrely, each whack changed his tone. It was like tuning into different radio stations with terrible reception.
“AHHHHH—” screamed the android, lowering his voice an octave.
Whack.
“AHHHHHHH—“
Whack.
“Hhhwhaaa AND IIIII WILL ALWAYS L—“
Whack.
“SKINNA MA RINKY DINKY DINK, SKINNA MA RINKY DOO—“
Whack.
“WITH THAT HONKY TONK BADONKADONK
KEEPIN PERFECT RHYTHM
MAKE YA WANNA SWING ALONG—“
Whack.
“I HOPE YOU DON’T MIND THAT I PUT DOWN IN WORDS… how wonderful life is—“
Whack.
The android stilled. His jawless face swiveled around with an ominous CLANK and saw Percy with his one eye.
A hand reached out and grabbed a fistful of Percy’s front shirt. A sign, perhaps? The broken android weakly beckoned Percy lean in close. Perhaps we’re going somewhere, here.
“The greatest glory in living lies not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall,” he said in a booming robotic tenor. Oh, god. Did he get that quote from Spoogle?
“It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you
There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do
I bless the rains down in Africa…”
PERCY
Had Percy a crueler or even more shallow sense of humor, he might have continued to swatting Dante long after panic had ebbed, just to see how many more TV channels and radio stations this android could tune himself into. That didn’t stop him from getting over the unexpected fright of the bot boy coming back to life with some rather inappropriate but uncontrollable laughter.
But then he was grabbed with one hand, and stared at with one eye, and the Promethean’s juvenile giggles halted in an instant. There was definitely something still in there, he decided, something whoever had done this failed to squash even as every other aspect of this being’s physical self was quite literally scrapped.
“Listen to me, kid. Fortune cookie quotes aside, if you’re committed to getting up from a fall this big, I’m rooting for you. But…” Percy looked down at his forearm, and the Roman numerals he’d had tattooed and re-tattooed after his last dead shed. The 26 (XXVI) was a reminder, and he was steadfast in never making those same mistakes again—but no longer by avoiding the subject entirely. “…I need you to tell me this is what you want. You gotta nod or something to let me know I didn’t just yank you back from some final resting place and the peace that comes with it. Say the word, Scrappy, and I’ll get straight to work and fix you right up.”
And then, in perhaps the most empathetic and altruistic gesture he could think to make, he’d reach under the cybernetic worktable he’d laid Dante out on and pulled out something else that used to belong to Jethro. (No, nothing dirty this time.) It was a big pair of stereo headphones. Calmly and carefully, he placed them over Dante’s ears (or whatever audio input remained on the side of his abused facial structure) and pushed play. Jethro had only ever trusted Percy to work on the cyborg body that kept his head—the only still human part of him—alive, but even with that trust it took a little extra to make him comfortable. Compassionately, the green Sidewinder hoped that Kilroy Axelrad playlist would bring this perfect stranger similar comfort.
DANTE
Metal creaked and groaned strangely as the android moved. The hand that released Percy fell limp at his side. Whatever the Promethean had said after, whether the android heard him or not, earned another song by way of Kilroy Axelrad's playlist blaring into his ruined head:
Just do it
Nothing is impossible
Just do it
Yesterday you said tomorrow
Just do it
Don't let your dream be dreams...
At least it was as good of a consent as any, right? Right? While Percy continued his work, the singing android waved his arm like those obnoxious inflatable tube fellows you find on the side of the road, flailing in the wind.
PERCY
Percy had liquidated a great deal of his android stock when he and Modry made the move to New Haven. But even though Rydel and Bud had been very motivated buyers, there were certain parts the reNcarn8 developer just couldn’t bring himself to part with…and it would be exactly those essential pieces he’d hoarded all this time that Dante would benefit from now.
The bot boy would be left on the table several times, as the tech sought out this bit and that bob from all over Sidewinder HQ. But this wasn’t an instance of Frankenstein and his monster. Dante was not being junked back together. The process was laborious and lengthy, and Percy worked tirelessly for days on end, just as he promised “Scrappy” he would.
He preserved what he could, which unfortunately wasn’t much, but original composition was important. The biggest portion of the android’s body left intact was that one arm, and, perhaps funniest of all, Dante’s nose. Leave it to Percy to appreciate the preservation of a singular feature, as he struggled with his own body dysmorphia from one dead-shedded reincarnation to the next.
The physical repairs, more than 72 tireless hours later, were at last complete. But uncrossing whatever wires had Dante speaking entirely in song lyrics and Confucius-like Spoogle quotes was going to a great deal longer.
“Alright, kid, you want to take a look? Let’s start with a few basic motor functions first. Raise your right hand for me? Now you’re left. Okay. Blink your eyes. Stick out your tongue. Extend your foot and touch your toes to my hand. Now the other one—alright.”
Percy helped Dante adjust in his seat, standing the table at an upright and very slight angle and then turning it so that he was put before a mirror of equal length to the work bench. He’d wait for the inevitable shell shock of looking in the mirror and seeing the reflection of who might as well be a perfect stranger.
He understood. He really, truly did.
DANTE
Whatever luck that was with Percy that day, it was enough. The android contained life after all--or, at least, what was considered the fresh start of re-existence anyway. As time went by, the songs in him have faded as he gained more of his consciousness. The trouble was, the android did not seem to acknowledge his previous life, a good indicator that his memory bank was either wiped, corrupted, or perhaps the guy just pondered it in silence. Trying to remember. Or remembering, and not liking what he found. Any of them seemed likely. Either way, his expression remained impassive.
"Dante," he said, the first time he spoke since his songs. The sound that came from him was soft. "Io penso di... It feels right, anyway." The words contained a slight Italian lilt to them. He did as Percy bade, and raised his right hand. Then his left. He blinked his eyes, and stuck out his tongue (while saying "ahhhh"), then touched his toes. Percy did exceptionally well in his craft.
Dante did not resist as Percy helped him adjust. When the time came to look in the mirror, the boy kept his eyes closed shut out of childish fear of what he may find. Slowly, he opened his eyes.
The end result was an android who looked... well, good as new. He even had that fresh android smell. Whatever he was before, he was no longer looked like that person. Something in him knew that. Except for the eyes... the eyes held that same yellow color to them. About the only feature he felt looked right. Everything else...
"È molto gentile da parte tua," Dante said quietly. The way it was said was no doubt words of thanks that quavered and had trouble coming out of his new lips. He trembled. How so human he looked then, no longer the expressionless machine that was on Percy's table. Suddenly he reached out to Percy, and buried his head into the Promethean's chest. What followed was a gut-wrenching sound. A sob. But no tears flowed.
PERCY
“Dante, huh? Well that’s a good sign. Good, very good,” Percy reassured the android as his speech faculties seemed to return to normal. (Not to say his lyricism hadn’t been entertaining, but the Promethean was all about functionality.)
Ever the multitasker, the green Sidewinder keyed in the phrase which the bot boy had spoken after deciding on proper introductions, wanting to ensure they were actual words—Latin, he guessed? (Dammit Jim, he was a technician, not a linguist!)—and not some lingering, corrupted data. “Huh,” Percy punctuated his work with a curious exclamation, before plucking a little button shaped gadget from among all the other trappings and trimmings on his table and powering it on. “Sei Italiano allora?” (So you’re Italian then?) The Promethean asked with the help of his auto-translator. Rather than a robotic voice relaying words first spoken in English to their translated equivalent in Italian, instead it was his own vocal chords being manipulated to speak Italian in his own voice, directly from thought-to-device. Sexy.
Whether it was trying to bring the no-longer-scrap-heap of a sentient some comfort by speaking in what might have been a native tongue, or simply probing his neural centers for greater insight into all the knowledge that damaged but still functional data chip had retained, Percy would continue to speak to Dante in his chosen dialect for as long as the android initiated conversation in the aforementioned Italian. “Mi hai dato la possibilità di fare una cosa buona. Aiutare è il minimo che potessi fare.” (You gave me a chance to do a good thing. Helping is the least I could do.)
The Promethean knew it was coming. The shock was inevitable. However, for the bot boy to seek comfort in him, to bury his face in his chest and find safety enough to fall all to pieces? …the Sidewinder exhaled a shaky, heartrendingly saddened breath and wrapped his arms around the poor humanity-adjacent soul. All of his arms. Talk about a two-for-one hug when Dante needed one the most. Percy rubbed the back of his head.
“Shhh. Shhh. I know, kid. I know. It’ll be alright. We’ll get you there, okay?” Sympathy would have said you’ll be okay, but empathy said we’ll get you there.
Self-acceptance was a long road. Longer when you had to walk it alone. Percy had the Sidewinders for his journey along that path, and now Dante had him.
DANTE
Dante hadn’t expected his savior to speak his tongue, so the surprise jolted something in him that made him push back from the Promethean, wide-eyed and mouth agape. “You… you speak it, too?” he questioned in Italian, blinking back rapidly the tears that did not exist. Funny, he could almost feel them. Like phantom limbs.
“I… suppose… but not from… from…” Dante peered down at his arms, realizing his whole body was still trembling. “I think my… parents…” Hands lifted up and pressed into his skull, as if willing to resurface a memory that was just within his grasp. “Parents?” It made little sense to Dante, who looked bewildered at the thought, but somehow he knew it to be true. “Something else… There was a boy…”
Percy brought his patient back with his gentle words and four-armed embrace. And suddenly Dante felt fearful as he pushed off the sheet that kept his bare android body modest to cling to the only contact he currently had. It would have been comical if it weren’t for the sudden onslaught of existential questions that burst from him, panicked and fearful. “Who am I? Where am I? What do I do? Where do I go?”
PERCY
Percy didn't speak, but instead tapped the button-sized gadget he'd adhered to his throat. Where the Italian being spoken might have been artificial, the sentiments expressed were as authentic as the wordsmith himself.
Even having taken the time to unscramble Dante's brain—what was left intact on his memory chip, at least—as well as restore his body, the Promethean looked startled as the freshly curated android was already dredging up some rather important details from his past. "Parents and a boy. Okay. Good. No, no, don't force it. That's a start. We can work with that." He patted the bot boy's shoulder, remaining positive and expecting the kid to take his lead and do the same.
But one minute Dante was there and the next he was gone! Bare assed and going about a mile a minute, Percy was too flabbergasted (not to mention red in the gaylien face) and embarrassed to continue being able to provide further reassurance, nor support nor sage advice. Nope, pretty much all Percy's brain was capable of in that moment was something akin to this visual representation: SFJLSFLJASDLHEFSLF.
...honestly Percy, you installed the damn thing on him, stop acting like it was the first time you'd seen it, you prude.
Yeah, but—! This time it was like...helicoptering around as Dante panicked and stuff!
Focus, focus!
"Okay. Whoa. Stop. First thing's first." Percy took a deep breath, grabbed Dante by the shoulders, about faced him (maybe took a real quick peek at his new tush, because cute) and steered him towards the stern of the Rig, where they'd reserved a few rooms near the med-bay, an area which safely separated those they rescued on Abaddon from the rest of Sidewinder HQ.
"We will start here. There's some spare clothes in the dresser and a blank journal in the nightstand. My sister, Callie, always stressed the importance of writing down whatever you can remember as it comes back to you. And it will come back to you. You can stay here until you're ready. I'll take some time to show you the town once you're settled in and feel comfortable to do so. If you're happy here on Abaddon, I can help you find a job and carve out a little niche of your own. And if you're not—which, trust me, I get it, this big ole sandbox isn't everyone's cup of tea—I will contact my sister in New Haven and we will see if that suits you any better. She's good people, she'll help."
DANTE
The translator gadget made sense, but poor Dante couldn’t get distracted by that for long. Speaking of distraction, the Promethean looked like he was having a crisis of his own. Or a seizure. Nyah nyah, Jethro; looks like Pervy Percy gave the bot the thicc succulent Italian sausage treatment that you can never have, bwahahaha. Blissfully ignorant of his beautiful bare ass, Dante continued to sob sans the tears as he tried grappling for Percy's shirt, stopped only when he was forced to turn around. Dante ugly sniffed; he couldn't blame Percy if he didn't want to see the bot boy cry like this. It's okay. Sniff, sniff.
Until he looked down.
Oh.
Oh.
Dante immediately covered himself with his hands, his cheeks (which cheeks? hurr hurr hurr) flashing red faster than a stop light. This proved a fruitless attempt, he could only cover himself so much.
Thank goodness Percy had the decency to tell Dante about the clothes. "R-right...," he mumbled, red-faced, scurrying over to the dresser while his thing flip-flopped like an elephant's trunk. The android picked out underwear and simple pair of trousers with a matching top, a bit frayed due to age, but they worked well for what Dante needed them for. And they were clean. He did his best, trembling as he tried to pull up the pants. He had a skinny waist and was in desperate need of a belt; the pants kept sliding down, and so did the boxers.
Now that he was able to think clearly with clothes on, he seemed pretty stoked about the journal, especially after he saw it sitting alone on the nightstand. "Really? F-for me? Are you sure?" He approached it tentatively, trying to be modest while really, he wanted it. He did not have anything to his name, except the clothes on his back, and soon this... this book.
This book.
Something about the word sent Dante's mind chugging fiercely. He picked up the journal delicately as if it was the most precious thing in the entire world. He had never loved something so much until now.
Percy said he could stay here. Emotions welled up in the pit of his stomach, or whatever was down there; nothing had meant to him so much. Not for long, the Promethean had said, but long enough to acclimate to the world around him. Get a job. Find his footing. Percy cared. There was nothing Dante could say why these gestures of kindness meant so much to him, so he settled with two very simple words in English.
"Thank you."
Dante pulled the journal to his chest, gazing starry-eyed at his hero. "May I borrow... a... a pen?" It was a shy request. "I'd... like to... get started now, if that's alright."
PERCY
(Keep in mind, folks, on Percy's roleplay timeline, Dante showed up prior to Jeth's return; that's very important at this point xD)
The Promethean's soul only agreed to return to his body when the poor boy had situated those size-too-big britches on his slender and twinky little waist.
And then, bound and determined to not have that incident on either of their consciences a second time around--though with no consideration to how sexually aggressive his next maneuver might be initially perceived--Percy reached down, unfastened the neon green, military-clasped belt, yanked it in one fluid motion from their loops (oh dear, take it easy daddy, damn) and offered it to the still burningly red-cheeked Dante.
"You're welcome," Percy smiled, simple yet disarmingly empathetic. (You can thank Lena for softening him up, because he certainly hadn't always been this way.)
In spite of all the awkwardness they'd just endured at each other's expense, the one aspect of the green Sidewinder which remained unflinching was exactly as the sweet, reconstructed android had pointed out: yes, he cared.
And it was for that reason that the belt was not the last green thing that the four-armed alien would bequeath unto the asterisk exception--the first project he'd taken on in all his years since Alpha Corp--of his team's anti-android agenda. He fished into his pocket, ever the prepared one, tongue poked out in concentration as if to say I know it's around here somewhere before fishing out a green inked pen (because, of course).
"Keep it. And let me know if you need anything else. This button right here is the intercom, it'll patch straight through to me. Don't worry about the time, just call, I won't mind."
Percy, never one to overstay his welcome, especially not when he'd just established this was to be the kid's personal space, at least for a time, headed for the door. He'd pause there and turn around one more time, something seeming to dawn on him then. "My name's Oscar. Nice to meet you Dante. I'm glad you're still with us."
DANTE
Pretty sure blood exploded from Dante’s nose (if only he HAD blood) after witnessing Percy’s clearly practiced yank of his belt (take notes for that mystery boy in your head, Dante!). A hand reached out when the belt was offered, but Dante treated the thing like it was a damn snake. Take a deep breath, damn you. Not literally, because android, but you know what I mean.
“G-g-grazie,” the bot boy stammered. Holding a book and the belt made holding his pants up a little difficult, so down it slid, again. He hastily disappeared behind something, anything, to save what little modesty he had left just as his pants reached his toes.
When Dante emerged again, it was with a belted waist and quiet wonder, reflecting on all that he was told. He should have been overwhelmed, but not him. He was excited. There was so much to do, so much to remember, and he could not wait to get started! When given the green pen, Dante nodded enthusiastically and unabashedly gave the Promethean a platonic hug. Oh, boy. We’ve got a hugger on our hands.
“Oscar,” he repeated happily. “I owe you my life.”
—
A whole thirty minutes had passed while the android sat in what he decided was his own little corner for now, perched on a chair with the journal opened to the first page. Dante had his eyes closed, trying to get a picture of his parents, the boy, anything from his past, and praying that they aren’t just imagined.
Before he could stop himself, Dante took up the pen, and held it against the page. A soft splotch of green blossomed from the tip.
Then his hand moved, and with it the pen, and an oval formed. This intrigued Dante, but he knew now that he started, he could not stop. Soon, a face emerged from the oval: eyes, mouth, and nose. Soft features were given, and a gentle smile, and soon a plait of hair snaked over the boy’s shoulder.
Dante finished, and examined his work. What he saw made his mechanical heart surge with emotion.
“S… Seiveril,” he whispered, touching the page. When he said it, he somehow knew the name to be real, the name meant for this angelic creature he drew. He wrote the name in neat and curvy letters next to the face, followed by, ’The angel in my head.’
PERCY
Fortunately for Dante, Sealena was also a hugger. Now responsible for quite possibly the two sweetest beans in all of the Mobius Strip Galaxy, the Promethean treated the android's embrace in much the same way he had addressed the Kalikani's affection...at first, at least. He patted the kid on the head. Smooth, Percy.
DANTE
To find a body in the desert (along with long forgotten derelict ships), whether it was organic or metal, had become a cliché at this point. A sad, horrible cliché. Unfortunately, Abaddon was a dumpster landfill for all body disposal needs, especially if you’re a Lux bastard who needed to toss a cheap backstory on some sad idiot who happened to get caught in their crosshairs. Woe! Another wormhole victim, alas!
Unfortunately, that’s just how our story begins. With a cliché.
One Lux agent who drew the short stick grumbled as he flew all the way to Abaddon by ship for the sole purpose to drop off a body. He didn’t know who the guy used to be, but it didn’t matter, now. He, she, it—was dead. Very dead. In pieces, shot in the metallic skull and pretty damn certain the chip fried past any attempt to extract in the attempt to reanimate it in another body. That was the hope, but nobody bothered to check just to make sure the chip was toast.
Now the butchered body was currently bagged up and acting as a glorified paper weight to a stack of paperwork needing filled out and turned in by the time the agent got back to his boss. These sorts of jobs always ended in paper work. Those were the worst. Especially since it’s goddamn paper. Why waste trees when there’s a perfectly good computers, transmitters, and emails to document this godawful trip?
Once the grumpy Lux agent made it to Abaddon and descended to the surface, he lowered his ship and opened the hatch. He wanted to toss the body and be done with it, but there was a sick sense of needing to make this trip feel worth it.
He unceremoniously tossed the body bag onto the vast expanse of windy desert. It was hot, he was thirsty, and dressed all in black. The last bit was, in retrospect, a bad idea. He cursed the bag for being a general pain in the ass, kicked it, and tossed some sand on it, and kicked it again before demonstrating his loyal Lux salute to nobody in particular. Anyway, the wind would surely cover it before long.
The Lux agent left, ship and all. The body bag was getting good and covered with wind pulling sand over it, like a blanket…
PERCY
How many years had Percy complained about the galaxy’s litter box? The heat, the lack of resources, the dangerous, desert wildlife that was more populous than the planet’s local (and often equally inhospitable) life forms; not to mention the veritable trash chute the Delta Wormhole was!
…so why was it, after all this time, coming back to this barren wasteland of a planet felt more like returning home than a trip to the Elysian Titan—native planet to all Prometheans—ever could?
Much to Percy’s triumph (and Virgo’s dismay), he’d proven a point simply by GETTING his rolling turd of a space RV out here in the first place. Sure, the landing had been a bit rough, but it was HARDLY a death trap mom! But the next challenge that presented itself was…remembering where the fuck Jethro had parked their camouflaged headquarters.
The Notorious R.I.G. was, perhaps, even more of a rickety scrap heap than Percy’s flying RV was, if you could believe it. But where it had long since taken its last flight, the green Sidewinder had spent countless days (weeks? Months!) ensuring its defense systems, including the high-tech, exterior chameleon coating would outlive them all.
But for obvious reasons, he’d never documented the coordinates of said, grounded vessel. And now, after more than a year of being gone, watching him search was not unlike Wonder Woman forgetting where she parked her invisible plane…on top of a needle in a very sandy haystack.
“I know it’s around here somewhere!” Percy yelled at his RV, which was packed full of a menagerie of alien beasts rival to the Rahal-Zhang’s own family zoo. Marvin in particular was INCONSOLABLE as he squawked and flapped and repeatedly pecked at the ship’s air horn (pretty much the ONLY feature on board that Percy was NOT a big fan of). >>
Kicking around the sand about thirty yards in front of where he’d landed and parked, where Percy was fully expecting to stub his toe on the unseen but presumably unavoidable hull of his team’s abandoned HQ, what he uncovered instead was far more unexpected and unnervingly happenstance (especially considering his history with the vigilante group).
His foot connected with the body bag, turning just enough silt to reveal a blackened, zippered corner.
“What the hell?”
Percy crouched down, brushed off the bag, and unzipped it. To find a face there would have been alarming enough, but the familiarity of its busted, beaten, and broken apart android body sent white hot flashes of guilt and the exposed, copper cheeks of Mylo’s freckled face searing through his mind. “Fuck.”
“Fuck!” The Promethean swore, stood, and stepped away from the mangled body and its disemboweled gut of mesh and wire. “Come on!” Percy stamped his foot and paced back and forth, looking up at the desert sky and rubbing his forehead anxiously. This…he wasn’t ANYWHERE near Abaddon’s drop point. The Delta’s dumping grounds were at least two klicks north from base! Not to mention bodies didn’t normally fall out of the sky wrapped up all pretty like a Christmas gift.
Regardless of its origins, Percy couldn’t very well LEAVE it out here! …especially if he was as close to the Rig as he thought himself to be.
With four strong arms, the Promethean would heave the zippered bag of mechanical bones over his shoulder and back into his RV. “Alright, everybody out!” Percy yelled at all the animals on his interplanetary camper-turned-ark. “Critter, you’re in charge.” The Thylagator would follow the Kakapo and Gakki off the motorhome and out into the sand, and herd the two as necessary. >>
Dumping the body out onto his pop-up diner-style table, Percy realized that, despite being visibly drawn and quartered, if the intent had been to KILL…whoever was responsible was woefully unfamiliar (or just plain lazy) of what it took to actually, thoroughly DESTROY a sentient being.
Rooting around in the android’s strewn guts, Percy plugged that in here and this in there and attempted to cycle life back into the body with a bit of power juiced straight from the RV itself…which promptly stuttered and stalled out when asked to do anything more than just GET them here in the first place.
Groooooooooooan.
Mow. Mow. MOW. Mreowwwwww!
“Ugh, what now?!” Percy yelled outside. Daphne’s high maintenance cries for attention were hard to ignore. Leaving the still immobilized body inside, the Promethean exited the RV and went looking for his spoiled Gakki. He’d find her, with the rest of the gang in tow, screaming at…nothing?
Yep. Nothing. She was just sat there, in the middle of the desert, yelling into the void. “Knock it off. Hey! Pipe down. Seriously Daphne, I JUST fed y—“ Walking around to try and get in front of the Gakki to give her a stern talking to, Percy swiftly and full-on ran into an invisible obstacle…mime-style.
The keycard implant he had embedded in his wrist promptly unlocked the unseen front door of the Notorious R.I.G.
…and Daphne waltzed right inside.
“You’ve GOT to be kidding me.” Percy said in disbelief after peeling himself face-first off the side of the camouflaged hull he’d been unable to find himself.
Well, at least now it was only a hop, skip and a jump to move than android from RV to a PROPER base and see if he’d power up THIS time.
DANTE
Percy was an astute fellow, correct on many points and then some. This feller looked like a slop job. Carelessly murdered, but no less brutal in the manner of which the body was ended. Plainly unrecognizable, considering the absolute mess of his limbs and face (assuming it was male, of course). Judging the length of hacked-off limbs, he might have been a beanpole. There was no telling if he might have been handsome or plain, not with that face missing a jaw, some skin, and an eyeball. One thing for certain is that this guy was as dead as a doornail.
Until he wasn't.
The RV's juices was enough to make the arm still barely attached to the torso shoot up and nearly hit Percy in the face. And that was it. A surefire sign that this fella was not as dead as thought. Good job, Lux. Slow clap.
The base was an entirely different story. The generous dose of electricity it provided sent a shuddering jolt through the hacked-up android. What followed was a shrill scream, but the sound was wrong, like a computer having trouble emulating what a real human voice should sound like (think Neo leaving the Matrix for the first time). It did not stop. The face lacked a jaw, but its vocal processors was determined to show that they worked perfectly fine (or not) as it continued, stuttering hellishly before resuming a perfect E note.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
PERCY
That short-lived jumpstart was definitely a good sign. However, Percy was entirely unprepared for the death rattle the android had left in its system upon being Lazarus’d back from the dead.
You know, it was bad enough being resurrected from what had undoubtedly been a hate-filled, brutal murder, but then to have insult added to injury when the tech who resuscitated you freaked out and began beating your shrieking face with the nearest thing to him (which just so happened to be…let’s see here…oh dear it was one of Jethro’s old nudie mags) that wasn’t exactly the warmest welcome back to the world.
Percy screamed too: “AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
Honestly, while any IT support would tell you it probably wasn’t the best solution to beat your computer into submission, a couple of panicked whacks to the face with a rolled up (sticky paged???) magazine might very well do the trick of engaging a sentient enough part of the bot boy that even inorganic instinct would say raise your hands in front of your face and defend yourself. Even detached, wireless synapses could very well still fire and leave those hacked off limbs flopping around like a fish out of water trying to defend the zombified beanpole.
What a hot mess this impromptu rescue and rebuild mission was turning out to be. I think it was clear to see Percy was just a little out of practice.
DANTE
The android’s arm flailed like a rogue fire hose when the dirty magazine whacked him in the face. Bizarrely, each whack changed his tone. It was like tuning into different radio stations with terrible reception.
“AHHHHH—” screamed the android, lowering his voice an octave.
Whack.
“AHHHHHHH—“
Whack.
“Hhhwhaaa AND IIIII WILL ALWAYS L—“
Whack.
“SKINNA MA RINKY DINKY DINK, SKINNA MA RINKY DOO—“
Whack.
“WITH THAT HONKY TONK BADONKADONK
KEEPIN PERFECT RHYTHM
MAKE YA WANNA SWING ALONG—“
Whack.
“I HOPE YOU DON’T MIND THAT I PUT DOWN IN WORDS… how wonderful life is—“
Whack.
The android stilled. His jawless face swiveled around with an ominous CLANK and saw Percy with his one eye.
A hand reached out and grabbed a fistful of Percy’s front shirt. A sign, perhaps? The broken android weakly beckoned Percy lean in close. Perhaps we’re going somewhere, here.
“The greatest glory in living lies not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall,” he said in a booming robotic tenor. Oh, god. Did he get that quote from Spoogle?
“It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you
There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do
I bless the rains down in Africa…”
PERCY
Had Percy a crueler or even more shallow sense of humor, he might have continued to swatting Dante long after panic had ebbed, just to see how many more TV channels and radio stations this android could tune himself into. That didn’t stop him from getting over the unexpected fright of the bot boy coming back to life with some rather inappropriate but uncontrollable laughter.
But then he was grabbed with one hand, and stared at with one eye, and the Promethean’s juvenile giggles halted in an instant. There was definitely something still in there, he decided, something whoever had done this failed to squash even as every other aspect of this being’s physical self was quite literally scrapped.
“Listen to me, kid. Fortune cookie quotes aside, if you’re committed to getting up from a fall this big, I’m rooting for you. But…” Percy looked down at his forearm, and the Roman numerals he’d had tattooed and re-tattooed after his last dead shed. The 26 (XXVI) was a reminder, and he was steadfast in never making those same mistakes again—but no longer by avoiding the subject entirely. “…I need you to tell me this is what you want. You gotta nod or something to let me know I didn’t just yank you back from some final resting place and the peace that comes with it. Say the word, Scrappy, and I’ll get straight to work and fix you right up.”
And then, in perhaps the most empathetic and altruistic gesture he could think to make, he’d reach under the cybernetic worktable he’d laid Dante out on and pulled out something else that used to belong to Jethro. (No, nothing dirty this time.) It was a big pair of stereo headphones. Calmly and carefully, he placed them over Dante’s ears (or whatever audio input remained on the side of his abused facial structure) and pushed play. Jethro had only ever trusted Percy to work on the cyborg body that kept his head—the only still human part of him—alive, but even with that trust it took a little extra to make him comfortable. Compassionately, the green Sidewinder hoped that Kilroy Axelrad playlist would bring this perfect stranger similar comfort.
DANTE
Metal creaked and groaned strangely as the android moved. The hand that released Percy fell limp at his side. Whatever the Promethean had said after, whether the android heard him or not, earned another song by way of Kilroy Axelrad's playlist blaring into his ruined head:
Just do it
Nothing is impossible
Just do it
Yesterday you said tomorrow
Just do it
Don't let your dream be dreams...
At least it was as good of a consent as any, right? Right? While Percy continued his work, the singing android waved his arm like those obnoxious inflatable tube fellows you find on the side of the road, flailing in the wind.
PERCY
Percy had liquidated a great deal of his android stock when he and Modry made the move to New Haven. But even though Rydel and Bud had been very motivated buyers, there were certain parts the reNcarn8 developer just couldn’t bring himself to part with…and it would be exactly those essential pieces he’d hoarded all this time that Dante would benefit from now.
The bot boy would be left on the table several times, as the tech sought out this bit and that bob from all over Sidewinder HQ. But this wasn’t an instance of Frankenstein and his monster. Dante was not being junked back together. The process was laborious and lengthy, and Percy worked tirelessly for days on end, just as he promised “Scrappy” he would.
He preserved what he could, which unfortunately wasn’t much, but original composition was important. The biggest portion of the android’s body left intact was that one arm, and, perhaps funniest of all, Dante’s nose. Leave it to Percy to appreciate the preservation of a singular feature, as he struggled with his own body dysmorphia from one dead-shedded reincarnation to the next.
The physical repairs, more than 72 tireless hours later, were at last complete. But uncrossing whatever wires had Dante speaking entirely in song lyrics and Confucius-like Spoogle quotes was going to a great deal longer.
“Alright, kid, you want to take a look? Let’s start with a few basic motor functions first. Raise your right hand for me? Now you’re left. Okay. Blink your eyes. Stick out your tongue. Extend your foot and touch your toes to my hand. Now the other one—alright.”
Percy helped Dante adjust in his seat, standing the table at an upright and very slight angle and then turning it so that he was put before a mirror of equal length to the work bench. He’d wait for the inevitable shell shock of looking in the mirror and seeing the reflection of who might as well be a perfect stranger.
He understood. He really, truly did.
DANTE
Whatever luck that was with Percy that day, it was enough. The android contained life after all--or, at least, what was considered the fresh start of re-existence anyway. As time went by, the songs in him have faded as he gained more of his consciousness. The trouble was, the android did not seem to acknowledge his previous life, a good indicator that his memory bank was either wiped, corrupted, or perhaps the guy just pondered it in silence. Trying to remember. Or remembering, and not liking what he found. Any of them seemed likely. Either way, his expression remained impassive.
"Dante," he said, the first time he spoke since his songs. The sound that came from him was soft. "Io penso di... It feels right, anyway." The words contained a slight Italian lilt to them. He did as Percy bade, and raised his right hand. Then his left. He blinked his eyes, and stuck out his tongue (while saying "ahhhh"), then touched his toes. Percy did exceptionally well in his craft.
Dante did not resist as Percy helped him adjust. When the time came to look in the mirror, the boy kept his eyes closed shut out of childish fear of what he may find. Slowly, he opened his eyes.
The end result was an android who looked... well, good as new. He even had that fresh android smell. Whatever he was before, he was no longer looked like that person. Something in him knew that. Except for the eyes... the eyes held that same yellow color to them. About the only feature he felt looked right. Everything else...
"È molto gentile da parte tua," Dante said quietly. The way it was said was no doubt words of thanks that quavered and had trouble coming out of his new lips. He trembled. How so human he looked then, no longer the expressionless machine that was on Percy's table. Suddenly he reached out to Percy, and buried his head into the Promethean's chest. What followed was a gut-wrenching sound. A sob. But no tears flowed.
PERCY
“Dante, huh? Well that’s a good sign. Good, very good,” Percy reassured the android as his speech faculties seemed to return to normal. (Not to say his lyricism hadn’t been entertaining, but the Promethean was all about functionality.)
Ever the multitasker, the green Sidewinder keyed in the phrase which the bot boy had spoken after deciding on proper introductions, wanting to ensure they were actual words—Latin, he guessed? (Dammit Jim, he was a technician, not a linguist!)—and not some lingering, corrupted data. “Huh,” Percy punctuated his work with a curious exclamation, before plucking a little button shaped gadget from among all the other trappings and trimmings on his table and powering it on. “Sei Italiano allora?” (So you’re Italian then?) The Promethean asked with the help of his auto-translator. Rather than a robotic voice relaying words first spoken in English to their translated equivalent in Italian, instead it was his own vocal chords being manipulated to speak Italian in his own voice, directly from thought-to-device. Sexy.
Whether it was trying to bring the no-longer-scrap-heap of a sentient some comfort by speaking in what might have been a native tongue, or simply probing his neural centers for greater insight into all the knowledge that damaged but still functional data chip had retained, Percy would continue to speak to Dante in his chosen dialect for as long as the android initiated conversation in the aforementioned Italian. “Mi hai dato la possibilità di fare una cosa buona. Aiutare è il minimo che potessi fare.” (You gave me a chance to do a good thing. Helping is the least I could do.)
The Promethean knew it was coming. The shock was inevitable. However, for the bot boy to seek comfort in him, to bury his face in his chest and find safety enough to fall all to pieces? …the Sidewinder exhaled a shaky, heartrendingly saddened breath and wrapped his arms around the poor humanity-adjacent soul. All of his arms. Talk about a two-for-one hug when Dante needed one the most. Percy rubbed the back of his head.
“Shhh. Shhh. I know, kid. I know. It’ll be alright. We’ll get you there, okay?” Sympathy would have said you’ll be okay, but empathy said we’ll get you there.
Self-acceptance was a long road. Longer when you had to walk it alone. Percy had the Sidewinders for his journey along that path, and now Dante had him.
DANTE
Dante hadn’t expected his savior to speak his tongue, so the surprise jolted something in him that made him push back from the Promethean, wide-eyed and mouth agape. “You… you speak it, too?” he questioned in Italian, blinking back rapidly the tears that did not exist. Funny, he could almost feel them. Like phantom limbs.
“I… suppose… but not from… from…” Dante peered down at his arms, realizing his whole body was still trembling. “I think my… parents…” Hands lifted up and pressed into his skull, as if willing to resurface a memory that was just within his grasp. “Parents?” It made little sense to Dante, who looked bewildered at the thought, but somehow he knew it to be true. “Something else… There was a boy…”
Percy brought his patient back with his gentle words and four-armed embrace. And suddenly Dante felt fearful as he pushed off the sheet that kept his bare android body modest to cling to the only contact he currently had. It would have been comical if it weren’t for the sudden onslaught of existential questions that burst from him, panicked and fearful. “Who am I? Where am I? What do I do? Where do I go?”
PERCY
Percy didn't speak, but instead tapped the button-sized gadget he'd adhered to his throat. Where the Italian being spoken might have been artificial, the sentiments expressed were as authentic as the wordsmith himself.
Even having taken the time to unscramble Dante's brain—what was left intact on his memory chip, at least—as well as restore his body, the Promethean looked startled as the freshly curated android was already dredging up some rather important details from his past. "Parents and a boy. Okay. Good. No, no, don't force it. That's a start. We can work with that." He patted the bot boy's shoulder, remaining positive and expecting the kid to take his lead and do the same.
But one minute Dante was there and the next he was gone! Bare assed and going about a mile a minute, Percy was too flabbergasted (not to mention red in the gaylien face) and embarrassed to continue being able to provide further reassurance, nor support nor sage advice. Nope, pretty much all Percy's brain was capable of in that moment was something akin to this visual representation: SFJLSFLJASDLHEFSLF.
...honestly Percy, you installed the damn thing on him, stop acting like it was the first time you'd seen it, you prude.
Yeah, but—! This time it was like...helicoptering around as Dante panicked and stuff!
Focus, focus!
"Okay. Whoa. Stop. First thing's first." Percy took a deep breath, grabbed Dante by the shoulders, about faced him (maybe took a real quick peek at his new tush, because cute) and steered him towards the stern of the Rig, where they'd reserved a few rooms near the med-bay, an area which safely separated those they rescued on Abaddon from the rest of Sidewinder HQ.
"We will start here. There's some spare clothes in the dresser and a blank journal in the nightstand. My sister, Callie, always stressed the importance of writing down whatever you can remember as it comes back to you. And it will come back to you. You can stay here until you're ready. I'll take some time to show you the town once you're settled in and feel comfortable to do so. If you're happy here on Abaddon, I can help you find a job and carve out a little niche of your own. And if you're not—which, trust me, I get it, this big ole sandbox isn't everyone's cup of tea—I will contact my sister in New Haven and we will see if that suits you any better. She's good people, she'll help."
DANTE
The translator gadget made sense, but poor Dante couldn’t get distracted by that for long. Speaking of distraction, the Promethean looked like he was having a crisis of his own. Or a seizure. Nyah nyah, Jethro; looks like Pervy Percy gave the bot the thicc succulent Italian sausage treatment that you can never have, bwahahaha. Blissfully ignorant of his beautiful bare ass, Dante continued to sob sans the tears as he tried grappling for Percy's shirt, stopped only when he was forced to turn around. Dante ugly sniffed; he couldn't blame Percy if he didn't want to see the bot boy cry like this. It's okay. Sniff, sniff.
Until he looked down.
Oh.
Oh.
Dante immediately covered himself with his hands, his cheeks (which cheeks? hurr hurr hurr) flashing red faster than a stop light. This proved a fruitless attempt, he could only cover himself so much.
Thank goodness Percy had the decency to tell Dante about the clothes. "R-right...," he mumbled, red-faced, scurrying over to the dresser while his thing flip-flopped like an elephant's trunk. The android picked out underwear and simple pair of trousers with a matching top, a bit frayed due to age, but they worked well for what Dante needed them for. And they were clean. He did his best, trembling as he tried to pull up the pants. He had a skinny waist and was in desperate need of a belt; the pants kept sliding down, and so did the boxers.
Now that he was able to think clearly with clothes on, he seemed pretty stoked about the journal, especially after he saw it sitting alone on the nightstand. "Really? F-for me? Are you sure?" He approached it tentatively, trying to be modest while really, he wanted it. He did not have anything to his name, except the clothes on his back, and soon this... this book.
This book.
Something about the word sent Dante's mind chugging fiercely. He picked up the journal delicately as if it was the most precious thing in the entire world. He had never loved something so much until now.
Percy said he could stay here. Emotions welled up in the pit of his stomach, or whatever was down there; nothing had meant to him so much. Not for long, the Promethean had said, but long enough to acclimate to the world around him. Get a job. Find his footing. Percy cared. There was nothing Dante could say why these gestures of kindness meant so much to him, so he settled with two very simple words in English.
"Thank you."
Dante pulled the journal to his chest, gazing starry-eyed at his hero. "May I borrow... a... a pen?" It was a shy request. "I'd... like to... get started now, if that's alright."
PERCY
(Keep in mind, folks, on Percy's roleplay timeline, Dante showed up prior to Jeth's return; that's very important at this point xD)
The Promethean's soul only agreed to return to his body when the poor boy had situated those size-too-big britches on his slender and twinky little waist.
And then, bound and determined to not have that incident on either of their consciences a second time around--though with no consideration to how sexually aggressive his next maneuver might be initially perceived--Percy reached down, unfastened the neon green, military-clasped belt, yanked it in one fluid motion from their loops (oh dear, take it easy daddy, damn) and offered it to the still burningly red-cheeked Dante.
"You're welcome," Percy smiled, simple yet disarmingly empathetic. (You can thank Lena for softening him up, because he certainly hadn't always been this way.)
In spite of all the awkwardness they'd just endured at each other's expense, the one aspect of the green Sidewinder which remained unflinching was exactly as the sweet, reconstructed android had pointed out: yes, he cared.
And it was for that reason that the belt was not the last green thing that the four-armed alien would bequeath unto the asterisk exception--the first project he'd taken on in all his years since Alpha Corp--of his team's anti-android agenda. He fished into his pocket, ever the prepared one, tongue poked out in concentration as if to say I know it's around here somewhere before fishing out a green inked pen (because, of course).
"Keep it. And let me know if you need anything else. This button right here is the intercom, it'll patch straight through to me. Don't worry about the time, just call, I won't mind."
Percy, never one to overstay his welcome, especially not when he'd just established this was to be the kid's personal space, at least for a time, headed for the door. He'd pause there and turn around one more time, something seeming to dawn on him then. "My name's Oscar. Nice to meet you Dante. I'm glad you're still with us."
DANTE
Pretty sure blood exploded from Dante’s nose (if only he HAD blood) after witnessing Percy’s clearly practiced yank of his belt (take notes for that mystery boy in your head, Dante!). A hand reached out when the belt was offered, but Dante treated the thing like it was a damn snake. Take a deep breath, damn you. Not literally, because android, but you know what I mean.
“G-g-grazie,” the bot boy stammered. Holding a book and the belt made holding his pants up a little difficult, so down it slid, again. He hastily disappeared behind something, anything, to save what little modesty he had left just as his pants reached his toes.
When Dante emerged again, it was with a belted waist and quiet wonder, reflecting on all that he was told. He should have been overwhelmed, but not him. He was excited. There was so much to do, so much to remember, and he could not wait to get started! When given the green pen, Dante nodded enthusiastically and unabashedly gave the Promethean a platonic hug. Oh, boy. We’ve got a hugger on our hands.
“Oscar,” he repeated happily. “I owe you my life.”
—
A whole thirty minutes had passed while the android sat in what he decided was his own little corner for now, perched on a chair with the journal opened to the first page. Dante had his eyes closed, trying to get a picture of his parents, the boy, anything from his past, and praying that they aren’t just imagined.
Before he could stop himself, Dante took up the pen, and held it against the page. A soft splotch of green blossomed from the tip.
Then his hand moved, and with it the pen, and an oval formed. This intrigued Dante, but he knew now that he started, he could not stop. Soon, a face emerged from the oval: eyes, mouth, and nose. Soft features were given, and a gentle smile, and soon a plait of hair snaked over the boy’s shoulder.
Dante finished, and examined his work. What he saw made his mechanical heart surge with emotion.
“S… Seiveril,” he whispered, touching the page. When he said it, he somehow knew the name to be real, the name meant for this angelic creature he drew. He wrote the name in neat and curvy letters next to the face, followed by, ’The angel in my head.’
PERCY
Fortunately for Dante, Sealena was also a hugger. Now responsible for quite possibly the two sweetest beans in all of the Mobius Strip Galaxy, the Promethean treated the android's embrace in much the same way he had addressed the Kalikani's affection...at first, at least. He patted the kid on the head. Smooth, Percy.
