Re: Webster's: Holly & Elijah
Sulky silence was Elijah's least favorite form of silence. It had heft, weight. It waited for him in the doorway of the garage when the 'birds flipped off the radio and pared the atmosphere back to nothing but silence, mulish as a teenager in the door-frame. Companionable silence was the nearest-best thing to real companionship. Better, in fact. Some people didn't know when to be quiet. Elijah was acclimated to his own reality. He had tried the city and - if asked, one of the hands would ripple over air, the half-shrug of mobile shoulders. He didn't acclimate outside of Repose.
He followed the direction of the boy in the hoodie with the eclectic taste and un-sheaved the next record. Felt like unwrapping gifts before Christmas, in the dead of night. Naughtiness. Wasn't a memory that got remembered much, but recalled it now. Gently, gently. Hands had been intended to be surgeon's hands, once. Now they stroked keys and sketched, his fingers were careful.
Totally different mood. Different era, different tone. Was why the algorithms would never do what people could do, selecting on the basis of whim. Holly, the boy in the hoodie had no clear data point between the whispering over music and the musical equivalent of oozing intimacy or none that Elijah could observably see. His eyes closed, his mouth ticked. It wasn't the same chain-reaction, it was a different one but momentarily, forgot was worried about the boy across the room. Forgot the precise circumstances of being present, it was unnecessary to remember. Enjoyed it.
"It's like being in the room with them," which was probably the best way to make contact with oozing intimacy, and Elijah's smile broadened after a beat.
"Different. Would you do that again? Curation, picking, whatever you call it." He put the headphones back with a pat, practically affectionate. "Could pay. Just want someone else's choice. To be surprised."