Re: The Jaded/The Disaffected
The guy had blank all wrong. Blank was just the paper between Emil and the world, a way of getting written on without the good stuff getting screwed up by other people's projections. He could like what he wanted, do what he wanted, think what he wanted and all of it stayed locked up. Where he wanted. Out of reach. Out of reach made people want stuff all the more. He wasn't immune. Fast car, nice house, yes please. Upgrade for the cheap shoes eroding to gummy rubber at the soles? Hell yes. But Emil wasn't going to sell himself off piece by piece to the highest bidder.
He didn't laugh. He could feel the tension in the weave of his sweater grip all the way up to the acrylic-wool mix of his collar, until it tightened. Reduce length, length contracts. Simple physics. He didn't even care the guy's rings were snagging little fuzzy entrails of wool sweater, Nicky's knuckles now had halos. He didn't laugh because laughter was cruel and Emil wasn't. Usually. Predicted that Nicky wouldn't make it all the way up. Didn't. Predicted that Nicky wouldn't go for the unknown, what was behind door number two or three - the train, not Emil. The guy hadn't bottled it all the way. Props, guy.
"Do I feel?" Emil's ear twitched. Cold metal, warm skin, it was a high probability. He wasn't inhuman. He sounded dry. Like the question was academic, or maybe just so out of the realm of possibility it needed to be repeated. Emil looked down and the length of his hair brushed the wall, navy blue over paint. His face wasn't rubber, it didn't hold onto expression. One eyebrow was up. The other rose as Nicky finished his thesis.
"A ball of hate. Really. While you're trying to get into my jeans." Deadpan. Emil rolled his eyes. It was expressive, for Emil. "Come on." He didn't pause. Didn't wait to see if Nicky kept up. A theme, here. He headed in the direction of the piano car.