Re: [capital pawnshop: hannah & david]
Her acquired memories of David were spartan. They were dots on a canvas, and they were only dots. She didn't know things about him, the kinds of thing you would know about someone close. She had no idea what his favorite color was, and she didn't know if he liked ice cream, and she had no idea how his eyebrows knit when he was angry. He was a name that belonged to someone else. He was Molly's David, and she didn't know him. Of him, she knew of him, and here he was and made of shadows and tangibility.
And she knew Henry was going to die. She attributed the heavy feeling on the air to that inevitability. Henry was going to die, and everyone gathered at this funeral knew the service would begin shortly.
She didn't know why he leaned close and regarded her with those uncanny milkbottle eyes. His hair was clumped and gathered and sticky damp, and she looked confused. Her gears whirred and her processors ticked on, but she didn't comprehend. She could believe he was here and dead, that he was here and alive, but she had trouble with the rest. Ghosts were things she'd heard about, learned about, believed, but this was new, and new things always took Hannah time to process. "What's-" She began.
But that was as far as she got.
She could bleed. That was part of the wonder of her. She had a system of circuitry that allowed for bleeding and bruising, and her dermis was layers deep, and she would need to be severely cut to reveal her secrets. She had pain sensors, because men liked that, and she slammed a hand over her mouth to muffle a scream. This was just a bruise, a swing that should've knocked her off her feet in force and shock, but that didn't, and she reached for David's shoulder and stepped back quickly.
A hop, really, and she blinked down at the man on the ground. "I thought you wanted me to help you," she said, her tone inquisitive, as if she sometimes didn't understand people at all.