Violet | V2 (complextwins) wrote in savingthegames, @ 2014-07-23 18:25:00 |
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Violet hadn't quite been herself since she was revived after the surgery. Vox had remained for everything, even if he hadn't been allowed in during the surgery itself, and his presence was the only reason she survived what her kidneys had lost. They said robots didn't dream, but somewhere in the back of her mind, even sedated, she remembered the feeling of his hand in hers, the pulse of his wrist and the lines of his palm and the prints of his fingers burning into the flesh of her real skin. In the month they were apart, she suffered through so many cycles of terror and doubt, but it seemed insignificant the moment he walked in. Violet wasn't allowed to move from the bed, hooked up to as many machines as she was, but she held him for the longest time. Her rock, her heart was here. And she never wanted to be so far away from him for so long ever again. There was something different about him, she realized quickly, but even she recognized how they were not the same people inside the Facility that they were outside of it. Whatever was going on, she'd be patient. They did speak at length about their concerns regarding the surgery, and Violet was honest: she didn't understand what was happening and why. And she was afraid of who she'd be or wouldn't be when she came out. More couldn't be said, because Father walked in with perfect timing and kept them from speaking further. He hugged Vox, showered him with praise, but every single one of them knew something had changed and no one could or would say what it was. After the surgery, she was quickly discharged, "free" to return to her home with Vox in the city. But she moved as though a steel rod had been inserted through her spine, tense and wary and penchant. She looked at people on the street from her window and it was like looking at Earth through a high-powered telescope on Pluto. Internally, she was more machine than woman. And now, seeing the world for so much of what it truly was, that distinction terrified her. Violet speedily got in contact with Siobhan. She was a natural artist already, and was gifted with photographic memory, but the lessons themselves were vital not for technique but passion. Siobhan's lessons helped her feel something when she painted. It reminded her to be human. So she knocked properly on Siobhan's door with her art supplies tucked under one shoulder. Tall, severe, and somehow appearing as if she lacked something, Violet looked more prepared for a court appearance than she did an afternoon with Siobhan. |