OPEN | Ride It by Regard on blast

[aurable]

CHARACTERS: Drift and YOU
LOCATION: Simulation Room
DATE: Late April
CONTENT: Driving lessons! + closed starters
WARNINGS: TBD

SIMULATION ROOM

The important thing to remember is to take things slow. And ask me questions as we're going through this. Keep your left foot on the brake pedal at all times until you're ready to move.

[ Drift 'sat' in the passenger's seat where he and his student were parked in the simulation room. The simulation itself was nothing ostentatious or potentially distracting. They were idling in the middle of a nondescript parking lot in the middle of a forested area on a bright, sunny day. It was the sort of place you could find anywhere in middle America near a big box store, only without the store or any visible buildings. Drift wanted to keep things simple and remove the stimuli for dumb stunts. ]

The first thing is to keep both hands on the wheel until you're ready to shift gears. I'm automatic, thankfully. Think of a twelve-hour clock and put your hands at three and ten o'clock. [ A sigh erupts from Drift if the person receiving those instructions crosses their arms at the wrist to be cheeky. ] Alright, but with the corresponding hands — don't get smart.

Before we drive, you'll see two levers between us — the gear shift and the emergency brake. I want you to tell me which you think is which.

[ Hopefully, this wouldn't be too long of a day and Drift's transmission stays in tact. ]

SUNLIGHT ROOM closed to Yennefer

[ There wasn't much sun in the sunlight room. The artificial sky was a dying red ember splotched in the bruised purple of an early evening winding down into twilight. This late into the season, the full verdant green of the meadow had returned, now a carpet of deep blue in the dying light.

Drift hadn't wanted to meet Yennefer during the height of the illusory afternoon. One last means of him cleaving to the mask he had been hiding behind. It was an idea that was ridiculous once he sat down and thought about it. What Drift hadn't been a secret, or even a well-kept one if he had been. A few of the others had found out embarrassingly late into his time here that the man they knew was only a disguise because he tended to isolate himself out of some misguided need not to be a burden.

— And then the situation with Yennefer had turned into a uniquely well-timed mess. Drift hadn't intended to keep anything from her after that night, just as she hadn't expected naked honesty after one encounter. Compounded by the last mission, where they were out of contact through most of it, all she had to go on was a few alarming and understandably hard to believe text exchanges.

Activating his device, Drift sends out one more text — asking Yennefer to meet him in the sunlight room for the truth as promised. Then 'he' sat on the glossy white hood of the vehicle parked in the meadow just off the brook, half concealed in the grass like a crouching predator. There was enough daylight to spare, and the white sheen of this form could be spotted a mile away. ]

WILDCARED

( please feel free to hmu on pm or bretons if you want to write/receive a starter of running into drift anywhere around the station and don't feel like we need pre-existing CR! )

Comments

[aurable]

If I start believing that then we have bigger problems. [ There was a brief moment watching Yennefer rifle through the drawers where his entire posture went painfully rigid. The photograph begged to be noticed by an interloper but he had set it down to avoid it altogether. It invited questions and when none came, Drift visibly relaxed. ]

Not on any level you'll want to be at before the night is over. [ Drift responded with a note of self-deprecation and discomfort. He may have somewhat collected himself that that illusion would drop the moment he tried to stand or do anything more complicated than occupying his spot on the floor. The hangover that would follow was already looming over him, and he wouldn't wish that on anyone. ]

Do you want to sit on the bed? I can't imagine it's comfortable on the floor with someone all metal and sharp angle.

[choicely]

We’ll see about that. [ She isn’t making it her sole aim to get completely drunk, so much so that she loses swathes of the night and wakes up with a throbbing headache, but she’s also not against the thought of drinking enough to enjoy the pleasant buzz that follows, something that numbs the tip of her nose and makes her voice a bit huskier by contrast. ]

I was just about to take it for myself, so you offering merely turns it into a kind gesture rather than me commandeering your bed.

[ Her free hand secured a grip in her skirts in order to make it easier for her to climb up onto the bed without slipping, though she did pause to slide off her shoes first, tucking her bare feet underneath herself as she settled in a perch on her knees, lifting the bottle to her lips once more and taking another sip before peeling off with an audible sound of suction. ] Is it all sharp edges, when you’re like this? Or can you direct me to a smoother curve?

[aurable]

Are you sure? I thought human alcohol intake was all proportionate, and you're...well. [ Raising a hand, Drift held his thumb in forefinger out in the universal 'itty bitty' gesture. Drift might have been three sheets to the wind, but he was still far too polite to point-blank tell Yennefer she looked a size too small to be knocking them back. Then that sip she took to put a dent in the bottle's contents on the heels of a loud 'pop,' and Drift fears he may have just put forward a challenge. ]

Not sure I'd have it in me to stop you even if I could. [ That would be quite the scene — Local Drunk 3m Robot Who Is Barely Keeping His Head Up Tries To Wrestle Beligerant Woman With Magic Murder Hands Off Bed. ]

What, drunk? [ Drift had to work through the question as one finial gave a slight flick like a cat's ear. ] It's living metal it's not all...rigid.

[choicely]

A bit more than merely human. [ And certainly well-versed enough in the signs of her own limitations to recognize when she has reached the point of serious drunkenness — although she almost stops to mention the fact that she's actually very good at pretending to be drunk. It had been sufficient enough to fool one firefucker in particular, anyway.

From her position on the bed now, she's at a better angle from which to study him, gaze openly glancing over the shapes and contours of the top of his head, the set of shoulders — and now that he's said it, she can actually see the places where his frame is more fluid than she would have expected, in spite of the armor that makes him up. ]

No, this. Your... bigger form. [ She's not even drunk, and yet she doesn't feel all that inclined to be more eloquent about it, lips curving into a quiet grin when that finial twitches, more than resemblant of an animal perking up its ears. After a considering pause, she reaches out to touch her fingertips to one of his larger digits where his hand lays within reach. ] An inquiring mind simply wants to know how much you can actually feel.

[aurable]

You'll have to explain the finer details to me sometime when I'm more likely to remember them. [ Drift knows that most aren't capable of the feats Yennefer was capable of or had piercing violet eyes, but he had also never known any personally before coming here. She piqued his curiosity even when he was teetering on a blackout; that much was undeniable.

An animal perking up its ears on catching a familiar scent. Somewhere over the heady smell of two open bottles of potent alcohol, her proximity brought that floral and slightly spiced scent he had come to associate with her. He could never pinpoint where it came from — her skin or her clothes. It was like the flowers and berries were a part of her in place of her own blood and sweat. ]

It gets much bigger off the station. [ Drift said absentmindedly as Yennefer's fingers ghosted over his own with a hand whose palm would barely cover a knuckle. ] Much as you.

[choicely]

If you remember to ask me, I'll tell you. [ Part of her is almost counting on the possibility of him not recalling that little piece of the exchange, depending on how much he'd already had to drink before she came to his room, but maybe she's underestimating his capacity for memory; there are still some details that she doesn't fully know about him yet, among them his tolerance for alcohol and exactly how hungover he might be come tomorrow. Then again, knowing that he's been drinking something strong enough to immolate the insides of most ordinary human anatomy points to a higher tolerance overall.

Whether she proved aware of his perceiving her scent or not, she doesn't let on to anything in her expression, and she's mostly fixated on tracing the joints of one of his fingers with practically the whole of her hand, feeling the metal shift and move beneath her touch if he so much as permits a digit to twitch or a knuckle to bend. ]

How big is much bigger? [ He's been contained by the station, to an extent, but she'd been under the impression that his current size was as large as he could ever get in comparison to his human shape. Her hand stills on his index finger and she lets herself feel the warmth of him under her palm as she takes another sip directly from the bottle. ]

[aurable]

Big enough that it's another instance of better to be seen to be believed. [ The non-answer Drift gave was partially out of sparring himself from more scrutinizing questions and simply because he was too exhausted to remember how measurements worked in meters. After all, he had managed to bring that full bottle down to nearly half before she showed up.

The conversation found a lull as they observed one another between sips of their respective rotgut. Drift reflexively flexed his hand, mindful even in his condition not to let her bird bone-thin fingers get pinched in the joints. Yennefer's forearm had turned when he did, revealing her inner wrist. A slash of barely perceptible white ran diagonally across the slender field of fawn-colored skin. He stared at it amount before registering what he was looking at. Not the context or any greater meaning than what was directly before him, only the mark itself. ]

Our species can't keep scars. [ Drift said, thinking aloud and letting the inertia of reduced inhibitions keep that train of thought moving ] Not unless we really want to. We can completely change our frames so many times in our lives that it's virtually impossible to hold onto anything other than our most fundamental parts. [ Eyes narrow, a frown — he realizes something he hasn't thought about in years, decades, centuries, or maybe even millennia. ] I don't think I even remember the body I was born into.

[choicely]

Then I'll simply have to wait and see. [ Their paths had diverged the last time they'd been off-station, with Drift being sent to a different realm than the one she'd occupied with some of their fellow orbers. If he'd been able to achieve the full capacity of his size while there, she hadn't borne witness to it — but depending on what the next mission might have in store, there's every possibility for it to become a sight she'll have stored away in her memory, the same way that she's become privy to what he looks like in this form.

Preoccupied with swigging directly from the vodka bottle again, she hadn't picked up on the fact that her wrist had turned — or that her sleeve had risen enough to reveal the silverlight scars that still stand out starkly enough against her natural complexion to be distinguishable. She doesn't even realize that he's noticed them until he speaks again, and then her hand hovers over his larger one, fingertips almost imperceptibly twitching as she represses the urge to collect them into a fist and pull it into the shroud of her skirts. ]

I could have had them erased. Enchanted... until there was nothing left to so much as indicate they existed, to begin with. [ Which speaks to the transformation she'd undergone, the agony she had endured to alter her form from its twisted construction into something that could be perceived as conventionally — maybe even extraordinarily — beautiful. She doesn't go into the specifics of what she had sacrificed in order to make a metamorphosis like that possible, and it's a long while before she finally voices a separate admission. ] I kept these, and my eyes, but little else of the body that was initially mine.

[aurable]

[ That bothersome little word monster clawed and stalked around the back of his mind anytime he considered being more forthright with exactly what he was. Even if Yennefer had taken the revelation in stride with all the aplomb that could be contained in the single utterance of 'fuck,' he still hesitated. ]

Sorry — [ The word comes unbidden, not sure why but Drift was compelled when he sensed the tension pulling through Yennefer's body as quick as a drawn bowstring. ] I'm glad you kept your eyes, I like them.

[ Drift had been drinking long enough that any surface thought passed through his mouth like water through an open sieve. His head dropped against the foot of the bed by Yennefer's legs with a quiet thump. ]

My spark casing — it's like my ribcage. It's branded. Not by choice, but as part of a ritual declaring old loyalties from a lifetime ago. Irreparable seared into something I can't change but wouldn't if it were an option. [ He turned his head into the cool fabric of the bed, the weight dipping the mattress into a well that drew Yennefer in an inch or closed. ] I think I understand, why you kept them.

[choicely]

[ She hadn't sought his sympathy in the telling of it — in fact, she'd almost prefer it better if he didn't feel compelled to apologize, but she acknowledges that sometimes others offer something in the way of their own regrets when they have little else to extend by contrast.

Still, the compliment is what settles in her alongside the warmth of the vodka — nothing meaningless, even if it might not linger with her beyond tonight unless she has cause to reflect back on this conversation again.

When he tilts back, placing his head in recline against the top of the mattress, she moves correspondingly, positioning herself to drape length-wise along her side with one elbow keeping herself propped upward, the other hand maintaining its clutch on the neck of the bottle. It means that as the bed descends beneath his added weight, she nearly ends up with his head tucked against her thighs, and it leaves her glancing at the top of him, catching a glimpse of the narrow dart of his nose. ]

When other parts were not my say to lose. [ It's as far as she'll tread into admitting the rest of it, and another punctuating swig of the bottle might serve as further indication of that, but then she settles again, pillowing her cheek in her other hand. ]

Sometimes choice is all we have, when the rest of it has been taken from us.

[aurable]

[ Drift wasn't entirely sure if he was even being sympathetic or his cup runneth over with an excess of self-pity enough to share. He knows both weren't mutually exclusive, but the lines blurred. Yennefer put an end to that, however. Her gulping down another mouthful of vodka was the abrupt halt on the matter as effective as any period at the end of a sentence. ]

We're all parts in the end. [ Soon as Drift said that, a grimace pinched his expression like something rotten crawled up his nose — that sounded more profound and significantly less slurred in his head. Face half-buried in the comforter. He retreats until one luminescent blue eye crests over the rumbled fabric. He looked up at Yennefer and thought how her face cradled in her hand pushed on her cheek, making her look her deceptively younger and more vulnerable. ]

Thank you for indulging me. [ He said, voice muffled. ]

[choicely]

[ It isn't callous, but it's definitive enough that it serves to sober her to an extent — thinking about something that had been a firm part of her, only to be taken away so that she could look as conventionally beautiful as anyone else from the exterior, painfully dispensing with the crooked spine and uneven features that had made her the subject of scorn and rejection. In the end, it had just been one part traded for others, had it not? But it was that part from which her choice had been taken from her, a choice she had fought in vain to retrieve by any means necessary.

His face, half-hidden, draws her back to the present moment, and she makes an attempt to straighten her weight only to find herself tipping in toward where his head makes the bed dip. Ultimately she doesn't fight it, rolling over until she's stretched out on her stomach, chin resting on the back of a hand so that her head is directly in front of his own and that single eye now visible. ]

You're the one who had drinks to share. [ She hoists the bottle up in her other hand, the contents audibly sloshing around, but her eyes don't leave his face. ] Made some of the soul-baring almost worth it.