Amery Vallet (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
amery) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
loopinvariant2014-06-19 08:02 pm
amery) wrote in loopinvariant2014-06-19 08:02 pm
My heart keeps beating like a hammer
After a long shift, Amery should have been tired, and maybe he was, but right now he was running on adrenaline. It made him feel alive, and sooner or later his energy would crash, but it would be later rather than sooner. His cheeks were still tingling from the rush of the wind and his nose was cold, but all it did was make him want to be up in the air again, even if his hands were still a little cramped up from holding onto the reins for so long. He felt like he belonged in the sky, not on the ground, like he had been born to fly.
Tugging on his casual, day-to-day gloves, he stepped out onto the sidewalk. At this rate, if he went home he would just pace through his apartment or lie in bed and stare up at the ceiling. There was a small Chinese food place on his way home, right across the street from a nightclub, which had only been in once and not for very long. There were too many people, too close, and though he could dance, he preferred not to dance with someone unless he was comfortable with them. He'd been to the Chinese place before though multiple times, and he stopped in now for some chow mein.
After he paid, he hung around there to eat, leaning against the wall. Staying there would be much more interesting than eating at home; here he could watch the people come and go, and with his hood still up, and the sun only just starting to rise, his face was (hopefully) obscured. He enjoyed watching people, but he didn't enjoy them watching him. Years of keeping to himself had helped him with reading body language. Except that Amery became so wrapped up in eating and watching the people in front of him in the street that he didn't notice the teenager creeping along next to him until he felt a hand starting to slide into his pocket.
Immediately, he reacted, dropping his chopsticks in favor of grabbing onto the kid's wrist and yanking his wrist back. From there, things escalated rather quickly. The kid pulled a knife and Amery was, sadly, forced to drop his food too so that he could properly deflect the blade and not get stabbed. On the plus side, he managed to wrestle the knife away without getting severely injured, but on the downside, he'd blocked with his right arm. He could see the tear in his coat sleeve, and wondered how deep it went. At least he didn't have to worry about the kid, because as soon as he'd lost the knife, he'd bolted. Fine by Amery; it saved him the trouble of telling the kid off.
Sighing, he pocketed the knife and then rolled up first his coat sleeve and then his shirt sleeve. Just as he'd feared, the blade had sliced through the synthetic skin, nicking a few of the inner workings. Something that he would have to get fixed at some point now. When he looked up again, he realized that a few people were staring now. His hood had fallen back in the scuffle, and there was a scrap of skin dangling from his arm-why wouldn't they be staring? Hastily, he pulled down his sleeves again, cursing when they caught on the loose skin, and stooped to pick up the noodles that had ended up scattered all across the sidewalk.
Tugging on his casual, day-to-day gloves, he stepped out onto the sidewalk. At this rate, if he went home he would just pace through his apartment or lie in bed and stare up at the ceiling. There was a small Chinese food place on his way home, right across the street from a nightclub, which had only been in once and not for very long. There were too many people, too close, and though he could dance, he preferred not to dance with someone unless he was comfortable with them. He'd been to the Chinese place before though multiple times, and he stopped in now for some chow mein.
After he paid, he hung around there to eat, leaning against the wall. Staying there would be much more interesting than eating at home; here he could watch the people come and go, and with his hood still up, and the sun only just starting to rise, his face was (hopefully) obscured. He enjoyed watching people, but he didn't enjoy them watching him. Years of keeping to himself had helped him with reading body language. Except that Amery became so wrapped up in eating and watching the people in front of him in the street that he didn't notice the teenager creeping along next to him until he felt a hand starting to slide into his pocket.
Immediately, he reacted, dropping his chopsticks in favor of grabbing onto the kid's wrist and yanking his wrist back. From there, things escalated rather quickly. The kid pulled a knife and Amery was, sadly, forced to drop his food too so that he could properly deflect the blade and not get stabbed. On the plus side, he managed to wrestle the knife away without getting severely injured, but on the downside, he'd blocked with his right arm. He could see the tear in his coat sleeve, and wondered how deep it went. At least he didn't have to worry about the kid, because as soon as he'd lost the knife, he'd bolted. Fine by Amery; it saved him the trouble of telling the kid off.
Sighing, he pocketed the knife and then rolled up first his coat sleeve and then his shirt sleeve. Just as he'd feared, the blade had sliced through the synthetic skin, nicking a few of the inner workings. Something that he would have to get fixed at some point now. When he looked up again, he realized that a few people were staring now. His hood had fallen back in the scuffle, and there was a scrap of skin dangling from his arm-why wouldn't they be staring? Hastily, he pulled down his sleeves again, cursing when they caught on the loose skin, and stooped to pick up the noodles that had ended up scattered all across the sidewalk.
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And of course, in all of the commotion, he had forgotten his manners and failed to introduce himself. "Ah. Amery Vallet. It's a pleasure to meet you." But it was nearly never too late to try and make up for it.
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"Amery. I like that name," Sinthia murmured, voice gone quiet and the best approximation of soft, the way a human's goes soft when thoughtful, that she can manage. "What does it mean?"
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"Ah..." What did his name mean? "Honestly, I have no idea. I've never thought to find out."
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"Oh," she said, blinking--an entirely human affect, and it made her look the faintest bit unnatural, with the pause calculated to be the human average as her lids sealed--at him. "I thought everyone knew. They all have meanings, don't they? All names?" Hers had been chosen randomly, assigned to her to differentiate her from the other twenty-five of her generation, who were no doubt decommissioned and scrapped for their parts and polymers by now.
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There's not much else she could say, not having a life like that of anyone else, anyone human, no matter how cyborg. "Names are important for...robots," she admits. "Otherwise were just numbers."
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