[ He finishes the second layer of reinforcement. Now for repulsion, ensuring the mask can't be torn off easily.
He keeps working, keeping his hands occupied. His conscious mind submerged, at least temporarily. ]
«I thought I was dreaming, or possessed, or I'd made it up...it's been so long.»
[ He sounds pained and, in truth, hurt. Frustrated. He doesn't have any right to be, he thinks, because Avery is correct. He'd never said anything before. He can't expect to be understood. He can't expect anything.
They've both changed so much. And maybe that's why he never spoke even when he could, because the person he was all those centuries ago had been good at never saying things.
The words at least you remember, at least you lived would be so easy to say, but he doesn't want to. It's far, far too cruel. He knows how high a price was paid for him to live. It's not any better. ]
«I didn't even know if you were real. I didn't even know if I was real.
There's nothing -- there's nothing left of me.»
[ There's a small tch as Ekkehardt pauses in his work, briefly. His hands are shaking in a way they wouldn't normally do, so he lets it pass, and continues. He shows no sign that he's aware a conversation is even happening. ]
no subject
He keeps working, keeping his hands occupied. His conscious mind submerged, at least temporarily. ]
«I thought I was dreaming, or possessed, or I'd made it up...it's been so long.»
[ He sounds pained and, in truth, hurt. Frustrated. He doesn't have any right to be, he thinks, because Avery is correct. He'd never said anything before. He can't expect to be understood. He can't expect anything.
They've both changed so much. And maybe that's why he never spoke even when he could, because the person he was all those centuries ago had been good at never saying things.
The words at least you remember, at least you lived would be so easy to say, but he doesn't want to. It's far, far too cruel. He knows how high a price was paid for him to live. It's not any better. ]
«I didn't even know if you were real. I didn't even know if I was real.
There's nothing -- there's nothing left of me.»
[ There's a small tch as Ekkehardt pauses in his work, briefly. His hands are shaking in a way they wouldn't normally do, so he lets it pass, and continues. He shows no sign that he's aware a conversation is even happening. ]