Simon hasn’t had a lot of time to think about what he would say if he saw Catherine again, but when he did, he’d imagined her in the only form he knew of. The one he met first. ]
You’re here. I thought—
[ he falters, and swallows hard, and he can see her face, her real face, actually alive and emoting. He’s not sure what emotion. Maybe he can’t blame her for that, but being used to a voice and a static image, and seeing this, makes it all the harder to reconcile with the memory of lashing out at her until she shorted out. Died — if draining the second Simon’s battery was killing him, then snuffing Catherine out mid-sentence was killing her. Because she was the only person around, and he was relying on her to give him the answers he wanted.
And now there’s no human extinction, somehow. No PATHOS-II. Even the grief that was driving him was pointless. He was banking on something he didn’t even need.
The hyperventilating metamorphoses to hardly breathing at all. His eyes are bright and stinging, and this entirely new form of interaction with Catherine, suddenly right here and made of flesh and blood, lets in a fraction of the awkwardness about that fact that Simon would feel in front of anybody else. You know. Just a whisper of nonsensical investment in not crying in front of somebody who first met him when he yelled into a computer about being stuck in a power plant.
He takes a deep but poorly oxygenated breath, staring at the sink. This is where the useful thing or apology he imagined should be going. ] I mean... we lost the coin toss.
[ behold: it’s now officially a 500-year incubation period before information Simon hates is assimilated. better late than never ]
no subject
Simon hasn’t had a lot of time to think about what he would say if he saw Catherine again, but when he did, he’d imagined her in the only form he knew of. The one he met first. ]
You’re here. I thought—
[ he falters, and swallows hard, and he can see her face, her real face, actually alive and emoting. He’s not sure what emotion. Maybe he can’t blame her for that, but being used to a voice and a static image, and seeing this, makes it all the harder to reconcile with the memory of lashing out at her until she shorted out. Died — if draining the second Simon’s battery was killing him, then snuffing Catherine out mid-sentence was killing her. Because she was the only person around, and he was relying on her to give him the answers he wanted.
And now there’s no human extinction, somehow. No PATHOS-II. Even the grief that was driving him was pointless. He was banking on something he didn’t even need.
The hyperventilating metamorphoses to hardly breathing at all. His eyes are bright and stinging, and this entirely new form of interaction with Catherine, suddenly right here and made of flesh and blood, lets in a fraction of the awkwardness about that fact that Simon would feel in front of anybody else. You know. Just a whisper of nonsensical investment in not crying in front of somebody who first met him when he yelled into a computer about being stuck in a power plant.
He takes a deep but poorly oxygenated breath, staring at the sink. This is where the useful thing or apology he imagined should be going. ] I mean... we lost the coin toss.
[ behold: it’s now officially a 500-year incubation period before information Simon hates is assimilated. better late than never ]