There is no pause, just an immediate noise like a dial-up modem gagging on a kazoo as Vox beams up at Talyson, or at least gives the impression of beaming—impossible to tell with the glasses. The static around his limbs fizzes like an ungrounded wire stuck in a saltwater pool.
"Spit them out?" he echoes in scandalized horror, sitting up with the slow, hydraulic jerk of a puppet in denial. "Spit them out, he says! As if they’re not part of my ensemble! My aesthetic! My smile that whispers sweet nothings like entropy and tax audits!"
Vox leans in slightly. Not close enough to touch, but close enough for Tal’s bones to rattle in sympathy with whatever strange waveform is vibrating behind those sunglasses, and then he reaches forward—not to bite, no, that would be gauche—but to very gently pat the back of Tal’s offered hand, like one might do to a child offering a rock as currency. "There, there," he coos. "Not everyone is fashion forward enough for extra teeth. You make it work, though. Very gum-forward. Minimalist. Like a haunted walnut."
He reclines again with a sigh that turns two drink umbrellas inside out. "Do you want a hug instead?"
"Spit them out?" he echoes in scandalized horror, sitting up with the slow, hydraulic jerk of a puppet in denial. "Spit them out, he says! As if they’re not part of my ensemble! My aesthetic! My smile that whispers sweet nothings like entropy and tax audits!"
Vox leans in slightly. Not close enough to touch, but close enough for Tal’s bones to rattle in sympathy with whatever strange waveform is vibrating behind those sunglasses, and then he reaches forward—not to bite, no, that would be gauche—but to very gently pat the back of Tal’s offered hand, like one might do to a child offering a rock as currency. "There, there," he coos. "Not everyone is fashion forward enough for extra teeth. You make it work, though. Very gum-forward. Minimalist. Like a haunted walnut."
He reclines again with a sigh that turns two drink umbrellas inside out. "Do you want a hug instead?"
vox
