The way Vox vibrates is enough to rattle the bouncy balls still scattered across Haulani’s rooftops.
Excitement coils through his tangled mass, jittering through every fold of static and jelly. He nods—once, twice—then rapidly, in a blur that defies physics and etiquette alike. The air around him crackles like a skipping record caught on a delighted note. Yesyesyesyesyes.
"No hugs!" he chirps, far too loudly, his voice a symphony of cheerful modem sounds and television snow. "Definitely no hugs. Not even one. Zero hugging. Negative hugs, if that’s what you like. I can mathematically reverse the emotional probability of touch!"
And then, softer. A flicker of something almost...human.
"...Unless you ask," he murmurs, lowering a tentacle with uncharacteristic gentleness, the way a comet might lower its brightness just for a friend. "In which case...maybe just one. Just a little one. A friend-size one."
He watches her, reverent and delighted, as though she’s just agreed to orbit the same strange star he does. Then Vox looks around Haulani, at the chaos he’s caused and the shimmering echo of her yes still ringing in his many ears.
"And now I shall tell everyone!" he declares, rearing up dramatically. "Because this is very important news and all the bouncy balls deserve to know!"
Because to him, they do.
And so he scuttles toward the skyline with giddy glee—still not hugging, just in case—but glowing brighter than any storm-cloud sun could dare.
Excitement coils through his tangled mass, jittering through every fold of static and jelly. He nods—once, twice—then rapidly, in a blur that defies physics and etiquette alike. The air around him crackles like a skipping record caught on a delighted note. Yesyesyesyesyes.
"No hugs!" he chirps, far too loudly, his voice a symphony of cheerful modem sounds and television snow. "Definitely no hugs. Not even one. Zero hugging. Negative hugs, if that’s what you like. I can mathematically reverse the emotional probability of touch!"
And then, softer. A flicker of something almost...human.
"...Unless you ask," he murmurs, lowering a tentacle with uncharacteristic gentleness, the way a comet might lower its brightness just for a friend. "In which case...maybe just one. Just a little one. A friend-size one."
He watches her, reverent and delighted, as though she’s just agreed to orbit the same strange star he does. Then Vox looks around Haulani, at the chaos he’s caused and the shimmering echo of her yes still ringing in his many ears.
"And now I shall tell everyone!" he declares, rearing up dramatically. "Because this is very important news and all the bouncy balls deserve to know!"
Because to him, they do.
And so he scuttles toward the skyline with giddy glee—still not hugging, just in case—but glowing brighter than any storm-cloud sun could dare.
vox
