You are the night-time fear
He wonders why she hesitates.There's too many possible reasons to even guess, so he merely watches, waits; stillness wraps around him though he keeps on breathing. To simulate life is an old, old habit, but his stillness gives him away. There's no thrum of blood in his veins, no pulse to make his throat quiver—there's just the hush, motionlessness, as if he could wait forever.
But he doesn't need to. While his brain idles she makes up her mind, looking back up to his eyes. Behind the iris he snaps to, focusing on her, on her words, on whatever of her story he can fathom—
Evelyn. Just like her. Lithe; feral. Aamu nods, tucks the information away, safe in what's left of his old circuits.
He wonders if the rest of his life will be foggy and disjointed.
She suggests the Oasis, and the memory of cold water on warm, living skin gives rise to an involuntary shudder. Temperature, outside of Halo's extremes, doesn't bother him anymore, but he's always done his best to care for and mind the body he still inhabits. To dunk it in cold water feels quite uncharitable, after all it has done for him.
The house, though... "Do you know if there's any bathing supplies there? I'm thinking, firewood and matches, tub, buckets, some soap and ideally a small brush. Plenty of snow around to melt." His smile is wry and crooked. Towels and robes are a luxury he can do without. Age and Ascension has robbed him of most of his need for modesty (or warmth). "Warm water is better for working out the dirt," he adds after a moment, but surely she already knows that. He can't quite say why he felt the need to justify himself, only that he did.
You are the morning when it's clear
AAMU
