syntech | Inbox: Upcycled

[Ethan leaves the message read, deciding that's probably acknowledgement enough. The time given, plus or minus extra, is at least enough for him to return home and settle some things, tidy up in the... remarkably empty house and settle in to try to sort his thoughts.

The knock on the door is a welcome reprieve from the relative nothing that's been there since, and despite all sense of ache, all feelings of being watched, he's quick to rise to pull the door open. Sharon may be wearing a comically large hoodie, but honestly Ethan should be doing the same. Cold is a bitch, and all.

He himself will look a fair bit different, dressed in baggy pants and what definitely looks like layers of shirts and a jacket. Even his posture is a bit different, but that seems to be the fault of heaviness, rather than any difference between him now and what he was like before, and the most notable change is the fact that he's been using his HUD for speech again. It's just a little semi-transparent screen near his left hand, which he types into easily enough.]

{Hey, Sharon. Come in.}

[The voice itself is softer, feminine - not quite perfect in the scheme of things, of course. But there's a tired honesty to the wavering smile he offers before stepping back from the door. It is... immaculately clean inside, though it doesn't fail to look lived in.]

{Do you want something to drink? I can make tea or coffee or something.}

[At least he has some manners.]

[ Ethan doesn't appear shockingly different than he did at the bonfires, though he looks more worn, weighed down by more than just the weight of what he wore. It doesn't take an observant person to realize something's happened, with the text-to-speech, indeed, being the most obvious difference. Her look of concern is brief, just a flicker behind her cool eyes and a soft crinkle of her brow.

She shakes her head at his offer, gaze sweeping the home, taking in the little things, before settling back on Ethan. ] Nah, I'm good. Thanks, though. [ She even remembers her manners, too.

She doesn't feel comfortable enough to accept a drink, though. Hell, this is technically the first time she's ever gone to someone else's home since her childhood. But her sense of comfort isn't at the forefront of her mind right now. ]

I, uh, hate to pry, but can I ask what happened to your voice? [ Is he sick? Maybe he's the one who needs the tea? ] Are you all right?

[The irony is the fact that text-to-speech is the more normal state of Ethan. He bobs his head in understanding, honestly, at the refusal - it's a weird situation. Besides, he doesn't even want to begin to pretend like he has any clue what she's gone through.]

{No problem. You can sit if you want, or... whatever, really.}

[He is headed to the kitchen, still in plain sight - the kettle itself is even so, and he sets it on before she inquires after said voice.

He really should have warned her, huh?]

{Nothing happened to it.} [That could sound a bit defensive, he realises, and huffs a laugh before typing his continuation.] {It's actually how I usually communicate. There was no space for the glove with the costumes, though, so I was dealing with wearing out the real one.}

[Returning to the room with her, he inclines his head. His voice is a little raspy already, when he speaks aloud - between the walk and his recent... days, there's no avoiding that.]

I just get a lot more tired faster, speaking aloud. Does it bother you, though? I can chat a bit without it.

[Pointedly, he doesn't confirm or deny if he's alright.]

[ She picks a spot on the couch to take a seat as he heads to kitchen and flushes at his response, inwardly kicking herself, and sets the rolled paper in her lap. She's rational enough to realize that she couldn't have known but still. Foot/Mouth/Sharon, bffs.

When he returns to the room, she's quick to shake her head, a curse tumbling out of her mouth. ] What? Fuck, no. You're good. I just... I just wanted to make sure you were all right, that's all. [ But, uh... Wait. She may be feeling a touch flustered but she's not that flustered. ]

You are doing all right? [ Voice aside, now that she knows. ]

[It probably helps that he clearly minds that about as much as he minded the dress he'd been wearing in their last meeting. He even laughs weakly in response - that's going to colour what he says later, of course. Really, he'd love to be the kind of person who's used to hiding things in person.

He sits nearby, leaving a polite distance between them.]

{I'm all right. Haven't been sleeping well, you know?}

[It's a decent lie, but a lack of sleep alone doesn't cause the heaviness that weighs down his shoulders. And on top of that, she's shared an awful lot with him already, hasn't he? Sure, he's far more paranoid a person, and even now he keeps glancing about as though someone is actively watching, but...]

{I had an incident recently that brought back some rough memories from my past, mostly.} [The furrow of his brows is subtle, brief. Catalog, file. He can do it, he's done it a million times before.] {Remembering who I might have saved, if I were a little more careful.}

[ He laughs easily, softly and quietly, and it helps ease the instinctive embarrassment she'd felt—though hardly erases it entirely. When he speaks on sleep, she laughs under her breath lightly, a quiet a yeah of agreement tumbling out. She's never had an easy night's sleep and sometimes wonders if that's even possible these days.

Though, as Ethan continues, her lips dip down, the slightest of frowns; a soft look of concern. An incident? Should she or...? She's never been the best around other people. She can hardly handle her own emotions and issues, how is she supposed to comfort someone else? How does she even begin to try? ]

...That fucking sucks. [ That is her version of,"I'm sorry". ] Just, uh... whatever this place brings up, don't get caught up on the 'what-could-have-been's. It never takes anyone anywhere good.

[ That is a woman speaking from experience. ] I don't know if we'll find it anywhere here but over the counter sleep aid can be a help when it gets hard. Sleep and music. A-At least, that's what would usually help me get at least a little sleep during those harder nights.

[Luckily, he's not really looking for comfort, as such. It's a measure of fairness in his eyes, though he definitely appreciates any gesture of friendship.

Doesn't understand it as such, but he appreciates it.]

{Thanks. I try not to, anyway. That was years ago, and even if I could change it, I wouldn't.} [On that point, he nods emphatically, with absolute certainty.]

{I'll probably have to stop at the clinic and see if I can find something that doesn't interfere with the rest of my meds. Music is... A little out of the question, right now. I'd forgotten how quiet the world is without it.}

[That's an alarming statement from someone who recently explained this synesthesia, probably.]

[ Everything Ethan says is easy to digest, at least until the end. She blinks rapidly, her smile one of confusion, blue eyes suddenly scrutinizing him. She shakes her head. ]

Wait, what about your, uh, syne-[ uh, fuck, hold up ]-synesthesia? [ She's sure she wasn't that fucked up when they met. ]

[When his head shakes, it's an almost exhausted seeming motion.]

{Happens like this, sometimes. Things get really bad mentally, and it just... Shuts off. It'll start back up eventually.} [He waves a hand like it's not a big deal.] {Mostly I've just been working on things until I'm too tired to think on it. Carefully, I mean. I'm not endangering myself or anything.}

[ He waves it off like nothing but Sharon knows damn well it's not nothing. It's never 'not nothing' when things are bad in the head: it's not good. She frowns, not quite wanting to accept the answer but she's also not the person to push too hard; it's not really her business. ]

Well, if you need anything... like to talk... [ She shrugs her shoulders, like she's not sure what she's offering or trying to offer. Fuck. She just shouldn't bother. To change the subject quickly, she suddenly offers him the carefully rolled tube of paper. It's thicker than the piece from her sketchbook and when he unrolls it, he'll see why: it's not the same sketch, it's a new version of it.

The Ethan on the paper, done mostly in colored pencil, dances before a green bonfire whose flames swirl up towards an impossibly violet sky. In this, those wings he'd chosen not to wear exist and stretch up and out behind him, translucent and shimmering, blurring the flame where visible. The gown is more elaborate, and wraps around his legs as if he were in the middle of some ritual dance. On paper, he smiled, and his hair was crowned with leaves and flowers dipped in gold. There were other things in the background, other dances, other fairies, but none of them could compare; they were there just to bring the gaze back to Ethan.

In the lower corner, in black ink were scrawled Sharon's initials: SdS. ]

I, uh, hope you don't mind the changes and shit. I got kind of carried away.

[Normally, it's a thing that gets him through the day. That hasn't been the case for three months now, but for four years prior... Well. It's hard to unlearn habits.

He feels a little bad, dismissing her concerns outright. So he doesn't, exactly.]

{I might take you up on that sometime. Not something I talk much about to others, and this place monitors us enough already.}

[He is... Thoroughly distracted by the tube, though. More specifically, by the sight of the drawing itself. For a long time, he is... very quiet. There's nothing negative about that silence, though - his expression is slightly pained, maybe even slightly guilty, but that could easily be residual factors.

It's... he doesn't even have words, really. As someone with no fine arts skill himself, there is a lot to admire, and his gaze softens for the first time in a while. Beautiful, certainly - and he wonders how long it's been. Since he smiled like that. Maybe, when he--- well.

It doesn't matter, in the end. What she's captured is something he would love to be. Someone deserving of that kind of attention. And he wonders what drives her, what sort of muse she has, what sort of things she sees in the world.]

... I don't mind them at all. [His voice is quiet, almost... reverent? Something like it.] I'm glad I could inspire you like this. [A pause, then, like he's really not sure if he should accept.] You're sure you want to give this to me?

[ Her ears perk up lightly when he mentions monitoring but by then she's passed her gift on. She can always bring it up at a later date, she was already running under the assumption that they're being carefully monitored.

She tries not to watch as he unfurls it, as he looks over it; tries not to read his expression or the shape of his lips or the emotions that linger in his gaze. She prays he doesn't notice the little things she sees as mistakes, the dark spots or the smudges or the little things that don't matter but do for any artist.

When he finally speaks, she finally breathes, only then realizing she'd been holding it in her lungs until it made her chest tingle. At the question, she just shakes her head. ]

It's a gift, Ethan. Remember, a thanks. [ She shrugs her shoulders, leaning back into her seat. ] Plus, it looks like you could use... I dunno, something nice.

[ Or a distraction from whatever bullshit he's dealing with. ]

... Yeah, that's true. I'm not used to those.

[That probably says something. He doesn't know what he'll do with it yet, but he'll figure something out. For now, he rolls the drawing back up, fingers taking care to ensure that it's curled neatly and securely.]

That's... probably fair, yeah. It's very nice, at that. [His smile is soft, finally, a beat of distraction into the... hurtling reminder that he is criminally bad at things like small talk.] Ah... speaking of. How have you been? It occurs to me that I'm awful at... keeping up with people.

[He sounds a little sheepish, though really, it's just fact. At least he's not the only awkward one in these conversations, though.]

[ He's not used to gifts; the little fact makes her heart ache in a way that was uncomfortably familiar. What kind of people did they decide to gather on this island?

That small smile he offers is enough to settle the nagging, annoying self-conscious worry she'd given him something awful. This is the first time she's ever given out a piece of her own work—beyond the parental figure, that is. Most of her work is tucked away. Most of her work isn't beautiful like what she'd just gifted Ethan but she'd felt something, wanted to create something for someone else.

His question makes her smile awkwardly, a tiny laugh escaping from her lips, raising a single hand as if to wave off his follow-up. ] If it helps, you're not the only one awful at it. I'm still trying to get used to the whole... getting to know people thing.

[ Like him, she's not sure how to answer his question and so just... skips over it. These two deserve awards for their level of awkward. ]

[At least it gives them something in common. And he notes the skip, but hell if he minds. Small talk is awkward at best. He's still fiddling with the paper, something to occupy his hands; it's at this point that he actually realises he's just... slipped back into speech. It's weird, he'd not had that habit before.

This place has certainly been Something, though.]

A bit, admittedly. It's always nice to know you're not the only one. It feels ironic, though. I'm used to knowing a lot about everyone, back home. Important for my job and all. Didn't want to be near anyone, though.

[Despite it all, they carry on a conversation alright, don't they? Just sort of wandering from one subject to the next. Offering little bits of information without really getting into the deeper feelings of the situations.]

[ It's nice to have someone she can relate to on a level, even if it's just something as inane as poor social skills. ]

What is it you did? [ She doesn't want to pry too much. She's still testing the waters here, testing how much she can ask, and how much she wants to even know. Surprisingly, she kind of wants to know more about Ethan. It's a strange feeling. ]

Ah... well. I'm a hacker, mostly.

[That, he's been fairly forthcoming about in person. There's a lot he'll say, at this point, compared to that first month.]

Mostly, we're part of a group that works to expose shady dealings in companies that are otherwise untouchable. Everything's supposed to be publicly known, after all, by the laws back home. When somebody violates that, it's usually for pretty shitty reasons.

Sounds like you do good shit. [ Morally, it sounds. She leans forward, clearly interested. She hadn't had any expectations but there's something about exposing shady dealings in untouchable companies that just sounds kind of cool. She seems less awkward the more they talk, easing up a little. ]

Is your group involved with law enforcement or the government? [ Or is this more... outside those particular realms? ]

I try, anyway. Sometimes it feels like there's just too many to ever manage, but hey. Gotta do what good we can, right?

[The question itself makes him laugh, a short bark of a thing.]

No, we're... definitely considered vigilantes. Honestly, my boss is the only reason we're viewed in a positive light, considering what we do is basically terrorism. Most of us are willing to do whatever it takes, without a lot of limits, to protect people who don't know or don't want to believe what these people do.

[He knows what he's doing and how it's viewed, anyway.]

Inbox: Upcycled

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