[ at some point in all this, elster falls into a sitting position on the bed, bringing ariane along with her. every part of her outward body—her synthskin, the more unnatural "skin" over her body, the carbon fiber shell—is weathered, scarred. a scar over her right eye, where it had been missing in those last moments. a slight mismatch of her right arm, fused back into place with repair spray as if it practically had to be melted together with the stump, cut at a hideous, jagged angle on both sides of the limb. even dried dark flecks of oxidant rub off onto ariane from her hands and elsewhere.
she doesn't focus on any of that, though, eyes slipping closed as one of her hands weaves into ariane's hair. it doesn't matter that it's thin, or much longer and more untamed than it was before, or patchy in places. it's her.
ich. sie. wir. it's you. it's me. it's us.
finally, after a time—she couldn't begin to guess how long, she's better things to focus on than her internal clock—they both need to breathe, so elster breaks away and inhales deeply, touching her forehead to ariane's. she can't hear the song in the way ariane can, not without her help, but... this feels right. it's the only thing that's felt right in hours, cycles, weeks, centuries. her thumb strokes at ariane's cheek, free hand rubbing at her back. something occurs to her, and she speaks barely over a whisper, amusement creeping into her tone: ]
Do you think we can call this a successful landing, Ariane? [ not even using officer yeong as a joke. she did, once, occasionally use ariane's title to tease her after they started growing close; the early earnest uses in the brief, stiff exchanges they had at the start were something else entirely. but the humor in that vanished, the longer the ship drifted and the worse things became. ]
no subject
she doesn't focus on any of that, though, eyes slipping closed as one of her hands weaves into ariane's hair. it doesn't matter that it's thin, or much longer and more untamed than it was before, or patchy in places. it's her.
ich. sie. wir. it's you. it's me. it's us.
finally, after a time—she couldn't begin to guess how long, she's better things to focus on than her internal clock—they both need to breathe, so elster breaks away and inhales deeply, touching her forehead to ariane's. she can't hear the song in the way ariane can, not without her help, but... this feels right. it's the only thing that's felt right in hours, cycles, weeks, centuries. her thumb strokes at ariane's cheek, free hand rubbing at her back. something occurs to her, and she speaks barely over a whisper, amusement creeping into her tone: ]
Do you think we can call this a successful landing, Ariane? [ not even using officer yeong as a joke. she did, once, occasionally use ariane's title to tease her after they started growing close; the early earnest uses in the brief, stiff exchanges they had at the start were something else entirely. but the humor in that vanished, the longer the ship drifted and the worse things became. ]