An admirer. Your admirer, to be exact, was a combination 2B didn't expect to hear. Her head cants in a way that quickly resembles the immediate pother of one who's witnessed baffling news. As curt as 2B was in her movements, it doesn't go unnoticed— the girl refuses to lift her gaze.
Had this been the same as when the small child at the boardwalk celebrating Mariana toddled close to her legs, gawked up and hushed pretty? Allowing herself to look at it in that way, the android couldn't help the amusement silently tickle a simper to the corner of her lip— which is rightfully righted seconds after. She doesn't want to call the shy young lady out a second time, so saving her some of the embarrassment, she turns her shoulders in a way that would still face Woe, but not so much their allies. In turn, the braiders and lingerers begin to hush and speak quietly amongst themselves, turning their smiles to the Saint of Woe and her tight features.
(It is a strange concept, to be admired by the very beings who created you; should it not be the other way around?)
"I'm not the only one they should admire," she muses, crossing her arms but allowing one hand to linger close to a silvery lock of shortened hair until her gloved fingertips breeze through the strands. She notices them, without needing to look all the way (no, just by everyday perception) to add: "They look to you."
no subject
Had this been the same as when the small child at the boardwalk celebrating Mariana toddled close to her legs, gawked up and hushed pretty? Allowing herself to look at it in that way, the android couldn't help the amusement silently tickle a simper to the corner of her lip— which is rightfully righted seconds after. She doesn't want to call the shy young lady out a second time, so saving her some of the embarrassment, she turns her shoulders in a way that would still face Woe, but not so much their allies. In turn, the braiders and lingerers begin to hush and speak quietly amongst themselves, turning their smiles to the Saint of Woe and her tight features.
(It is a strange concept, to be admired by the very beings who created you; should it not be the other way around?)
"I'm not the only one they should admire," she muses, crossing her arms but allowing one hand to linger close to a silvery lock of shortened hair until her gloved fingertips breeze through the strands. She notices them, without needing to look all the way (no, just by everyday perception) to add: "They look to you."