scraping up the pieces

Horus

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Jun 18, 2015
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@Thoth

He didn’t know why Nicolas kept saying this was so difficult.

It wasn’t. Or he was just stubborn and tenacious. Or maybe it was the correct connections. Either way, he’d met his end of the bargain in a few weeks’ time, coming back to his floating home with a long box tucked under one arm.

He gingerly placed it down on the coffee table. The case itself looked to be a fine leather, rigid and a little longer than an arm’s length. There was a padlock on the front, and a little tag with only a few letters on it. Initials from the maker, and what a fine maker they were.

Now, where was Nicolas? He was usually home at around this time, but when he wasn’t looming over Ulrich’s shoulder, he was out. Drinking some nights, or just wandering some others considering he got bored so often.
 

Romi

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Nic felt like shit. Not because of any one thing, but just in general. He felt lazy and apathetic, and it was all he could do just to lie there on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

This wasn't a job. He barely did anything. How could he even call himself a guard if he didn't do any guarding? He was little more than a live in pet, and the idea of it made him surly and angry.

Maybe he should quit.

Maybe he should tell Ulrich that it wasn't working out.

He could faintly hear the sound of someone entering the house, and he stayed where he was right up until he heard Ulrich set something down. The coffee table wasn't more than a few feet away, but he hadn't even bothered to get up.

When he did, it was probably a bit surprising, since he was coming out of nowhere. Not that Ulrich would be bothered by that sort of thing.

"We should talk," he muttered to himself, feeling sour and annoyed.

 

Horus

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Ulrich perked as soon as he heard Nicolas' voice, though he didn't sound too pleased. Of course he didn't, he almost never did. It was surprising when he seemed to fade in as if he were coming out of thin air, having been on the couch all along. Ah, so that's where he was hiding, wasn't he?

"About what?" Ulrich had nothing new to say, aside from his little treasure in the box. Surely nothing of great importance had happened, or else he would've found out about it as soon as it did. Nicolas wouldn't be reporting it to him with such... well, apathy, maybe.

"Well, anyway, I got something for you."
 

Romi

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Nicolas didn't say it. Not right then. It wasn't cowardice, he informed himself--he was about as far from a coward as it was possible to be--but instead simple practicality.

He didn't have anywhere to go. He didn't have another job lined up. He felt useless and frustrated, but that didn't mean he got to stop being practical.

"Nevermind, I'll talk to you about it later," he said, squinting at the box in Ulrich's arms.

Probably more work. Or that was his thought right up until the point where Ulrich said it was for him.

Nicolas squinted, a sliver of guilt squirming it's way in.

"For me?"

 

Horus

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Nicolas seemed broody today. Not like he wasn't always some sort of broody anyway, ghosting around all quiet and grumbling as if some universal law had done him wrong. Or maybe it had; after all, he was a man with many skills and a lot of poor luck.

No matter, this wasn't about that right now. He slid the box across to him, a long rectangle clad in a deep, mahogany leather and stitched with pale thread. It looked almost like it would belong to some sort of expensive instrument.

"Yes, for you."

Inside would be an arm, nestled in a dark velvet cloth. Ulrich wasn't one to lie, and when he'd promised Nicolas an arm, he'd gotten him one. Of course, it took a bit to actually find someone with the expertise and knowledge to make him one, but money talked, after all, and Ulrich apparently had a lot of what these landdwellers wanted.
 

Romi

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Nicolas was expecting a gun. He was expecting some kind of sizeable, hand crafted weapon. Maybe a sword? A sword would certainly have fit in the box, although it wouldn't have been terribly large. Either way, he wasn't expecting an arm, so when he popped the box open and squinted at the contents he found himself abruptly without any sort of snappy comeback.

"An... arm?" He finally said after a long moment. It took him a second to process that yes, it was an arm, and then another to process that it was not, in fact, a severed arm. It was mechanical, some kind of robotics peeking out at the shoulder, but the majority of it looked human enough to pass as a completely normal arm.

His brain simply didn't connect. He was staring at the arm, and even as he stared his hand came up, rubbing at the stump, but his brain couldn't snap the pieces together, couldn't understand that it was a gift, that Ulrich had said he'd get an arm for him.

"An arm?" He repeated stupidly.

 

Horus

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The arm itself looked fairly modern, not exactly to his own tastes as an ancient underwater being, but he figured Nicolas would like it. It looked like it was made of white plates of armour that overlapped to form the bulk of the shape, occasional bits of metal that made up the joinery peeking out underneath. It was undeniably sleek and cost him a hefty sum to pry what he needed out of the maker.

"Yes. An arm." He nodded, peering down at the contraption itself. He had to marvel at the technology of it; his race was quite advanced themselves, mapping the stars long before humans thought to look at the sky, but there was still a certain sense of wonder when... well, what he kind of felt like primitive beings seemed to accomplish something extraordinary.

"...yes." At the second, seemingly utterly confused expression, he couldn't help but raise a brow. "You know... A prosthetic. One for you to wear."

He had expressed that he'd wanted one, correct?
 

Romi

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His brain still didn't get it. He'd been handed all the information that he needed, everything that he could possibly desire, and yet he still didn't get it. He felt strangely choked, like there was a golf ball stuck in his throat, and when he reached out to run his fingers over one of the plates he found himself almost surprised to realize that they were solid.

It was real.

"It's -" Nicolas started, finding himself abruptly at a loss for words. How did one even describe it? It was certainly beautiful. Sleep. Clearly well put together.

"Is it... is it for work?" He said, trying to figure out the why. The why was what he needed. He needed something to ground him, something to help him understand.

 
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