lastlighter

[lastlighter]

tyoma

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artyom's fingers still ache with the phantom warmth of frostbite when he remembers the day he met his mother.

or... his second mother, maybe. the memories blur together, between his day with mama at the botanical gardens, and the day he met his mother in its remains.

sometimes it's hard to tell the difference between her, and it.

simultaneously mother and father and kin and stranger, he didn't know it long enough to iron out the details past that it had been safe.

horrifying, but safe.

artyom has tried to explain how he's come to know his adoptive family as well as he knows his own beating heart before (to anna, always to anna), but it's difficult to actually put their connection into words.

he knew the creature who adopted him the moment it offered its long, clawed hand, just as he recognizes the voice of his little brother on the rare occasion that it cuts back through all the static.

that's how artyom knows inherently just how novel this child is the moment he stumbles upon it.

the little one tilts its head, blinking blearily up at him from its makeshift nest in the ground as it lets out a series of clicks and hums that rumble resonantly through artyom's mind into a language he will never be able to speak. he holsters his shambler hastily.

he doesn't know what it's saying, yet, but he lets it take a peek regardless.

artyom feels it searching through his memories as his vision darkens, and he braces himself for what's to come.

but his chest still aches when she finds his memories of the tower, of what he did to their family, and he thinks, 'safe, you're safe, i'm sorry, i promise,' when she recoils-

then she finds his memories of the others- of D6, and the gardens- and she calms. her little claws sink slightly into the thick, viscous edge of her nest as she raises up to get a better look at him.

he tries to maintain eye contact, tries to keep his mind open when every instinct is screaming at him to cut her off.

it's only fair.

as she studies him, his mind wanders, and he thinks about the similarities and differences between this child and his younger brother. she has wide eyes with vertical pupils, too, just like the cats he's seen lounging around polis, but where his were green, hers are a deep blue, almost purple.

her mandibles click strangely as she thinks, and-

'oh, no,' he raises his hands placatingly as her offense blazes through his mind like fire, 'i'm sorry, little one, not... strange, just... different. not like me.'

he takes a deep breath and raises his gas mask just enough that she can see his mouth, thinking, see?

after a moment of scrutiny, her third eyelids blink, and she nods, her mandibles clicking normally as she resumes her search. he lowers the mask, taking a deep breath with a muffled cough.

he feels the second she finds whatever she's looking for as she pulls away from the deeper corners of his mind.

some old, fragile part of him aches to hold on, to reach out for the nearest hand like a kid at the market trying to find his mama, and his vision swims, his world lurching as he shakes his head like it'll knock the thoughtsthe memories? loose.

the little one peers up at him like he's the strangest creature she's ever seen, and he offers her a slight smile in return. even with his face obscured, he gets the feeling she understands.

the unpracticed recesses of his one connection to his devastated family flare in bright oranges, yellows, and greens as she tilts her head, cooing, 'friend?'

after a moment, artyom crouches to her level, his boots crunching in the snow, and he nods, holding out his hand. 'friend.'

[lastlighter]

middle aged lady on my bus just called someone's partner "your whimsical idiot boyfriend" over the phone . with sincere frustration might I add

[lastlighter]

when men roll up their sleeves. ok whore

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