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[autoncmous-blog]

comfort. it is an instinct, a programming she cannot fight. his pain is audible in her head, a static screech of agony on chalkboard. it reverberates into her very core, her automatic heart pulsating with pain.

ezra stays still a moment, eyes watching him. he is reeling from something, reacting to the chemical that was her invasion. his system has locked her out; for all intents and purposes, he is now a human being that she cannot download. there are no codes in his bloodstream, no pockets of data behind his eyes. his thoughts are a cerebral maze nestled into brain matter wet to the touch.

she feels ROTTEN. from the inside out she aches, unclean. dangerous. is this how viruses feel? and, how was she not? INVADING his system, touching the symphony of his programming, drinking the current that kept him alive.

“i’m sorry.” she whispers, rushing towards him. her hands reach for his face, hovering, seeking permission. “i’m sorry. are you alright?” please be alright.

the ocean hits high tide. he can feel his ears burning, the way they always did when he knew people were talking about him, staring at him. it happens more and more these days in this tightly packed city. he can’t outrun stares and there exists in him some secret PROTOCOL to not be seen.

(he has existed unseen for ten years. before that, he doesn’t remember but something tells him he was watched, watched, watched as a child. was it the way his father always used to stare at him, even when he thought basil didn’t know?)

her staring is making his skin crawl. moths in-between his ribs flutter, insects creeping over his bones send spikes of electric chills up his spine. up and down and up and down and the burning spreads to his cheeks, over his nose, up over his eyebrows. it’s cold outside and even a little chilly in the store but a small bead of sweat blooms at his temple.

for the longest half-minute of his life he doesn’t breathe. as still as she is he is even more still, a statue for her unwavering gaze that blushing the color of poppy fields. not because he is this shy, but because something in his brain is coming undone, some knotted up thread that had been tied so neatly to keep something held together for so long.

and her stare (and her scan, unbeknownst to him) pulls the string.

when she breathes he breathes. basil hasn’t noticed the way she’s seemed to lose life and then gain it all in one swoop. his eyes were working but nothing seems to have been absorbed, as if he’s zoned out completely.

“i’m sorry, what?” his voice trembles. he doesn’t know why. he feels like a child, suddenly, and god his head aches! basil lifts a hand to hold the right side of his head, heel pushing against his temple hard where the throb pulses the hardest.

[autoncmous-blog]

( @alcoholictendenciies )

“i saw a woman on a tv show drinking something bright blue. do you know anything like that?”

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( @nxllafamiglia )

“would you consider yourself superstitious?”

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( @assuredofthis​ )

“i don’t understand the necessity for these paint colors. the variation is so minuscule almost no human eye can detect it.” she offers the paint swatch to the man beside her. “does ‘egg shell’ truly look that different from 'wedding dress’ to you?”

[autoncmous-blog]

I have wanted to make an animated illustration since, about, a million years ago. 

Hey, wow, this is my 7,777th post.

—

Done in Manga Studio 5 & Photoshop CS3

Took so many hours. 

[autoncmous-blog]

she’s quiet while her scans are running. she can focus on downloading his data and speak at the same time, but she doesn’t want to; she dulls her auditory function, the panic in her system overloading her senses. it seemed to be a glitch, in her mind, a safeguard to make her simulate the human condition. there was a 'kill switch' that would turn off the immersive humanoid responses, but ezra was locked out of the remote system. she knew exactly where it was, could pinpoint the latitude/longitude. she also knew it stood alone and would be nowhere near her Creator. it would give her only questions.

she does not blink during her download, a good 25 seconds of what looks like cognitive staring. there are minute twitches within her iris, bits of light that seem as though her brown hues are swallowing particles of the sun, tawny waters sprinkled with particles of glitter. the data moves.....fast. it is a snake made of water, something she can neither reach for nor hold. it evades her, leaving an ether trail. she reads the data, bits and pieces. it's broken. disjointed. the ramblings of a dying man who doesn't know the medicine has taken hold of him.

it's like downloading a dream. she sinks into an ocean full of static, warm, buzzing particles soothing her skin as if to welcome her into a deep slumber. there’s flashes of variants of grey, a soft aqua humming seeping forward from the darkness.

ORIGIN: ▒█▓█▒▒▓ SYSTEM: ┌▬╫┘ AUTHOR: █▀█▄▒▀▀

there’s screaming in her head--

WARNING. UNAUTHORIZED SYSTEM DETECTED. SYSTEM: DATA LOCKED. MODEL: 93211-NQW. DEACTIVATION IN PROGRESS......23%........46%......

she doesn't feel it, when her system is forced off. it's not for more than 10 seconds. there's a silence in her head, the hallways abandoned with echo. the lights go out, the lifelike color to her skin fading away. she looks cold, eyes closed as if she feels PEACE. there is a moment where she looks exactly what she is: a doll. a mannequin shell god poured wires into.

and then she's AWAKE. the color returns to her synthetic skin, her eyes flashing an anti-freeze blue for the quickest second as her system boots back up. she lets out a breath; it's a human reaction, a safeguard lest her systems go offline in front of living company.

he has still seen too much, but ezra is not obsessing with what he has witnessed.

she wants to know what he is.

someone put love into him-- whoever he is. someone stitched wires into flesh, someone meticulously sculpted his curls. someone strained over his eyelashes and counted his freckles.

somebody had loved him, for he was everything there was to be. a human with a battery for a heart, a fusion of god and electrical current.

a breath, a head shake of awe. “you’re perfect.”

it’s quiet but his head is buzzing with an ocean between his ears that sounds like a dull static roar. basil can’t say why. her question isn’t so abnormal that he finds himself in shock. after all, in the city there are people who stop you at any street corner to ask weirder things than this.

he says, “i’m a florist,” but that’s not true. he works in a floral shop, sure, but it’s not making the bouquets or arrangements. mostly it’s ringing people up when his boss is on lunch and then cleaning the store top to bottom.

“i mean, well, not a florist but-” basil shrugs. “uh, did you need help.. finding something?”

[autoncmous-blog]

like for something!

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| 🔌 | tag dump

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ezra has not felt SHOCK since she “woke up”. she classifies it as ‘shock’, but it was probably more along the lines of booting up. but that is an inhuman phrase, something humans do not do. they do not recharge, or go into sleep mode, or deactivate. and ezra is a HUMAN.

she is staring at him, her eyes scanning his tissue. perhaps she almost would have missed it; the way his programming was sewn into his flesh was...flawless.

he was her, but better.

“what are you?” it’s an accusatory, bewildered breath; borderline wounded.  it’s not a human thing to ask, but HE’S not a human thing.

“Hello! How are you? Looking for anything in particular today?”

They had a special on full dozens of roses since it was still a little early for the Valentines day bug and he was just cleaning the glass case that kept the dyed daisies when the door had opened.

@autoncmous 

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DYE. right. that was to colloquial term. her vernacular was always just shy of being normal. TOUCHING without consent and with little connection between two humans was, generally, considered evasive. ezra stuffs her hands into her pockets. “it’s a lovely color. sorry for disturbing you. too curious for my own good, i suppose.” for added sincerity, ezra looks down and flashes a bashful smile to the carpeted floor.

Nym looks UP from where she’s sitting in one of the quiet corners of the bookstore, legs TUCKED underneath her as she flips through a book on mythology The question doesn’t surprise her, long since used to people being SHOCKED by both the length and color of her hair, but something about the wording of the stranger’s question makes her PAUSE. “It’s my natural color, although I used to dye it blonde in high school.”

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ezra gave a firm nod in response. perhaps it was nothing to layla -- or, perhaps it was grave to layla -- but this was the first relationship she’d had with a human. overcoming grievances indicated the strength of the relationship; they were forming a bond. she was making a friend. the thought made her chest flicker, the cavity simulating a warmth that was new to her. a hand came to rest on her chest, her features sprinkled with alarm. “i appear to be overheating.”

         ❝ i appreciate you coming to tell me. ❞ finding a stranger in her house is never going to be great for her heart, but she understands the lack of knowledge, given that said stranger isn’t human at all. it takes time, right, for intelligent programming to adapt? for intelligent people, too, and the unintelligent. of course, she’d have preferred to be without the heart attack.  ❝ yes, it is. i forgive you. ❞

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MY HEART PUMPS DIESEL

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( @unmagnificentnymeria )

her body temp was so high she should be dead. ezra had come to learn that announcing information she had obtained via scans and sensors tended to ‘out’ her as inhuman, so she merely processed the data without commentary. “is your hair color artificial, or genetic?” it seemed a rare color; ezra thought she liked it.

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( @sunbeamiing )

“i never apologized for the way i conducted myself when i trespassed onto your property. i realize not only was behavior illegal, it caused you a great deal of anxiety and discomfort.” humans liked apologies; there was a strange element of control that was attached to them, but ezra was still trying to process social dynamics. a clear consensus on power was yet to be obtained. all the data was horribly subjective. but ezra thought she liked layla. “i am sorry. is this  acceptable?”

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like for something!