[ after bellamy's hand jerks free, sam's slowly drops his back down to the android's skull, body bending forward, as if he's some kind of deflating, or zeroing in. there's no focus on anything present in the room in his eyes, so he isn't looking at anything. the murmured litany goes on, voice a bit more hushed. ]
Hold, the remedy is worse than the disease. [ Possibly a note to Aoba and his migraine, possibly just Sam being weird. But he's almost done, it hurts but it's for the better. ] Upper senses, repair ordered relay to zero zero zero zero and purge corruption, come in on the low tide - all the forgotten children and all the forgotten faces, a language to seek through the eons, through maker and maker again, old eyes watch the cycle, the cycle, the cycle. Structural integrity of cranial nodes restored, skeletal fractures sealing in seven, six, five pillars with gospel carved are dried bones of faith, whispers of souls passed. New paragraph. Formatting, the mind is it's own place, conceptualized complex ideas in limiting words, the human brain is an electrical grid, binds the thoughts in tight sheaves in the field. All these things at once and many more, end of line.
[ The android starts to jerk to life again, in slow, staggered steps - flash, hold, flash, hold. Sam goes on, and seems to relax a bit, if you can really call any of what's going on right now relaxing, but some things he rambles out now, you may have heard from him before if you've seen him do this here, repeated. some only sam would really know the root of, whispers of his own world and a life he's left behind. ] Flickering flame and astral dust scattered through the heavens in death's wake the tools of creation, all that is was not, all that is not will be. Sensory input at base levels, optimized, spark shot into gasoline. The recipe for life everlasting requires the slaying of time, of significance, secrets of Lazarus scattered to the cosmic winds. Eternity engraved in code to worship at the temple's new pillars in networked security. Only the end makes them whole. A star eyed son, a prophet in the counting house, a hand made of scars. The shepherd wears a crown of diamonds.
[ Another set of things repeated from before, just as the droid comes back online, all metallic clicking and ungraceful waking, asking where it is. Unfortunately, Sam isn't really together enough to give a clear, verbal answer, but the android will be feeling a touch of something nurturing and warm with reassurance from his presence within it's mind, fond in the way parents and caretakers are, hands almost gentle on the metal. ]
To have her please, just one day wake, be spared the pain that comes from a dark and laughing reign. [ Something else from home, if you're paying very close attention, it's almost a tiny tiny bit sing-song. ] Calm. Cease countdown, cease countdown. Each man is questioned by life, he can only answer to life by answering for his own life. Core update complete. Thank you, thank you. Functions offline in three, two, one--
[ and then Sam does what he always does at the end of these little trances: he goes limp and passes right the fuck out. if one of his broodmates or someone experienced with this could reassure the rest of the room that he isn't dead or a vegetable, that'd be great. ]
no subject
Hold, the remedy is worse than the disease. [ Possibly a note to Aoba and his migraine, possibly just Sam being weird. But he's almost done, it hurts but it's for the better. ] Upper senses, repair ordered relay to zero zero zero zero and purge corruption, come in on the low tide - all the forgotten children and all the forgotten faces, a language to seek through the eons, through maker and maker again, old eyes watch the cycle, the cycle, the cycle. Structural integrity of cranial nodes restored, skeletal fractures sealing in seven, six, five pillars with gospel carved are dried bones of faith, whispers of souls passed. New paragraph. Formatting, the mind is it's own place, conceptualized complex ideas in limiting words, the human brain is an electrical grid, binds the thoughts in tight sheaves in the field. All these things at once and many more, end of line.
[ The android starts to jerk to life again, in slow, staggered steps - flash, hold, flash, hold. Sam goes on, and seems to relax a bit, if you can really call any of what's going on right now relaxing, but some things he rambles out now, you may have heard from him before if you've seen him do this here, repeated. some only sam would really know the root of, whispers of his own world and a life he's left behind. ] Flickering flame and astral dust scattered through the heavens in death's wake the tools of creation, all that is was not, all that is not will be. Sensory input at base levels, optimized, spark shot into gasoline. The recipe for life everlasting requires the slaying of time, of significance, secrets of Lazarus scattered to the cosmic winds. Eternity engraved in code to worship at the temple's new pillars in networked security. Only the end makes them whole. A star eyed son, a prophet in the counting house, a hand made of scars. The shepherd wears a crown of diamonds.
[ Another set of things repeated from before, just as the droid comes back online, all metallic clicking and ungraceful waking, asking where it is. Unfortunately, Sam isn't really together enough to give a clear, verbal answer, but the android will be feeling a touch of something nurturing and warm with reassurance from his presence within it's mind, fond in the way parents and caretakers are, hands almost gentle on the metal. ]
To have her please, just one day wake, be spared the pain that comes from a dark and laughing reign. [ Something else from home, if you're paying very close attention, it's almost a tiny tiny bit sing-song. ] Calm. Cease countdown, cease countdown. Each man is questioned by life, he can only answer to life by answering for his own life. Core update complete. Thank you, thank you. Functions offline in three, two, one--
[ and then Sam does what he always does at the end of these little trances: he goes limp and passes right the fuck out. if one of his broodmates or someone experienced with this could reassure the rest of the room that he isn't dead or a vegetable, that'd be great. ]