[He keeps walking, movements fluid and smooth and not altogether human as his blood-coloured eyes scan the pods they pass, one by one, dragging across the sleeping occupants only to dismiss them in an instant when no recognisable lines and angles jump out at him from their faces. He'd like to think he'd know if they were here, or if they were gone, but the truth is there's nothing but a blank open space in him where they ought to be, filled with all those mixed emotions and the deepest of deep tensions.
He tries to focus on the question instead, but how to explain a thing like that? Hate is love on fire, set out to burn like a flare at the side of the road. It says, stop here-- something terrible has happened, take note and feel it down to your bones. There is no simple answer. So in the end he laughs, looks up briefly into the taller man's face, flashes his sharp little teeth.]
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He tries to focus on the question instead, but how to explain a thing like that? Hate is love on fire, set out to burn like a flare at the side of the road. It says, stop here-- something terrible has happened, take note and feel it down to your bones. There is no simple answer. So in the end he laughs, looks up briefly into the taller man's face, flashes his sharp little teeth.]
You ask a lot of questions.