I have many thoughts on what the scientist is telling me. Suspicion against the purity of his intentions, curiosity at the genuine-sounding apology he offers me in sympathy. But thoughts further than that point are brought to a screeching, gobsmacked halt when he laughs.
...Oh. OH. I have witnessed derision, and I have witnessed deception. This is derision, yes, but not deception. And not directed at me.
Generally, I have observed that humans are skilled at creating artificial reactions. Those with exceptional skill in this area are the ones who work as diplomats - or thieves. Not the scientists, who eschew companionship of their own race and pursue passion in a way that seems to make sense only to themselves.
This one does not have the skill to conceal the subtle, telling movements of facial muscle that reacted instantaneously when I said Banno's name. (Nor, I think, has he ever spent much time attempting to develop said skill. He is an "open book.")
He laughs, calls Banno what I imagine is one of the strongest insults he knows, and something in my heart - in what would have been my heart, if I still had a body - untwists. Something about his reaction strikes me in the right way, reassuring me not only that I am safe - for the moment - but also that I am in friendly company.
Quite a conclusion to draw, from a simple short laugh. But, as the story goes, there are some things that only the heart knows. I don't mind that I cannot quantify why the scientist's laugh has so easily convinced me of something that his words had not. I simply can. Of course, Brain would fret, certain I'm jumping to unfounded conclusions.
...Brain.
"The others." Wide-eyed, fists opening to supplicate, anger forgotten, everything else forgotten, I advance until I am within the scientist's personal space, pinning him to his chair with my desperate gaze.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2015-10-06 05:54 am (UTC)...Oh. OH. I have witnessed derision, and I have witnessed deception. This is derision, yes, but not deception. And not directed at me.
Generally, I have observed that humans are skilled at creating artificial reactions. Those with exceptional skill in this area are the ones who work as diplomats - or thieves. Not the scientists, who eschew companionship of their own race and pursue passion in a way that seems to make sense only to themselves.
This one does not have the skill to conceal the subtle, telling movements of facial muscle that reacted instantaneously when I said Banno's name. (Nor, I think, has he ever spent much time attempting to develop said skill. He is an "open book.")
He laughs, calls Banno what I imagine is one of the strongest insults he knows, and something in my heart - in what would have been my heart, if I still had a body - untwists. Something about his reaction strikes me in the right way, reassuring me not only that I am safe - for the moment - but also that I am in friendly company.
Quite a conclusion to draw, from a simple short laugh. But, as the story goes, there are some things that only the heart knows. I don't mind that I cannot quantify why the scientist's laugh has so easily convinced me of something that his words had not. I simply can. Of course, Brain would fret, certain I'm jumping to unfounded conclusions.
...Brain.
"The others." Wide-eyed, fists opening to supplicate, anger forgotten, everything else forgotten, I advance until I am within the scientist's personal space, pinning him to his chair with my desperate gaze.
"The others. Where are the others?"