[ there's no reason to attach himself to any one body, knowing that he'll never be linked to it long, that from one day to the next, his face could shift and he'll have to force himself to adjust to new features that will never truly belong to him, lines etched from his lips, along his cheeks, wrinkles formed from someone else's life.
it's why he doesn't think much about the little things, minor details like the growth of his hair, the way that marta points it out now in a way that's surprising, simple yet out of his own acknowledgement because for all the way he's skilled to be attentive to details, it's typically not his own that he gives much thought to.
but though this body isn't his own, where her fingers rest is a stack containing every piece of himself that's solely his own, collected portions of his memories, his personality, his thoughts, his dreams, all stored like data, preserved for nearly three centuries.
when she leans back, he gives a turn of his head to look back before his the rest of his body follows, straightening back up in his chair to face her again. ]
Not usually. If I'm not in one for the purposes of a mission, then I'm usually bouncing through them to stay hidden. [ back when he'd been the one making plenty of enemies. ] Only had this one less than a week before I ended up on the station. Since then, this is ... one of the longer ones I've stayed in.
[ several months now, he realizes. though he's not sure he'd even have the option to switch sleeves while making this deal, since he's found he's the only one who even has a stack at all.
he gazes up at her, a quiet pensive stare, before his fingers reach behind his neck to graze against the longer strands she had drawn attention to. ] Not used to thinking about a cut.
no subject
it's why he doesn't think much about the little things, minor details like the growth of his hair, the way that marta points it out now in a way that's surprising, simple yet out of his own acknowledgement because for all the way he's skilled to be attentive to details, it's typically not his own that he gives much thought to.
but though this body isn't his own, where her fingers rest is a stack containing every piece of himself that's solely his own, collected portions of his memories, his personality, his thoughts, his dreams, all stored like data, preserved for nearly three centuries.
when she leans back, he gives a turn of his head to look back before his the rest of his body follows, straightening back up in his chair to face her again. ]
Not usually. If I'm not in one for the purposes of a mission, then I'm usually bouncing through them to stay hidden. [ back when he'd been the one making plenty of enemies. ] Only had this one less than a week before I ended up on the station. Since then, this is ... one of the longer ones I've stayed in.
[ several months now, he realizes. though he's not sure he'd even have the option to switch sleeves while making this deal, since he's found he's the only one who even has a stack at all.
he gazes up at her, a quiet pensive stare, before his fingers reach behind his neck to graze against the longer strands she had drawn attention to. ] Not used to thinking about a cut.