Β Β Natural sunlight turns vacant eyes downward. He hasn't adjusted to sunlight -- to anything thatΒ isn'tΒ technological. He once existed only with computers. He was raised by them: an experiment... Every response was monitored, every second was under surveillance. But now... now he's free.
A surgical mask arches comfortably against a rippling simper, disguising mirth towards a world he's never witnessed. The smile is transient.Β
He is as out of place as out of place could be.
Β Β The blond figure, alone, redefines the constructs of 'foreign': a black coat shields a pale uniform; the mask. Dark, silk gloves neglect to yield a sense of distraction.
Β Β Β Β When eye contact is made, it is fleeting. Hesitance pulsates through the innovator, thrumming a healthy heart rapid. From what he can detect, this stranger will presumably speak to him, and it sends Eron closer. Conversation is expected of people, isn't it? It is how people acquaint themselves to one another. It's what he must expect, Eron surmises.Β
Β Β Β He threads through the swarm, a mass of moving bodies with his head ducked down. Hesitance rejoins him, and he waits at arms length from him.
