The words skip through the warm spring air and are caught in the prompt twist of a pyramid ear. Reagan’s voice hums through the new girl’s skull and her head tilts, twists and turns to better survey this new input. Electric blue eyes blink slowly as move languidly over the woman’s torso like the trail of cool, metal fingers.
Our Synth is a beautiful, brushed steel shell hiding rusted insides and she makes no rush to speed this moment up. Instead she stands, so perfectly at ease within the quagmire of awkwardness she has created. She does not care if she sinks. She simply, would not even know.
Finally, with the languid blink of a highly sated cat, our little Synth speaks. “I tried to catch the bird, but it flew away.” The words come, bathed in a beautiful voice, yet her words are hard as stone and lack any inflection. They are rocks of stone in a beautiful bath and she offers them no further adornment. Neither does she pay poor Reagan, queen of her new band of misfits, any further attention.
Made of blood and bone but also iron and steel, our girl is a thing of beauty. So unnatural in one blink, yet so plainly horsein another. Quietly she moves through the grasses again, her electric eyes sieving the grasses as she spies for her next experiment.
Come, fair Reagan, you had better walk to keep up with our little Synth..
S Y N T H