[ adam says this out loud, but it's quiet and mostly to himself. it's not a question, but there's mild curiosity muddled in his tone, a subtle inquisitiveness in his gaze. you're not mine, he thinks again, this time with more certainty. his eyes shift away again to refocus on the moth on his shoulder, watching idly as it feeds. then, what are you?
the moth fluttering past his peripheral draws his attention back, summoned by its alleged creator. so, he creates them and controls them, or so it seems. not even adam is that connected to his creation nor their descendants, though he can't say he has any desire to be. not entirely. really, the less he has to interact with the human race, the better; a nearly impossible task, burdened by his own obligation to his own people and their future.
there have been exceptions, of course. curiosities, obsessions. people who have earn his attention for one reason or another, for however brief. adam looks zephir over slowly, overt, and considers his question. ]
I keep them because I enjoy them. [ it's a partial lie. he keeps them because they're familiar. inferior, and not quite like him, but similar enough to warrant empathy - and he doesn't so much "keep" them as he does look after them. they're welcome to leave him alone whenever they'd like, it's just that they... don't. wherever he goes, a moth or two is bound to find him. that's just how it is. it's been that way for millennia.
that being said, should anyone so much as swat at them, and the might find that they regret it.
adam leaves the little sliver of apple on his shoulder, freeing up his hand so he can pick apart another piece for himself. his brows lift subtly, his eyes wandering from his hands to find zephir's gaze again. ] Why do you create them?
[ the way adam holds his gaze suggests that's not the real question he means to ask. how do you do it? ]
no subject
[ adam says this out loud, but it's quiet and mostly to himself. it's not a question, but there's mild curiosity muddled in his tone, a subtle inquisitiveness in his gaze. you're not mine, he thinks again, this time with more certainty. his eyes shift away again to refocus on the moth on his shoulder, watching idly as it feeds. then, what are you?
the moth fluttering past his peripheral draws his attention back, summoned by its alleged creator. so, he creates them and controls them, or so it seems. not even adam is that connected to his creation nor their descendants, though he can't say he has any desire to be. not entirely. really, the less he has to interact with the human race, the better; a nearly impossible task, burdened by his own obligation to his own people and their future.
there have been exceptions, of course. curiosities, obsessions. people who have earn his attention for one reason or another, for however brief. adam looks zephir over slowly, overt, and considers his question. ]
I keep them because I enjoy them. [ it's a partial lie. he keeps them because they're familiar. inferior, and not quite like him, but similar enough to warrant empathy - and he doesn't so much "keep" them as he does look after them. they're welcome to leave him alone whenever they'd like, it's just that they... don't. wherever he goes, a moth or two is bound to find him. that's just how it is. it's been that way for millennia.
that being said, should anyone so much as swat at them, and the might find that they regret it.
adam leaves the little sliver of apple on his shoulder, freeing up his hand so he can pick apart another piece for himself. his brows lift subtly, his eyes wandering from his hands to find zephir's gaze again. ] Why do you create them?
[ the way adam holds his gaze suggests that's not the real question he means to ask. how do you do it? ]