[Sicks stops mid-turn as he starts to walk away, his fake smile frozen in place, his eyes locked on the person he just hit.
The voice is familiar, even if there's something wrong with the form it's in. Shrunken, greenish, spiked, winged - but he meets those eyes, and he will always, always recognize those, no matter how twisted the body that holds them becomes. They're his. They belong to only one other person in existence.
For the first time in his life, words actually fail him. It's only for a few moments, but for a man like him, that's significant.]
... Eleven. Why did you take that form again?
[But even as he says it, there's a suspicion in the back of his mind, setting the terribly unfamiliar sensation of doubt onto him. It's almost unbelievable to consider, but the thought drops in anyway:
i said i'd app him and he is totally being apped
The voice is familiar, even if there's something wrong with the form it's in. Shrunken, greenish, spiked, winged - but he meets those eyes, and he will always, always recognize those, no matter how twisted the body that holds them becomes. They're his. They belong to only one other person in existence.
For the first time in his life, words actually fail him. It's only for a few moments, but for a man like him, that's significant.]
... Eleven. Why did you take that form again?
[But even as he says it, there's a suspicion in the back of his mind, setting the terribly unfamiliar sensation of doubt onto him. It's almost unbelievable to consider, but the thought drops in anyway:
This isn't Eleven.]