??.? "This a bad time to say I got the touch?"
"Better yet, I think ya have the power. Or however that lyric goes."
IN WHICH a girl hums through life in quiet rhythms, but for every thousand lives she's lived, each time, the tempo stumbles. Each ti...
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𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑻𝑾𝑬𝑵𝑻𝒀 "I think I'm makin' a habit outta catchin' you."
˚ ✦ . ˚ . . ✦ . ˚ * . ★ ˚
Fear has a way of messing with one's mind. Had a way of throwing up walls against the possible.
It was much like the trick of the eye. Perhaps like staring at a far away castle, so taunting in all of its greatness and glory, only to see a giant bird land on the top of the tower.
Only it wasn't a giant bird, and the closer you got, the smaller it seemed and you realized it was a game of forced perspective, reality warped to appear one way when it was really another.
The wind touched the field like it knew the shape of her. Wide and flat beneath a yawning blush, it stretched into the edge of dawn, and somewhere between the whistle of grass and the chirps of the birds in the early morning,
Jazz stood with his servos crossed over his chassis, his visor catching the morning light from the edge of the treeline where he leaned, watching the red femme, who hadn't yet realized his arrival, murmur to herself.
She seemed to hunch in on herself, pondering aloud about something that clearly bothered her, judging by the way her finials curled down and her wings drooped. He had tuned in a bit too late to pick up what might be bothering her, but he had some guesses.
But something had captured her attention.
Something colored like a sunset, oranges and yellows in a blur of color, flapped right in front of her, causing her finialsand wings to perk up, optics widening.
A butterfly, if his sensors weren't betraying him.
Yeah, fear had a way of making one hesitate. He knew that.
It was something he had overcome early on in the war to ensure his survival, because a moment of hesitance or even letting your enemies see the fear in your optics could make all the difference. It was vulnerable and something that washard to overcome.
He knew that better than anyone.
His helm tilted as she stood and followed the butterfly, as if guiding her to the steep rock hidden under a massive tree along the edge of the cliff, trailing to a higher point but hidden by the greenery. Though one would never be able to tell it was a rock with the way the yellows, oranges, vermillions, and indigos blurred against it.
Jazz had gotten particularly good at pushing past his fear to do what was necessary.
Or... rather, maybe he didn't push past it, but rather...
Her much bigger servo reached forward toward the butterfly as it reunited with its colors, a single digit gently reaching to graze it, maybe hoping it would find a perch if she were gentle enough–gentle like a human's touch only for the butterflies to flutter away from the wall as she made contact, surrounding her in what could've been hundreds of them as they flew away.
