Snippet #2696897

Babble

"I take it that the master has yet to have the chance to ..fix.. him."

He stood there, his eyes lacking the light they used to have. They stood talking of the vessel he called him and he lacked the will to care. In essence he was numb. His sense was dulled like fingers in the freezing cold. The more he was changed the less he felt himself. The less he felt real.

The band around his arm glowed steadily, the power locked behind it weighing steadily upon it's restraint. It was like a dam sealing up a river, letting through but a trickle of the real thing. The band was constantly warm like freshly baked bread wrapped around his arm. Unlike bread however it wasn't going to let up and break apart to be used as a tasty dip to some stew of some sort.


"Would you like to meet someone special..hmm? Almost like you I would like to bet."

Of course... She was touching his arms. Long had it been a time since he took exception to any form of physical conduct as he was long accustomed to the idea that suffering would never fail. Despite himself however the sensation of her hands touching his stumps resurfaced the knowledge that his hands were no longer there. While he understood that fact on a constant basis he was able to distract himself enough to forget the feeling of loss subconsciously. Having attention, especially physical interaction, brought to the ends his hands used to occupy only served to reopen the feeling of trying to feel something that's no longer there. What sort of feeling was that? Itchiness for one.

He yanked his arms from her and started to feverishly rub the ends against his body, hoping to use the fibers to scratch an itch that didn't exist. Despite his effort the motion only served to tire him a bit and warm up the ends of his hands, possibly working up to a rash if he kept it up. Looking down at the ends of his arms he couldn't help but imagine the hands where they used to be. The only problem was that his memory of his hands were so badly marred as to be uncertain. He could only recall instances where he had hands and that his master had taken them.


As such he had to fill in the blanks using the feelings he felt was supposed to be what he might of been feeling in his hands when his hands were still there. The issue was that the sensation was off. Without physical input for correction the mentally perceived image of his hands were warped, distorted by a lack of structure. He imagined how his mishappened thumbs must of felt, all short and gnarled. His weird malformed hand with gaunt, twisted fingers sitting just past his wrists... Yes, he could almost see it just as he felt it would be.

The air close by Babble was starting to buzz with an almost electric hum. It was harsh yet low, fading in and out like the tide. This was thanks to the band, the glow changing in coordination with the sound produced. What the band couldn't quash however was the sense of unease which was infused with the very nature of the sound. It was as much a feeling as it was noise.

"Noooot... gooooooood... Feeeels... Wrooooooong... Feeeels... Maaaaaalfoooooormed."


It was the voice of the girl... only it wasn't really. Given the inhibitions set by the band Babble was not truly able to duplicate a voice, not like before. Her voice sounded similar but wrong, distorted badly. Much like someone trying to write with numb fingers Babble had to go slowly to maintain even a shadow of cohesion to the words being formed. As a result the voice was quite low and stretched out making it sound quite monstrous in effect. Needless to say this imitation of her voice did much disservice to the original. Such effect was not his intent but it was the best he could manage under such constriction. Such a fact was of no solace to him. He felt as bad as he sounded.