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Red wondered if this was it for them. Her, voiceless and chased for the rest of her days, him just a voice, trapped but not trapped.
She lived for the words he spoke. For what form of love he could give. He for Reds beautiful hum, her quick smiles that somehow made everything okay, for the slow beat of a song tapped out against the hilt while she carried him.
Red supposed it was a testament to their relationship that they managed to communicate so well. He talked a lot more inside the sword, and his thought process usually jumped to her track once he got going. She had to suffice for opinionated hums, the movement of fingers and eyes, and occasionally the clatter of terminal keys as she got to express herself properly for a brief moment. But then the power would cut or her session would end and she would hum loudly in displeasure at the device.
He always laughed at that.
“We could spend all day if you typed everything.” He quipped. Red huffed. So what if she had a tendency to be verbose? She wasn’t even going to think about the tons of empty pens, short pencils, and worn out keyboards that resulted from her writing. She certainly was not going to think about the time she actually wore out a touch table from matching words, and their translations, to music.
“Come on, you’ll find another one. I think there’s a bar with a terminal up ahead.” He said, with real mirth.
“Mmmm.” Red acquiesced, picked the Transistor up, she was never sure if she should refer to it as him or not, and started down the road. For now it seemed to be quiet. Her footsteps echoed around the buildings with impressive acoustics.
The sword lit up. “There, to your left.” Red looked over to see a short building, as yet unscathed by process, with large glass windows and sparked out neon above the door. Inside appeared untouched, and in the back Red could see the bar and the racks of drinks. That brought home another reality; she was so thirsty.
“Gonna go in?” Red nodded and hefted the transistor to drag behind her as she stepped inside. She hopped the bar, brought him with her, and found the barkeeps terminal just under the bars black panels. Red propped him up while she raided the ice box. “Oh, you’re probably parched after all this running.”
Red agreed through a mouthful of ice. “Mhmh.” Taking the chance at peace she lowered herself down next to him and pulled the terminal screen from its cradle. Shop keeps always got nicer tech than were on the streets. It had a fair bit of power left but there were no news updates. Red figured they might as well put it to good use.
She started to type. Her fingers made a light tapping that attracted his attention. “What are you doing?”
Red breathed out and lifted the screen.
How do you feel?
“Nothing hurts.”
She pulled the screen back to type a rebuke. You know what I mean.
“I’m managing.”
You sure? Red twisted her mouth at him.
He chuckled. “Yeah, if you’re good, I’m good.”
Red smiled and bent back down to type. Why don’t you ever think about yourself?
For a moment Red could have sworn he was there with her. His smile, his touch, his laugh. It hurt more than the Process. “You know why.”
How much can you feel?
“I know you were tapping out your last big hit on the hilt ten minutes ago, I can feel when you hold me and throw me into some Process.” He replied, not sure if those impressions were real or just a hope of his own mind. But it didn’t hurt to say. “I’m okay, Red.”
I love you, you know that right?
“Of course I do.” He said. “I love you too.”
Only for him would she hug a sword with such intensity. Only because it was him. Red hummed her love into the air and let music soothe their nerves. They stayed like that for some time, just touch and music and love.
But then it was back to the task at hand.
“As much as I hate to interrupt, we should get moving.”
“Mhh.” Red groaned a rebuke.
“Come on, let’s go.”
Red flicked at the translucent blade in annoyance and hoped that he felt it. Then she stood, took a last long swig of water, and picked him up. She never strayed far, and on the move she never let go of him.
He hoped he could return the gesture with his own hands soon.