[ daisy lets the subject pass for the moment, if only because she has a strong desire to express just how much she'd like to personally pour gasoline all over that android and light it on fire (multiple times, if possible) — the sentiment just feels a little harsh to dump on fitz. so, you know. she doesn't do that. ]
sky park by the biomed plaza apparently some fancy doctor is hosting an open house for his new robosurgery they've got some decent door prizes
[ she might not be skye on paper these days, but she's still a survivor. if it's for the taking, she's taking it. ]
[ it's very on brand for her, and so refreshingly mundane that he laughs. there's more to discuss regarding AIDA and the androids (great band name, by the way), especially since Fitz just reached out to one of them, but he puts that on the backburner. ]
Charming.
[ does every cybernetic doctor remind him of Radcliffe? a little, yeah. ]
I'm not far. Be there in ten.
[ as promised, he arrives in ten, decked out in his new cyberpunk business casual attire that Daisy probably helped him find for cheap, anyway. black button-down and slacks with a geometric blazer, rolled to the elbows — the collar doesn't fold and the labels are asymmetric, plus the jacket hems to a point on both sides instead of a neat line across. it's weird. all the fashion here is weird, for someone who likes crisp lines and variations on the colour blue.
Fitz waves as he approaches her, tucking his hands to his pockets shortly after. at least everything has, like too many pockets now, huh. ]
[ she doesn't bother to text him back. why should she? he knows how to find her — and perhaps more importantly, he knows how to look like he's not looking.
instead of sending another message, daisy spends idle time flitting through news articles on the doctor in question, scouring casual references in the comments section for any details that she might have missed. thus far, she's assembled a small dossier of information, tucked away in the sticky notes equivalent on her neural implant's desktop. maybe not relevant information, but information nonetheless.
to fitz' eventual arrival, daisy offers a tip up of her head in lieu of a wave, a casual: ] Took you long enough.
[ he glances around, feigning renewed interest in their surroundings. a tree blankets daisy's spot, sunlight filtering through the leaves, and an artificial creek ripples just beyond them. the ambience even disguises the worst of the city soundscape rumbling in the distance.
after a moment, he claps a hand on her shoulder in friendly greeting. ]
[ dry. ] You should've sent out an SOS, for a situation this dire.
[ the sunny skies! the tranquility! quelle horreur! ]
[ he claps onto her shoulder, and it's a greeting that seems so quintessentially fitz that for the briefest of moments, daisy forgets she's in a cyberpunk hellscape.
if she closes her eyes and focuses on the sensation of his hand firm against the curve of her shoulder, if she takes in a deep breath to smell the blend of woodsy fragrance and metallic tang that defines leopold fitz, and if she lets the sound of the passing skytram fill in for the soft whoosh of an opening hangar door, she might just convince herself she's back on the quinjet. the memory feels real for just a half-second long enough that she's left feeling a little disappointed when she opens her eyes again. good thing there's fitz there in the flesh to take the edge off, his familiar face a much-needed pick-me-up. ]
I did, didn't I? [ not really, but "i need you" can be said in many different ways. ] Anyway, I'm glad you made it. I wanted to show you this.
[ one of the door prizes had been something quite boring — a digital clock, meant to sit on a nightstand or dresser, but one with the futuristically snazzy capability of projecting a sleep-inducing holographic video for the owner who might suffer from bits of insomnia. or, at least, it had been a clock. it's not the "this" in question, though. that'll come next.
daisy bends down for a moment to scoop up the lumped object in question; once back upright, she holds it out for fitz to view, channeling her best vanna white impersonation before lifting her free hand to hover a few inches away from the edge. after a beat, the mass of metal and plastic begins to vibrate in place, bits and bobs pulling themselves loose with each passing second only to fall unceremoniously against daisy's outstretched hand. each fallen piece still vibrates, but waits in place, as if awaiting further telepathic instruction from their master builder.
illuminated by the faint glow of blue peeking through her sheer black top, it's a neat little scene. quietly, daisy adds: ] Ta-da.
[ back at the safehouse, shortly after her arrival, he showed her a power of his own. portals, like those that separated him and jemma (which still do, in a sense). no inhuman on his record had that capability, though it bears similarity to gordon's teleportation ability. since then, fitz has learned that it might have been extracted from doctor strange (which he's gearing up to tell daisy, at some point, preferably before she figures it out herself).
today, though, he sees something entirely new. his brows lift, and his features loosen, still awed by unknown superhuman abilities, even after years of study. the slight curve of his mouth says "thank you for sharing this with me." to trust fitz with her power, despite what he did in the framework, who he is, the way he spoke about AIDA — ]
Wow. [ fitz reaches out to poke at the metal pieces in her hand. ] How did you — when did you notice?
[ she hasn't shared her new-found ability with many people. only strange, actually, and even then only in vague descriptions and off-hand quips. even without the rumbling of earthquakes under her veins, the reality of knowing she's different than before has left daisy suffering from a disorienting case of deja vu.
it seems only practical, then, to expose that most delicate secret to fitz first. she's reassured by his soft, slack-jawed smile, the awe apparent in the gentleness of his gaze and the hesitance in his hand as it approaches. ]
I owe you a new alarm clock. [ his quizzical expression peeks up in response, and so daisy elaborates, a quiet huff of laughter punctuating the break. ] Yours kept going off after you left the other day, and I couldn't figure out how to turn the stupid thing off. I just kept thinking about how I wanted to rip it apart... and all the pieces just kind of popped off right in front of me.
[ a pause. ]
Getting them to go back together is a little harder. I can do new things, but... repairs not so much.
[ his mouth twists, instinctively affronted that she broke his belonging. fitz might be cross if she hadn't led with the offer of a new alarm clock (and if this wasn't an instinctively sentimental topic for the both of them). ]
[ dry. ] No funny business. [ if his new clock blares katy perry or uses light-shows to wake him up, it's going in her room. ] Do you visualise the new items — or do you consider the process?
[ His portals follow his snap calculations, quickly estimating the distance intended, but there's an instinctual, visual element, too. If he wants to catch something, he can redirect it just by wanting. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
sky park by the biomed plaza
apparently some fancy doctor is hosting an open house for his new robosurgery
they've got some decent door prizes
[ she might not be skye on paper these days, but she's still a survivor. if it's for the taking, she's taking it. ]
no subject
Charming.
[ does every cybernetic doctor remind him of Radcliffe? a little, yeah. ]
I'm not far. Be there in ten.
[ as promised, he arrives in ten, decked out in his new cyberpunk business casual attire that Daisy probably helped him find for cheap, anyway. black button-down and slacks with a geometric blazer, rolled to the elbows — the collar doesn't fold and the labels are asymmetric, plus the jacket hems to a point on both sides instead of a neat line across. it's weird. all the fashion here is weird, for someone who likes crisp lines and variations on the colour blue.
Fitz waves as he approaches her, tucking his hands to his pockets shortly after. at least everything has, like too many pockets now, huh. ]
no subject
instead of sending another message, daisy spends idle time flitting through news articles on the doctor in question, scouring casual references in the comments section for any details that she might have missed. thus far, she's assembled a small dossier of information, tucked away in the sticky notes equivalent on her neural implant's desktop. maybe not relevant information, but information nonetheless.
to fitz' eventual arrival, daisy offers a tip up of her head in lieu of a wave, a casual: ] Took you long enough.
no subject
after a moment, he claps a hand on her shoulder in friendly greeting. ]
[ dry. ] You should've sent out an SOS, for a situation this dire.
[ the sunny skies! the tranquility! quelle horreur! ]
no subject
if she closes her eyes and focuses on the sensation of his hand firm against the curve of her shoulder, if she takes in a deep breath to smell the blend of woodsy fragrance and metallic tang that defines leopold fitz, and if she lets the sound of the passing skytram fill in for the soft whoosh of an opening hangar door, she might just convince herself she's back on the quinjet. the memory feels real for just a half-second long enough that she's left feeling a little disappointed when she opens her eyes again. good thing there's fitz there in the flesh to take the edge off, his familiar face a much-needed pick-me-up. ]
I did, didn't I? [ not really, but "i need you" can be said in many different ways. ] Anyway, I'm glad you made it. I wanted to show you this.
[ one of the door prizes had been something quite boring — a digital clock, meant to sit on a nightstand or dresser, but one with the futuristically snazzy capability of projecting a sleep-inducing holographic video for the owner who might suffer from bits of insomnia. or, at least, it had been a clock. it's not the "this" in question, though. that'll come next.
daisy bends down for a moment to scoop up the lumped object in question; once back upright, she holds it out for fitz to view, channeling her best vanna white impersonation before lifting her free hand to hover a few inches away from the edge. after a beat, the mass of metal and plastic begins to vibrate in place, bits and bobs pulling themselves loose with each passing second only to fall unceremoniously against daisy's outstretched hand. each fallen piece still vibrates, but waits in place, as if awaiting further telepathic instruction from their master builder.
illuminated by the faint glow of blue peeking through her sheer black top, it's a neat little scene. quietly, daisy adds: ] Ta-da.
no subject
today, though, he sees something entirely new. his brows lift, and his features loosen, still awed by unknown superhuman abilities, even after years of study. the slight curve of his mouth says "thank you for sharing this with me." to trust fitz with her power, despite what he did in the framework, who he is, the way he spoke about AIDA — ]
Wow. [ fitz reaches out to poke at the metal pieces in her hand. ] How did you — when did you notice?
no subject
it seems only practical, then, to expose that most delicate secret to fitz first. she's reassured by his soft, slack-jawed smile, the awe apparent in the gentleness of his gaze and the hesitance in his hand as it approaches. ]
I owe you a new alarm clock. [ his quizzical expression peeks up in response, and so daisy elaborates, a quiet huff of laughter punctuating the break. ] Yours kept going off after you left the other day, and I couldn't figure out how to turn the stupid thing off. I just kept thinking about how I wanted to rip it apart... and all the pieces just kind of popped off right in front of me.
[ a pause. ]
Getting them to go back together is a little harder. I can do new things, but... repairs not so much.
[ rest in peace, fitz' alarm clock. ]
no subject
[ dry. ] No funny business. [ if his new clock blares katy perry or uses light-shows to wake him up, it's going in her room. ] Do you visualise the new items — or do you consider the process?
[ His portals follow his snap calculations, quickly estimating the distance intended, but there's an instinctual, visual element, too. If he wants to catch something, he can redirect it just by wanting. ]