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Screwllum does not belong here.
There is no doubt that exists within his mind about just how out of place he is here. He does not particularly enjoy the beach; for sand always gets stuck in his joints no matter how much coverage his clothing provides him and the damp atmosphere almost always leaves him at risk of rusting, of having to buy entire new parts while his body is out of commission from just one place. It is inconvenient. He will admit however that the beach is a pretty place that is soothing to the eyes, agreeable to his aesthetic tastes no matter how much inconvenience it just so happens. He enjoys the tiny organic creatures that can be found there as well, always stopping to observe them on the rare occasion that he takes a trip to the beach. It only makes it clear that he does not belong there however, mechanical and easy to rust and clog in a too moist, sandy environment.
Screwllum does not belong here.
He thinks however that Herta does.
Screwllum is unsure what exactly he was expecting from this unplanned and oh so sudden trip to The Blue that Herta had insisted him join beneath the pretext that he would end up with worthwhile data to research and look into as he pleases. The offer to join her was sent on a Friday at seventeen thousand hours, a bright message that glowed on a holographic screen in his personal office at his mansion. It is now Monday at five thousand hours, much earlier in the morning than their usual meetings are and he had thought that the odd time had been because it was of importance to the data he was supposed to be collecting. In a way, it is. This early, there are barely any cars that drive past the beach and enter his audial processing instead of the soft crashing of waves and quiet sounds of birds above.
It is of importance because he has found that he has changed the point of data he is supposed to be collecting. Herta had said that the environmental changes would interest him, that he would gain something valuable from this. He’s begun to realize that it was something of a lie; while he can research the environment, this is a selfish trip made to fulfill selfish wishes without making it seem as if it is anything but that, covering the fact up with the guise of research and aiding him. He knows because she showed up in her actual body, had dragged herself from the unreachable clock tower she resides in just to join him and she is now staring out at the endless expanse of ocean in front of her, hair swaying in the gentle breeze that winds around them in an embrace.
Herta was not lying when she said that the environmental changes would interest him but he finds that it is her surrounded by it that interests him in a way he had not anticipated. Instead of a sunny warm day like most people would enjoy at the beach, it is cold and they are wading through a fog that is both thick and thin around them and the most captivating detail is the fact that the ocean glows with deep cold hues. Bioluminescence is what causes it clearly but Herta looks so captivated by it that he wonders if maybe it does not occur on The Blue like it does on other planets. He cannot think of a time throughout their Amber Eras of partnership that she has ever looked so wholly content and the data of this moment gets saved to his permanent files of his memory.
Yes, Herta belongs here in a way he does not. She is not only organic but she is from here, was born on this planet of blues and purples that reflects in her eyes oh so easily. She is relaxed here in a way she is not anywhere else. The discomfort that usually comes with being in her actual body is nowhere to be found as she stares out into the ocean, into the colors that eat away at each other with every wave that crashes against one of its brethren. Her hat has been discarded at some point and she looks less like the blessed being she is and more like a woman enjoying the beauty of her home. Despite the cold, Herta does not shiver, does not curl in on herself from the human instinct of trying to warm themselves up. No, she stands proud like she is meant to be here, meant to be surrounded by this beauty. It is clear that she is and Screwllum admires the view of her.
A part of Screwllum almost fears breaking this fragile, delicate moment that may never come to pass ever again but a much larger part of him yearns to observe this elegant woman up close. He has always been a greedy man and he does exactly what he wants; he walks forwards and stands at his fellow Genius’ side, leaving behind faint lines in the sand behind him with the trail he walks. Deep violet eyes glance his way, long lashes fluttering as she silently regards him before her eyes focus back on the ocean in front of them. Water laps at the toes of their shoes, some of the algae clinging to the damp material and causing the muted colors to glow with cold hues. He pays it very little mind, considering the quantity isn’t enough to be concerned for the health of Herta, even if her body can’t handle much from her isolation.
“This only occurs every few years.” Herta speaks up, her tongue darting out to lick at her chapped lips quickly and Screwllum’s optics easily track the movement, track the exact half a second that it takes her to execute the action but chooses to stay silent, to listen rather than offer any words. He could go into the scientific explanation behind the phenomenon occurring in front of their eyes to fill the soft silence that has settled over them but there is no need for he’s certain Herta is already aware of it and he finds himself wishing to simply observe. There’s the smallest curve to her lips as she stares out at the lapping, glowing waves. It is the smallest smile he has seen yet from any organic being but it is certainly the most genuine smile he has seen from Herta due to something other than sole research, from the thrill of a discovery.
“Most people tend to avoid this place however. The fog keeps most people out and the cold drives the rest away. Heh, not me though. I came out here because I wanted to test an invention when I was young. I found this instead and ended up putting the invention on hold just so I could study how this occurred. I’m surprised I didn’t get sick from how much algae I touched. I wasn’t aware that it was toxic as a child.” The pride in her voice slowly dissipates as that last part leaves her mouth and the code for fondness runs through Screwllum’s processors, feeling more than a little honored that the woman is sharing her childhood with him. Herta does not often talk about her personal experiences like this compared to the majority of other organics. To be the one she tells while on her home planet is a privilege he cherishes, that he will certainly not take for granted.
“Yes, I could see why a child wouldn’t know about the toxicity of the algae, especially when you don’t have a particular interest in the ocean.” Screwllum replies softly, his voice quiet and gentle as if anything more will break this tender lull that has settled over them. Herta hums softly, unoffended by blunt words that could very well be taken as an insult by most other organics. Herta is not most other organics however. She is a human that has defied the natural course of aging and has known him for far too long to take such blunt words as any sort of insult. Despite their conversation about the ocean, about the phenomenon playing out right in front of them, his gaze doesn’t leave Herta. He can come back to this beach the next time this occurs, he cannot come back to her smile and tenderness that only occurs in this moment.
“It actually took me a while to solve. I had started to research the phenomenon itself despite it not being known so well. I figured out that I had to start with the basics the hard way.” Herta murmurs, something shining in her eyes as she recounts the story and Screwllum cannot stop the way that he tracks the slow rise and fall of her chest, silently noting the way that her shoulders are relaxed for once as opposed to the tautness they usually carry when she has to be in her organic body. Ah, but that is the thing, isn’t it? She doesn’t have to be in her actual body right now. There was no request, no rule that forced her hand in a way that she could not rebel against. She is in her organic body because she wants to be in it.
“Trial and error is often the best method of learning.” Screwllum offers as he watches the woman in front of him gaze out almost longingly into the ocean in front of them and listens to the unwavering sounds of waves hitting waves and the water lapping against the shore. It is a shame that the sounds drown out the soft sounds of her breathing. He watches as a strand of hair blows in front of his fellow Genius’ face, as she lifts a hand up to carefully place it back where it was before with a huff that he sees more than he hears. He mourns the fact that it was not his hand to do so. He dismisses that thought as soon as it occurs. Best to save that sort of thinking for when he is back within the privacy of his mansion’s walls.
“A shame that you rarely make errors.” Herta says as her lips curl up further, mirth filling her voice in the process and the cheeky Screwllum thinks in rebuttal is far more fond than their partnership allows. Instead of ruining the moment with that thought, he merely inclines his head with a soft hum, watching as her shoulders twitch for the briefest of moments in a way that can only be her trying to hold back a laugh. The code for pride runs through his emotional processors at that. Herta is a hard woman to break, to crack at her perfect composure to make laugh or smile to the point he only has one single memory of it happening in their Amber Eras of knowing each other besides just now. He cherishes both memories.
“Yes, it truly is a shame. I do prefer seeing what comes out of your errors than I do mine however. They have forged the path for some of your best work.” Screwllum responds, ignoring the code for fondness that refuses to stop repeating itself through his emotional processors to the point that it almost manages to slip into his voice as he watches Herta’s eyes track the waves crashing against each other. Herta’s eyes do not leave the sight of the glowing ocean in front of her, even as her tongue presses itself to the roof of her mouth to make it click in wordless response, the small sound only audible because of how close they are. A greedy part of Screwllum wants to get closer. A greedier part is not willing to risk breaking the moment.
“Your praise is not needed; as I have said time and time again, Screwy.” Herta states just as she always does when a compliment slips free from his throat and into the air but it is much less sharp this time, the moment doing well to make her cutting edges soften just enough to not slice him. Her words are accompanied by a flippant wave of her hand, the sound of her rings clinking together filling the air and echoing out for a lingering moment and Screwllum buries the urge to reach out and slide his own hand against hers, to intertwine their fingers and track every single shift and twitch that she makes against his touch. He doubts she would appreciate that too much. His hand jerks with the sudden rapidly aborted command nonetheless.
“It is not needed, no. I enjoy giving it to you though, Herta.” Screwllum states simply, ignoring the sudden code for nervousness that enters his processors and begins to repeat itself at the words that do have a fair chance of breaking this moment but anything else surely would have done it as well. He’s not certain what exactly he’s expecting to get in response but the quiet little ‘tsk’ that the woman makes is enough to make the nervous code within him eradicate itself. There is no snark or retort that falls from her lips, no sudden acceptance of the praise she has always turned her back to. There is just a carefully neutral sound that means she’s not willing to chase after a verbal battle of wits right now with what she is staring at, with the ocean that has captivated her so much more than most else manages to do.
“Have you ever witnessed something like this, Screwy? A new experience is why I invited you in the first place, after all.” Herta inquires softly, her voice as monotone as it always is but the way that her eyes glance at him once during that second sentence is enough to give away that she’s not being entirely honest with him. He does not call her out on it. He does not bring up the nervous little tell that was only noticed because she is in her organic body, does not ask why she is lying when the truth is seemingly so very harmless. No, instead he merely tilts his head in thought as he thinks about the answer to her question. He notices the way her fingers flex at her sides before she stills them. Again, he does not comment on it.
“No. I have seen bioluminescent creatures in studies before but never up close. I much prefer this sight, I believe. I know how the phenomenon works and how it occurs but it is still new to see myself.” Screwllum answers honestly, thinking back to an early memory of him reading a textbook about marine life when he exhausted his textbooks about land mammals and taking particular interest in the glowing aspect of some of the creatures. The interest he has in this moment now, so many Amber Eras later, is much, much greater than the interest he had back then. He observes the way Herta’s brows furrow at his words and the way she stands up just a little bit straighter, her lips curving into a self satisfied smirk that he typically only sees after a breakthrough in her research. She is proud of herself for making him feel this way. The mere thought of it sends a thrill through him; something reverent and soft and jolting as his fans whir faster now.
“I thought so.” Herta’s voice is entirely smug, her eyes crinkling at the very edges from the self satisfied smirk pulling at her lips and the codes for affection flood his processors so quickly that several other emotional codes get overwritten without his manual interference. It’s startling, a problem that will have to be fixed and nipped in the bud as soon as possible. He knows he will not fix it though, no matter how many times it continues to occur and threaten his perfectly running mechanisms. If he fixes it then he will have to eliminate this wondrous tenderness within him that he has grown to have for this woman. He refuses to do so. That leaves another option; remove the woman from the equation. Distance will do well to remove the bug. He chooses neither. He chooses to let the bug grow and fester no matter how bad it gets. He has always liked bugs. He just so happens to love this inorganic one.
“The majority of your thoughts that are spoken aloud are correct.” Screwllum states quietly instead of the less than professional thoughts that are occurring within his head, his tone leaving no room for an argument that he knows will never come because Herta knows how smart and perceptive she is just as well as he does. The sound of the waves crashing against each other keeps silence from ever settling between them but there is a gentle lull as Herta formulates her answer, as she thinks of something to say to keep the conversation going because they both know that she invited him here for reasons other than just mere research. With the analytical glance she sends his way, he finds that he feels a little like her own research. He also finds that he does not mind at all.
“Of course they are, they’re my thoughts, Screwy.” Herta says simply as if it is the only logical response to his words and the code for fondness tries to repeat itself even more than it already is through his processors; an impossible task that has his fans kicking up a notch to stave off the heat that threatens to overload him. Herta is certainly hard to look away from, even with the somewhat rare occurrence happening in the ocean right in front of him. He should direct at least some of his focus towards the glowing sea, should gather enough data that Herta won’t suspect just how little attention he is currently paying it. He doesn’t. His full focus, his full processing power is on Herta and solely on Herta. He does not look away, does not try to look at the sight that captivates her so much when the sight that completely captivates him is the woman next to him.
Screwllum does not belong here.
Herta does.
Here she looks more beautiful than the ocean sprawling out for miles upon miles in front of them. Sand has managed to blow onto the creases of her dress from the slight breeze and her hair is tousled from it as well but it is perfect in its imperfection. Fog clouds the air around them but she still shines as brightly as ever, still commands so much attention even with this rare tenderness softening her edges that it is as if the fog isn’t there at all. Her lips are still curved into a small genuine smile as she watches the ocean move with life right before her eyes. Her eyes. They shine from the glow of the ocean, deep and unrelenting in their passion even with this new softness within them.
Screwllum thinks that he could drown in them.
Screwllum is more than willing to drown in those deep purple depths.
He does. He lets himself fall into this tender moment and discards his chances to gather data and lets himself drown in the most deep and mesmerizing sea there is.