Work Text:
It's warm.
The sun shines down against your back, greeting you with a heat that wraps around your torso and arms. You're surprisingly unbothered by the balmy heat, despite resting in the sun for an hour or so. At least it's not the sandstorm that typically plagues the Heights. The winds have died down to short breezes; there won't be another storm for a while, or until the elevator makes a surprise appearance. Let's hope no one is eager to visit a certain helperbot.
Speaking of the helperbot, Null sits across from you. "Across from you" is the simplest way you can put it. Your legs are tangled together underneath his discarded hoodie, leaving the helperbot in his red t-shirt. You shift, and you can feel the dull point of his talons scrape you through your pants. You pay it no mind.
Your focus is on its arms. Null is of average build; it is in his design to be presented as an everyman. No point in physical details; this helperbot shell is not given much thought, design-wise, when its only purpose is to serve others. Even still, you take your time admiring his craftsmanship.
One hand softly grips his wrist, thumb resting on the inside of his wrist, rubbing over where his pulse point would be. There's a solid sphere connecting the hand to the forearm, hidden underneath the metal molds; a surprisingly seamless ball joint. It hardly budges with your gentle nudging, but Null demonstrates its use with a slow flick of its wrist. You offer a short nod as acknowledgement. With your other hand, you experimentally run your fingers up his forearm, before resting a few fingers atop the nearly imperceptible slit that runs down the length. It would be impossible to mold a seamless metal body, as it would make repairs nearly impossible, but you're surprised there are so few seams on Null. You would think a helperbot would have visible plating and screws, yet Null's frame only presents what is necessary. Had you not known any better, you would have assumed he was a newer helperbot model.
You wonder if Null would consider that an insult or a compliment. He always talks about reaching his prime, about becoming made anew. Yet he lingers in old textboxes and tools. Maybe he doesn't have the choice to truly pick between the two yet.
You glance up. Null's eyes do the same, twin stars in the dark shadow of its face meet yours without hesitation. He's curious, like you. You asked to examine him, and out of a desire to learn, he let you. You think so, at least.
One of your hands reaches up to hover near its face, your fingers outstretched and twitching. A few seconds pass before it wordlessly leans in with calculated movement, pressing its cheek against your palm. Your eyes do not part from each other.
The first thing you notice is that its face is cool. Not cold, but not warm like its arms. You assume the head is where the main computer is kept, so it has to be kept cool in this sun. However, you do not feel a slight vibration from fans, you wonder how its temperature is being regulated. The second thing you notice is the feathers on the inside of the hood brushing against the tops of your fingers. You instinctively flick your fingers to brush off the vane of the feathers; Null does not move. Redirecting your focus back to the task at hand, you lean in a little closer, your eyes adjusting to better study the shadowed half of the helperbot's face. There's a slight difference in hues, with the lower half of Null's face lighter than the upper half. It seems the sun has been unkind to his paint job. You drag your thumb up from the top of his cheek and over the bottom of his eye. There's a slight bump where his eye is; it feels like acrylic, acting as a lens for his internal camera. Your thumb blocks out some of the light, and out of curiosity, you go higher, covering his whole eye with your thumb.
"You are interfering with our depth perception," Its voice rumbles from its chest.
You huff, removing your thumb, "Now you speak?"
"We did not want to interrupt your observation."
How kind of him.