"This is a comrade of yours?" demanded Ocelot, frowning, turning to the Fury. "A Cobra?"
Then how do I know him?
Ocelot eyed the apparition, studying its shimmering contours and occasional ripples. Sometimes it ringed hollowly outward, as if a kid had tossed a pebble in a black pond.
He thought the Fury misapprehended his reaction. Maybe he was blanched, maybe. But he was intent, now, picking apart the fibers of his memory with relentless attention, trying to isolate where he'd seen this shape, and heard that dulcet, mournful voice of resignation and mild despair.
"Who was he?" he asked, finally, pinning his eyes to the cosmonaut's, irked by the visor that obscured them and made it hard for him to read plainly. "Another spaceman? He doesn't look special enough to have been one of you."
He watched as the Fury played in the ethereal miasma of the man's body for a moment, mouth slowly opening.
"Can you touch him?" he asked. "Does he have form?"
He was aware that he was asking questions hard and fast upon each other, much like a child, but Ocelot had a drive to pull components and form a whole, indigenous to his bones.
The Major frowned, leaning back against the desk. For a moment he looked brooding, then a smirk spread slowly across his face like heated honey.
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2006-10-30 07:51 pm (UTC)Then how do I know him?
Ocelot eyed the apparition, studying its shimmering contours and occasional ripples. Sometimes it ringed hollowly outward, as if a kid had tossed a pebble in a black pond.
He thought the Fury misapprehended his reaction. Maybe he was blanched, maybe. But he was intent, now, picking apart the fibers of his memory with relentless attention, trying to isolate where he'd seen this shape, and heard that dulcet, mournful voice of resignation and mild despair.
"Who was he?" he asked, finally, pinning his eyes to the cosmonaut's, irked by the visor that obscured them and made it hard for him to read plainly. "Another spaceman? He doesn't look special enough to have been one of you."
He watched as the Fury played in the ethereal miasma of the man's body for a moment, mouth slowly opening.
"Can you touch him?" he asked. "Does he have form?"
He was aware that he was asking questions hard and fast upon each other, much like a child, but Ocelot had a drive to pull components and form a whole, indigenous to his bones.
The Major frowned, leaning back against the desk. For a moment he looked brooding, then a smirk spread slowly across his face like heated honey.
"...Can we use him to fuck with Krauss?"