++++ The touch on the cold steel of his cheek elicited a strange epiphany within him. The surge of his circuits beneath the metal coursed thunderously, foreign pulsing energies sparked through his cores and crystals. Rithex peered back at the dark Mechari through his whirring white optics; it was a poignant gaze that no other mechanical beings could replicate. The pristine white of his crystal glowed softly.
He was rendered speechless but he wasn’t repulsed by the touch. The white Mechari just had no idea to react.
"Zexel," he spoke. His deep, brass-like baritone resonated like a distant echo.
The rigidity of his countenance began to soften, move, mold into an expression, as though the hard steel of his visage had turned into clay. He tried to smile, the cracks in his metal shifted and scraped against plates. It was difficult, painful but he tried.
"I have no capacity to vocalize how I feel, how I should react at this moment," he said in a metallic, sonorous tone as he gazed at Zexel. "But a Cassian once advised me: ‘Show, do not tell’."
"So I shall -show-."
So he sang. For Zexel.
He parted the plates that formed his lips and sang. A deep, soulful tune that left his lips held a poignant, haunting grip. He chanted, he serenaded and hummed — All the emotions he held within the thick prison of his chassis. The divinity and tranquility of his voice soothed the other as he continued to dedicate his melody to Zexel.
I AM SO FUCKING DEAD бляяяя обычно место в паре где чувак кидает поэтс оф зэ фалл заваливая соигрока ЧУВСТВАМИ занимаю я
