... I was stillborn, more or less. My mother died when she was pregnant with me, and my dad - not my biological father, but the man who raised me, managed to save what little brain activity I had and gave me the ability to see and sense around me through computers and nanomachines. He was able to, more or less, 'grow me' a body that I was transplanted into when I was seven or eight years old.
[ bixing's fingers twitch, just a little. it's not something he really likes talking about, not something he's really told...anyone, besides lin, until it was forcibly ripped from his head here through memories. but scaramouche's situation is so blatantly familiar that it's sticking hard, today. ]
So, it is...but, with someone else, without my old man, I could've easily been exactly the kind of person Scaramouche is.
[ and less in a physical way than an emotional one. ]
[ that's the thing. he doesn't specify or say anything, letting rynlan go ahead down that path of thinking, because... well, he's right. it was a treacherous, miserable road of a childhood - little comments about having atrophied legs as a kid, about not being able to go outside, thing like that make more sense in the context of lu bixing the homunculus, the ship of theseus, the arrow carrying the hope of the eighth on his shoulders.
and he was miserable. he was a hateful, angry child, who hated the world and everything in it, and it was only his father's love, persistent and kind, that brought him out of the brink. that helped him walk, literally, metaphorically, and emotionally.
the compliment has him look over at rynlan, a little surprised - remaining eye a little wide, before he huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, giving him a soft smile. ]
....Thank you, Rynlan. That's sweet. [ uweh. ] I try, at least.
He never really - I saw a little bit of his memories. The life that Scaramouche had was so different than mine, and it just reminded me of how lucky I've really been.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[this moose...]
It's something you've run into before-?
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and, eventually. ]
...It's not all that dissimilar to me.
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[he'd seen the experimentation in that memory, but it didn't seem like... well, like he wasn't.]
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[ ... sort of. ]
... I was stillborn, more or less. My mother died when she was pregnant with me, and my dad - not my biological father, but the man who raised me, managed to save what little brain activity I had and gave me the ability to see and sense around me through computers and nanomachines. He was able to, more or less, 'grow me' a body that I was transplanted into when I was seven or eight years old.
[ bixing's fingers twitch, just a little. it's not something he really likes talking about, not something he's really told...anyone, besides lin, until it was forcibly ripped from his head here through memories. but scaramouche's situation is so blatantly familiar that it's sticking hard, today. ]
So, it is...but, with someone else, without my old man, I could've easily been exactly the kind of person Scaramouche is.
[ and less in a physical way than an emotional one. ]
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[he can't imagine it, not truly having a body for those first several years. only acquiring one later and having to learn everything, presumably.]
...you're probably right. Would've been easy to turn out different, but you're-
Bixing, you're one of the most human people I know, I think.
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and he was miserable. he was a hateful, angry child, who hated the world and everything in it, and it was only his father's love, persistent and kind, that brought him out of the brink. that helped him walk, literally, metaphorically, and emotionally.
the compliment has him look over at rynlan, a little surprised - remaining eye a little wide, before he huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, giving him a soft smile. ]
....Thank you, Rynlan. That's sweet. [ uweh. ] I try, at least.
He never really - I saw a little bit of his memories. The life that Scaramouche had was so different than mine, and it just reminded me of how lucky I've really been.