| [ Life's become the sort of thing that Aether oozes through. Not stopping, not slowing, inexorable as sand moving between the bulbs or an hourglass — yes, he's moved, dispassionate, through life just like that, without direction or a plan for himself. He loves his sister and their younger cousin Paimon and their distant uncle Dainsleif, and he's made plenty of friends for himself, but when he really stops to think about what he feels passionate about, he doesn't have any answers.
In his youth, he'd entertained fantasies about being an android engineer, but somehow it hadn't happened — he didn't have the right connections to break into such a demanding industry, and in the end, he'd settled for a perfectly normal desk job working in the billing department of a travel agency, advising clients on vacations he'll never be able to take. Such is life in Sumeru City these days. Sometimes he wishes he were born just the barest bit richer.
But it is what it is, and things are what they are, and on the salary he's earning, Aether can't even afford a hobbyist android of his own to customize and exercise his elementary programming skills on —
— or at least, that's what he thinks until, one day, on his way home from work, he spots what appears to be a grown man collapsed in a pile of refuse.
At first, in all honesty, he thinks it's a drunk or a drug addict or an unhoused man before it even occurs to him that it might be an android. After all, androids are expensive. People would sooner kidnap them, steal them, before they left one out on the street like this. Any possibility of the "man" being some inebriated bohemian goes out the window, however, when Aether steps closer and realizes that he's dressed in office attire. They're almost mirrors of each other in that regard: white shirt, black shoes, pressed pants. The one difference is that Aether isn't wearing a tie, and also, the man in the trash pile is still wearing an ID card.
Aether steps closer, holding his breath. Then he realizes, mercifully, that the trash bags don't smell. It's more likely office refuse than discarded lunches. ]
Um... are you alright?
[ Is he responsive? If not, it won't deter Aether; he'll still draw closer, searching for the cause of the man's discomfort. ] |
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