A normal, human human would likely feel some sort of gut-deep, primal discontent at that wet drone bouncing all around them. Indeed, some of the people that have encountered him at a closer distance than others - an accidental turn around a corner right into him, in one particularly distraught eyewitness account - have seemed downright disturbed by that aspect. The sound. It panics them in a way they don't fully comprehend. Lizard hindbrain acting up, perhaps. Telling them that this thing is strange, dangerous, bad.
As is, Hugh only has to raise his voice a bit. He is not human human anymore, and it only registers as noise. Another detail to take in. Like Cassius' dogged eagerness, the way he squeezes his hands together like wet craft paper to seal the slick, writhing mass back inside of himself.
(He'll spend tonight divided neatly between setting up new ways to track down this hunter and trying to puzzle out how Cassius works, exactly. Neither will be fruitful.)
For now, though, he smiles. Friendly, if a bit bland. More than a bit calculating behind his odd, mismatched eyes.
"And I you. I think we're going to be very good friends, Cassius."
Ding.
The viewport isn't very far, really. Maybe they spend a bit more time on Cassius' distractions, but for the most part, Hugh ushers them to the grand steel double doors and punches in his passcode (nine digits, lightning quick like he has the sequence carved behind his eyes) with his knuckles, gestures for Cassius to go on ahead when the doors slide open with a soft whirr.
"Had to lock it down after... mm. Some trouble." Hugh falters only for a moment on that explanation, careful to close the doors after them. Doesn't mention YS. The great, pale shape of it so close it nearly pressed itself to the glass - how it still comes around, sometimes. Tries to communicate with anyone it sees inside, to usually traumatized or disastrous effect. Doesn't seem to be here right now, at least. "Just you and I. As it should be."
It's at least six full-length panes of something akin to glass, although far colder to the touch. A sprawling view of the stretch of space to Earth's right, at the moment. Up here, there is no light and there are no clouds - nothing to diminish the infinite sprawl of the universe all around them. Stars and galaxies and oh, there's Mars, that pale red shape of it hovering far, far out. Easier to see out here. There are telescopes, too, positioned in a line along the glass - Cassius might see further celestial bodies if he looks.
(Hugh has, often. In the beginning, when space was still wonderful and new. Now he just comes here to bask in the soft celestial glow and drink.)
no subject
As is, Hugh only has to raise his voice a bit. He is not human human anymore, and it only registers as noise. Another detail to take in. Like Cassius' dogged eagerness, the way he squeezes his hands together like wet craft paper to seal the slick, writhing mass back inside of himself.
(He'll spend tonight divided neatly between setting up new ways to track down this hunter and trying to puzzle out how Cassius works, exactly. Neither will be fruitful.)
For now, though, he smiles. Friendly, if a bit bland. More than a bit calculating behind his odd, mismatched eyes.
"And I you. I think we're going to be very good friends, Cassius."
Ding.
The viewport isn't very far, really. Maybe they spend a bit more time on Cassius' distractions, but for the most part, Hugh ushers them to the grand steel double doors and punches in his passcode (nine digits, lightning quick like he has the sequence carved behind his eyes) with his knuckles, gestures for Cassius to go on ahead when the doors slide open with a soft whirr.
"Had to lock it down after... mm. Some trouble." Hugh falters only for a moment on that explanation, careful to close the doors after them. Doesn't mention YS. The great, pale shape of it so close it nearly pressed itself to the glass - how it still comes around, sometimes. Tries to communicate with anyone it sees inside, to usually traumatized or disastrous effect. Doesn't seem to be here right now, at least. "Just you and I. As it should be."
It's at least six full-length panes of something akin to glass, although far colder to the touch. A sprawling view of the stretch of space to Earth's right, at the moment. Up here, there is no light and there are no clouds - nothing to diminish the infinite sprawl of the universe all around them. Stars and galaxies and oh, there's Mars, that pale red shape of it hovering far, far out. Easier to see out here. There are telescopes, too, positioned in a line along the glass - Cassius might see further celestial bodies if he looks.
(Hugh has, often. In the beginning, when space was still wonderful and new. Now he just comes here to bask in the soft celestial glow and drink.)
"Enjoy."