((WARNING: spoilers for all existing episodes of Caprica))
Land on your feet, in a crouch. Amazed. Hands outflung as if in flight. Fold your arms, unfold them, stretch one out before you and study your hand in amazement. Same scarred wrist. Run a finger over the keloid ridge. Reach up to feel your face. The back of your head. Fingers
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He was a strange juxtaposition of clean and dirty. He wore a clean white oxford and gray slacks, courtesy of whatever being who decided that poor students shouldn't have to go naked. But his face was scruffy, and his right hand was calloused and had dirt permanently caked under the nails, like a mechanic. His left hand was smooth metal.
"You don't have to take it if you don't want it. Or if you can't have it."
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Only then did her glance catch the metal hand at his side. Naturally, her first thought was of the U87 prototype. She blinked hard.
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He broke eye contact and stared at the floor. "I care about staying alive. Haven't found much else to do here."
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"I'm not a machine, but I'm not a person, either. And since dying doesn't seem to be working out, I don't know what else to do. Nothing's the same here. If you had something you used to care about, it's probably not out there anymore."
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Other people, she thought, could take off their holobands and leave virtual space at will. If these were other people, and not artifacts of a closed simulation under development. (A fantasy-castle game?)
"Are you -- stuck? In here?"
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"If this isn't the when and where you came from, then you're kinda fucked, though."
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"I don't know what you call frakked, but if it's this," he made an unmistakable universal hip thrust, "then yeah, it's the same thing. You got other nifty words we don't got here?"
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Salty language didn't bother her. She could be considered ... outspoken. Earthy, someone'd once said. Fiery, Daniel would have said (had said as much, you are the light and fire of my life, ballpoint lettered under the triter pre-printed sentiments of the holiday card). The hip-thrusting illustration didn't bother her, either -- made her roll her eyes a little, but in amusement, not disdain.
"Someone had a problem with 'Kobol' a few minutes ago. Think that's a nifty word? Other than that ... I don't know." She was fidgeting, picking at her fingernails, for lack of a cigarette to occupy her hands. "'Frak' covers it all, doesn't it? It's a versatile word. It lends itself to compounds. 'Cheap motherfrakker', 'got frakked on that deal', 'all frakked-up on amp'. To spice up language, add a dash of frak." The last sentence she delivered straight, like an advertisement.
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It sounded like the rules that applied to 'fuck' also worked for 'frak' as well. "Yeah, like he's a fucking fuck who fucks," Marcus said. Adjective, noun, and verb all in one sentence. "Between 'fuck' and 'shit', I think you've got most things covered."
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(clearly, Graystone Industries never invented Wii Fit)
but physical appearance wasn't the only reason to work out. There was the endorphin high to be had, and the recreational appeal of sport besides. She was well aware that not everyone had the luxury of a personal tennis court on the grounds of their home. Space was at a premium for most urban dwellers. Gym membership was probably more like that seedy place Daniel still liked to go when he felt like boxing.
"The one with the gym, or the one with the bar. I like both."
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