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[wrackful]

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murphy

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[kobes]

[the relief bleeds through, stark and vivid, speaking of something koby can't quite parse the shape of -- murphy's mind slots into it, neatly, familiar and alien at once, like a different dialect of the same language. it's still very new to koby, communicating this way, though it comes as effortlessly as breathing or blinking.

it's not common, this sort of dialogue but it's similar enough to what koby's come to depend on (shanks's haki, quentin's magic, all dependable, safe, effortless) that he settles in, puts his feet up, makes himself comfortable. metaphorically.]

(Are you? Why? Because of) [a curious nudge around the shape of murphy's thoughts, his mind, his essence. a presence, inorganic, a connection, severed -- koby grazes his unseen touch over each.] (this? Or does everyone talk like this, where you're from?)

[wrackful]

[There's something like a flinch.]

( Okay, the poking around is a little rude. )

[It comes with resistance for the first time - not harsh enough to push Koby away entirely, just a hand up, a quiet that's enough.]

( Yeah, it's because of my bug. Best the place I'm from had was radios. Apocalypse took out the other options. )

[kobes]

(Oh, sorry.)

[immediately, the presence moves back, the equivalent of sitting politely, hands folded, no longer touching anything. the curiosity remains, eagerly focused on the slight bit of resistance, like koby can barely keep from reaching out and pressing back.

he does, though, focusing on what’s being communicated instead:]

(Radio’s more or less what I’m used to, to. Well, psychic snail radio.

Also -- bug? Apocalypse?)