[Music is a fickle thing. You can write it, you can plan it, but there's an ephemeral quality to such. It changes. It alters. Like most things, one supposes. Why bother creating it in the first place? If you can't predict it with proper order, but if chaos has no form- where is the sense? Where is the meaning?
i hear a voice calling my name ˙ʇɹɐǝɥ ɐ ǝʌɐɥ oʇ uosɐǝɹ ɐ pǝʇɐǝɹɔ s,ʇᴉ
And at the stubborn insistence of the humans, the SQUIP's sound changes just a bit further.]
Calling, calling out!For the place of knowing! [Up. Up. Down. Down.] There's more than what can be linked... [Left. Right.Arms move towards its chest, as if pained.]
Calling, calling! Never will I look away! [Up. Up. Down. Down.] From what life has left for me... [Left foot shifts, with the right following. It moves towards Sissi, beside her, behind her. Arms don't quite surround her, but there's a sense of her, briefly, being a centering force as its hands take position inches from her upper arms.]
Yearning, yearning! For what's left of loving! [Left arm up. Right arm up. Left arm down. Right arm down.] Собой остаться дольше... [Left hand at her shoulder. Right hand at her shoulder. Then arms pull back, as does the rest of it...
...and from there, it's as if a set of strings have been cut. It abruptly drops to both knees, but the posture it's assumed is not one of a discarded marionette. It's not a heap of lifeless flesh.
The SQUIP's eyes are open. Its back is tall, straight.
Serene.
And in a voice that echoes, as if multiple voices were speaking it at once;]
5/B̶͝҉Ŗ́E̢͝Ą̢̀͏̵K̴̛͘͘͠
˙ʇɹɐǝɥ ɐ ǝʌɐɥ oʇ uosɐǝɹ ɐ pǝʇɐǝɹɔ s,ʇᴉ
And at the stubborn insistence of the humans, the SQUIP's sound changes just a bit further.]
There's more than what can be linked... [Left. Right. Arms move towards its chest, as if pained.]
From what life has left for me... [Left foot shifts, with the right following. It moves towards Sissi, beside her, behind her.
Arms don't quite surround her, but there's a sense of her, briefly, being a centering force as its hands take position inches from her upper arms.]
Yearning, yearning! For what's left of loving! [Left arm up. Right arm up. Left arm down. Right arm down.]
Собой остаться дольше... [Left hand at her shoulder. Right hand at her shoulder. Then arms pull back, as does the rest of it...
...and from there, it's as if a set of strings have been cut. It abruptly drops to both knees, but the posture it's assumed is not one of a discarded marionette. It's not a heap of lifeless flesh.
The SQUIP's eyes are open. Its back is tall, straight.
Serene.
And in a voice that echoes, as if multiple voices were speaking it at once;]