Day 20 - Holding Hands

"Well. You've, uh...certainly got big hands, Egil."

It was a ridiculous understatement, of course. The Machina stood, what, some eight feet tall (two meters half, or whatever it is we're working with), and Shulk only five-and-some? It was simple law of humanoid proportion. Maybe aesthetics, and maybe Meyneth's sensibility of design all came into it.

Shulk was positively dwarfed.

This fact could be helped, somewhat, by the fact that they were not standing side by side, hoof and heel, but rather seated on a bench in front of Egil's offshore lab, watching the new Colony 9 from afar.

"We of Mechonis," Egil rumbled, "may be mild-mannered, but we are not meek."

If the intention there was something along the lines of "Yes, I do indeed have big hands, and I could easily palm your skull betwixt the digits of one," then Shulk received, loud and clear.

Over years, their non-quantifiable reunion would temper. Their connection, cerebral to cerebral, aggrieved and tormented, would meld.

It started with joined hands, watched eyes, matched steps and synchronized sighs, but it promised much more than that. There was no better way to face this new world than together. Quite possibly, there was no other way, period.

Frowning, Shulk shifted so that his right knee moved into the bench seat and his left leg dangled looser still. He added his second hand to the hold, continuing to peer down, then slowly turned his gaze up to meet Egil's.

What would the expression be - a gift in one hand, a knife in the other?

Soon, Egil's right hand closed over all.

"Our lives are irrevocably intertwined."

Shulk swallowed. Those red eyes were deep, deep, deep. "I think that's a choice you make."

"Thus why I speak in the declarative."

Shulk closed his eyes and squeezed.