Two Faces // A TSAMS AU [Canceled, I guess?]

Chapter 4. - Black Suffocates The Surface

CONTENT WARNING

This chapter contains themes that may be distressing to some readers, including:

-Depictions of injury

 -Self-Repair

 -Psychological Distress

 -Themes of Family Dysfunction

Reader discretion is advised.

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[ -> The color black represents the unknown. ]

"What should I do now?..."

He tapped his upper arm with his fingertips, creating a little melody what melted with the atmosphere of the room. While the room wasn't really organised as Solar would prefer to, it still had a calm presence, indeed showed through the music playing in the background. It was soft and welcoming, yet not catching much attention. It didn't drown any sounds, instead pushing them more in the foreground. The pillows were filled with smooth cotton, therefore leaning gently against the wall and not stiff as some of the boxes laying around. Their content was covered in cheap fabric, stretched on the edges and showing some of the inside as the lights made them transparent, seeing that they were filled with every kind of tool, some unused. But some already rusted on the metal parts and dried oil started to shimmer as the lights fell on them. Dust corns were flying in the air, looking like little sparks when they got closer to some of the light sources set up in the room. They were set up in every corner, some hanging on the ceiling. They were the soft kind, reflecting in Solar's casing and blending with his orange. He continued to observe the peaceful surroundings of the room, his body perfectly still except his hands now bending each other's fingers, sometimes getting a quiet mechanical click out of them. Even if his smell sensors weren't currently on, he still could feel the sudden breeze of fizzy-faz coming along, mixing with the dustiness holding onto the air. He stopped the repeated action at his indexfinger, instead crossed over his legs to finally take a look at his mangled arm. During the process to bring his mangled limb to his right upperleg, sparks ignited and formed a burning smell. The wires hummed loudly like grasshoppers, drowning the calm music. Solar narrowed his eyes as the sparks blinded his sight, but drived them away by using the back of his hand. As he gained a clear eyesight, he turned with his functional hand his arm in every perspective, looked how big the damage is. His sensors detected that his arm was not functioning properly for the time being until he got the right tools and new wires to reconnect it to his nervous system.

"Well - No shit, Sherlock," Solar hissed, his voice in a annoyed, yet sarcastically cheerful tone as the arm crackled between his fingers. He tilted his head and leaned forward to bring some boxes to the couch, locked them in his grip as he heard the tools clashing against each other, then rustle in overlapping fashion until a thick dust, consisting of countless small grains, soared up like barn shallows through the fabric. With the sharp tip of two fingers, he carefully grasped the edge of the cloth and slid it over the box, dragging the end behind it where folds started to appear, until the smell of rust and oil arose. He leaned his head back for a moment as the accumulated dust moved up to prevent it from collecting on his face, protecting his eyes by covering them with his hand. As the dust settled, he looked into the box and ran each of his fingers over the tools, learning how long they hadn't been used. "Looks like Moon isn't a big fan of cleaning, isn't he?," he mutters, his tone absent but still a little amused, as he examined if their condition is enough to serve their purpose. His fingers are covered in most places by the thick dust, therefore the actual base colour - a dark orange, having on some parts yellow accents -, accentuated in the gray it was surrounded by. "Although they aren't the newest ones, they still can be useful," he said under his breath, taking some of the tools out of the box they've been stuck in for around five months, give or take. When he found the right tools to work with, he carefully brought his arm into a stiff position, sliding his fingers along it until he felt a notch extending from the end of the forearm to the middle of the upper arm. With his fingertip he gently opened it, a breeze of rust and a burning smell irritated his eyes. "What the hell did you do to me, Moon?...", he asked, a sharp breath closing by as he looked through the damage caused by him. "...While you attempted to kill your own brother," he added in a lower voice, his eyes narrowing, "Tch. Pathetic piece of crap." His hand reached for one of the screwdrivers lying next to him, but it froze. Only his ring finger lifted the cheap plastic handle off the upholstery, twitching as he went silent. The memories echoed in his hallow feeling head, the calm music got shoved into the foreground.