[ It's a strange contrast: organic and inorganic, calm and jubilant. One would think that it'd be hard to read a person from the hard lines of their metal body, but there's an openness to Zenyatta's body language that Bardo appreciates immediately— it would be unfair to attribute the word "convincing" to an omnic, probably, but an anachronistic cat-person has no frame of reference when it comes to politely describing what he's seeing.
The long and short of it is: Bardo smiles. Shoulders relaxed, he shrugs. Petals spill from the crook of his elbow in a multicolored cascade. ]
Ahh, someone has to do the hard work while everyone else has a good time. [ Mock-weary, with a hint of teasing to lilt the corners of his words. ] I'll appreciate everything once it winds down.
[Smiling back is, clearly, somewhat beyond Zenyatta. But somehow there is something in the tilt of his head, the way the angle of his eye-slots shifts with the slightest motion, the glow of his jieba brightening incrementally- they are all the expression he needs.
And how could he possibly fail to return such obvious warmth?]
Ah, yes. Your burden is clearly tremendous. Are you quite sure I could not tempt you to dance, my friend? I am sure someone could watch your flowers for you for a single song.
[Already he is holding out a hand, half-bowed as if in anticipation of a curtsey. The entire city is in high spirits, after all- and if he plays it up a little he knows he can get one or two nearby spectators to jostle Bardo encouragingly, you can't turn down an offer like that!]
[ That moment when the crowd hits the betray button on your weak ass; Bardo is about to refuse the simple request with the age-old cliche of "old cats like me don't dance", when the bystanders start heckling him to participate in At Least One Song. To make matters worse, a grinning Prismal swoops in from to his left and confiscates the one exit strategy he had left: the flowers in his arms.
This is what it must feel like, he thinks, to be naked in a snowstorm. One free hand strays up to his jaw, and his palm rubs at its jut. ]
...Are you gonna lead?
[ He's been to festivals plenty of times, but only as a passive observer; his tail twitches in weary concern.
But, well.
It can't hurt, he thinks, for someone like him to make a fool of himself. So he'll take that proffered hand, sigh, and bow his head with surprising grace. ]
[Zenyatta almost bursts out laughing- but, fortunately for whatever dignity Bardo might have left, his self-possession gets the better of his giggles and he simply bows his head in what he hopes is a rather more modest display of amusement. A monk wouldn't stoop so low as schadenfreude.
Though, technically speaking, Zenyatta decides, he has not been a monk for quite some time.
That said, when Bardo accepts his hand Zenyatta does little more than rearrange him into what he has already learned is a fairly traditional hold, the fingers of one pair of hands laced while his other comes to rest on the subtle divot of his waist.
Light though his touch is, he can still appreciate the firm muscle beneath Bardo's clothes, strong in a way that he had not anticipated. As the music swells and he leads him away to a round of applause, Zenyatta looks curiously up into his face.]
You are lighter on your feet than I expected, my friend! Is it feline, or is it a talent you have nurtured yourself?
[ Dignity is vastly overrated— to be fair to Zenyatta, Bardo didn't have any to lose. The first few steps are bumbling, a flurry of half-shuffles that try to keep in time with his partner's easy poise (a cat trying to chase the shadow of a bird), but muscle memory eventually kicks in for the save.
The eventual dance is more practical than artful; a swordsman gracefully parrying his opponent's movements. Bardo's focus pinpoints, furrowing his brows until he's being spoken to.
A blink, and he relaxes to warm neutral again. ]
—Hm? Ahh, it must be a cat thing. I can't remember the last time I bothered dancing.
[ Half-truth, half-lie.
Now that he's less afraid of being a Complete Fool, he languidly tries to spin Zenyatta in a lazy arc. ]
What about you? [ Hm. How does he say this without sounding like a complete asshole? ] No offense, but I've never seen a 'human' before, let alone one made out of metal. [ Nailed it. ]
Edited (words... my mortal enemy) 2019-05-02 00:41 (UTC)
[Certainly Bardo's movements have a curious, practised kind of weight to them; though he is light on his feet, though his body learns each of his partner's daintier steps, he does not entirely carry himself as a dancer.
Nor is it entirely feline, despite Bardo's claims. There's reach strength in the arms that twirl him, the gesture made all the more effortless by the anti-gravity module that keeps Zenyatta an inch or two above the ground and renders each spin balletic.
It isn't quite enough to throw off his gyroscope, but he still holds onto Bardo just in case as it finishes- and laughs up into his face at his clumsy (but appreciated) attempt at sensitivity.]
Normally, he'd use the robot-with-AI explanation, but it sounds as if he might need to take a step back.]
I am an omnic: a self-sustaining machine, controlled by a computer so complex as to be self-aware, and thus almost indistinguishable from the human brain.
[Zenyatta would be surprised if he hadn't familiarised himself even in passing with computers during his time here. As he continues he steps forward, gently urging Bardo to lean backwards as he places one hand securely on the small of the man's back.]
You have seen the street cleaners here? I am an advanced version of that.
[ Ah, so Zenyatta really is going to lead. It's pointless to pretend to be bashful at this juncture, so Bardo only hesitates for a moment to make eye contact with the Prismal closest to them before he leans back.
A silent soak it up, buddy. Go on, immortalize this moment, make him famous. (Or don't, actually.)
Still, despite the fact that Bardo is a well-built 6-foot-tall catman being dipped by an omnic who's maybe half a head smaller than him, he feels secure in Zenyatta's grip. Even with his feet planted on the ground, Bardo feels like he's gliding; maybe it's secondhand antigravity. ]
—Yeah, I've seen the street cleaners. [ He manages, as he tries to make sense of the computers spiel. Zenyatta can probably see the cogs turning in the Ribika's head as he tries to parse some of the terminology. ] Sorry that I had to make you compare yourself to them.
[ Because, presumably, it must get incredibly old to have to go through this. An apologetic half-sound, and Bardo tries to reverse their positions. ]
Anyway, you're a better dancer than half the cats I've seen. Don't make me swoon too much.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
The long and short of it is: Bardo smiles. Shoulders relaxed, he shrugs. Petals spill from the crook of his elbow in a multicolored cascade. ]
Ahh, someone has to do the hard work while everyone else has a good time. [ Mock-weary, with a hint of teasing to lilt the corners of his words. ] I'll appreciate everything once it winds down.
no subject
And how could he possibly fail to return such obvious warmth?]
Ah, yes. Your burden is clearly tremendous. Are you quite sure I could not tempt you to dance, my friend? I am sure someone could watch your flowers for you for a single song.
[Already he is holding out a hand, half-bowed as if in anticipation of a curtsey. The entire city is in high spirits, after all- and if he plays it up a little he knows he can get one or two nearby spectators to jostle Bardo encouragingly, you can't turn down an offer like that!]
no subject
This is what it must feel like, he thinks, to be naked in a snowstorm. One free hand strays up to his jaw, and his palm rubs at its jut. ]
...Are you gonna lead?
[ He's been to festivals plenty of times, but only as a passive observer; his tail twitches in weary concern.
But, well.
It can't hurt, he thinks, for someone like him to make a fool of himself. So he'll take that proffered hand, sigh, and bow his head with surprising grace. ]
—Ahh, fine. Be gentle with me.
no subject
Though, technically speaking, Zenyatta decides, he has not been a monk for quite some time.
That said, when Bardo accepts his hand Zenyatta does little more than rearrange him into what he has already learned is a fairly traditional hold, the fingers of one pair of hands laced while his other comes to rest on the subtle divot of his waist.
Light though his touch is, he can still appreciate the firm muscle beneath Bardo's clothes, strong in a way that he had not anticipated. As the music swells and he leads him away to a round of applause, Zenyatta looks curiously up into his face.]
You are lighter on your feet than I expected, my friend! Is it feline, or is it a talent you have nurtured yourself?
no subject
The eventual dance is more practical than artful; a swordsman gracefully parrying his opponent's movements. Bardo's focus pinpoints, furrowing his brows until he's being spoken to.
A blink, and he relaxes to warm neutral again. ]
—Hm? Ahh, it must be a cat thing. I can't remember the last time I bothered dancing.
[ Half-truth, half-lie.
Now that he's less afraid of being a Complete Fool, he languidly tries to spin Zenyatta in a lazy arc. ]
What about you? [ Hm. How does he say this without sounding like a complete asshole? ] No offense, but I've never seen a 'human' before, let alone one made out of metal. [ Nailed it. ]
man fuck words who needs em
Nor is it entirely feline, despite Bardo's claims. There's reach strength in the arms that twirl him, the gesture made all the more effortless by the anti-gravity module that keeps Zenyatta an inch or two above the ground and renders each spin balletic.
It isn't quite enough to throw off his gyroscope, but he still holds onto Bardo just in case as it finishes- and laughs up into his face at his clumsy (but appreciated) attempt at sensitivity.]
Normally, he'd use the robot-with-AI explanation, but it sounds as if he might need to take a step back.]
I am an omnic: a self-sustaining machine, controlled by a computer so complex as to be self-aware, and thus almost indistinguishable from the human brain.
[Zenyatta would be surprised if he hadn't familiarised himself even in passing with computers during his time here. As he continues he steps forward, gently urging Bardo to lean backwards as he places one hand securely on the small of the man's back.]
You have seen the street cleaners here? I am an advanced version of that.
i need em to love zenyatta!!!!
A silent soak it up, buddy. Go on, immortalize this moment, make him famous. (Or don't, actually.)
Still, despite the fact that Bardo is a well-built 6-foot-tall catman being dipped by an omnic who's maybe half a head smaller than him, he feels secure in Zenyatta's grip. Even with his feet planted on the ground, Bardo feels like he's gliding; maybe it's secondhand antigravity. ]
—Yeah, I've seen the street cleaners. [ He manages, as he tries to make sense of the computers spiel. Zenyatta can probably see the cogs turning in the Ribika's head as he tries to parse some of the terminology. ] Sorry that I had to make you compare yourself to them.
[ Because, presumably, it must get incredibly old to have to go through this. An apologetic half-sound, and Bardo tries to reverse their positions. ]
Anyway, you're a better dancer than half the cats I've seen. Don't make me swoon too much.