A Simple Fascination
At best, the Broken Things bore Zila. They don't release that surge of power, don't fill her up with warmth and emotion. That is the purpose of the Heart Bearers when she drives her claws into their chests and feels that burst of heart strength like the final last explosion of a desperate sun. They are not her kin whom she can curl up to when tired. No, the Broken Things are shattered pieces of a puzzle, and there is only one who matches perfectly with her. None on her traveling home are the other half.
At worst, the Broken Things are threats, beasts which try and destroy her, tear at her, annihilate her for their false purpose. In such cases, the only thing she can do is strike back, tear at them with nails and teeth and darkness.
And then there are the odd things, the Always Broken: those which were shattered in some manner even before they lost their heart strength.
There is the Broken which merges with other things, although nothing ever fixes it. It calls itself Voxden, although that is not a True Name, not yet. It bears that title with a kind of mocking towards the rest of its blind kin. That is another thing which makes it odd. That mocking, that passion- it is not something a Broken Thing should possess, but Voxden burns with it, drowns her in the spicey scents of obsession and love and insanity as he stares at her older, precious Lost kin.
It is not a feeling which is unreturned. Her older kin returns it with just as much passion, although it is tempered with guilt and desperation alongside that deranged love.
She is with her older Kin always, yet Ienzo seeks the Voxden Broken for comfort and warmth. Other Lost press against each other in the Darkness, but not he. When he needs the touch of another, needs to whisper words into an ear for no reason other than he can, he searches for the Broken. Those moments are off limits to her; when Ienzo reaches to softly trace a line down Voxden's arm, she knows it is time to take her leave. Smoothly, she unwraps herself from her precious older Kin, shaking herself out of the form of a black labcoat in favor of her true form. Then she leaves, and whenever she looks back, there is such a look of terrifying devotion and need, she shudders to think of the Heartless which may still yet go by the name Devon Hawking.
Such times leave her alone, although never without numerous things to do. There are worlds to explore, her kin to rest with in the tunnels of the giant traveller known as Desunt Cetera, and the lesser Broken Things to investigate. There are the Suicide Needles, which pounce on anything whether it be friend or foe. A temporary amusement, but much too violent, and always screaming into her head of death. Then there are the Workers, which keep the large traveler floating through the expanse of gummispace and make sure there is air to breathe and food to eat for the other Broken. Those are just the lessers, however, and they both quickly bore her.
The mistress of the Workers, however, is another matter.
Unlike most Broken Zila can think of, this one which commands the Workers is not pale of skin, nor fair nor dark of hair. Her skin is a deep brown, and her hair reminds Zila of the lines which run down the bodies of what Heart Bearers would call Nextshadows. Her eyes, the color of some of the little floating kin, except brighter. And protruding from her empty chest, a rarity...
A thin string of heart strength flows from her chest, showing an odd disconnection with her heart. Even though the Xandra Broken does not act any differently then her more honest of kin, emotion still seems to protrude from that one area, independent of any one body. Zila finds herself initially fascinated by it, but then begins to take an interest in the Broken Thing as a whole.
She's really quite pretty, Zila thinks to herself as she creeps along the walls of the room of ships. Far below her, a smaller traveller is pried open, and Xandra is practically knee deep in it. Her usual white clothes have been abandoned today in favor of sturdy, dark wear for her meddling in the traveler. Keeping quiet, Zila watches and creeps down the walls, over railings, and done to the large floor. The Xandra does not notice her, too absorbed in her work on the traveler. It is only when Zila has crawled up the traveler as well does she look up.
She starts in surprise, partially from Zila's appearance and partially from the loud BANG! sound the traveler makes. Normally, Heartless can make almost no sounds at all- perhaps the occasional growl and maybe a roar, but nothing else unless they are powerful. At the way Xandra's face twists, however, something odd and foreign and almost forgotten snaps out of Zila's mouther; it bubbles out from her lips, perched there for a moment before it explodes, shattering the silence.
It's laughter.
Covering her mouth with her elongated fingers, Zila carefully draws her legs backwards, retreating while remaining in the crouched position she normally is. Her luminous eyes stare at Xandra, and her antennae give a twitch before she suddenly leaps away, dashing for the door and shadows.
Frowning, Xandra wipes some sweat away from her cheek with the back of a glove, only smearing traces of gummi there. The Heartless with the almost human, feminine shape never looks back, a living shadow as it disappears around a corner. What the hell was that all about?
