[ David shifts over slightly when she takes a seat, making room. It's weird, having a conversation without speaking. It feels new, though he's having a hard time trusting the idea that anything's actually new. Not when his memory's still a mess.
That said: he knows he isn't from space. There's a strange glimpse of something close, the memory of vast, empty spaces, and cold. And jazz music, which doesn't exactly fit. ]
( I have memories of it. Growing up here. )
[ That's more an observation than it is an answer. He's looking out at the trees, and he draws his focus back to her when he continues; it has a weird effect, eye contact when they're speaking without words, making it feel more intimate. ]
( They said I was in an accident. That I should remember everything, eventually. Right now it's— spotty. )
no subject
That said: he knows he isn't from space. There's a strange glimpse of something close, the memory of vast, empty spaces, and cold. And jazz music, which doesn't exactly fit. ]
( I have memories of it. Growing up here. )
[ That's more an observation than it is an answer. He's looking out at the trees, and he draws his focus back to her when he continues; it has a weird effect, eye contact when they're speaking without words, making it feel more intimate. ]
( They said I was in an accident. That I should remember everything, eventually. Right now it's— spotty. )