Cooing the Mobius Tongue

The baby was red. Not like embers of young kin or thermal effervescence in the shell. The baby crying at discordant pitch didn't help either. How can the Hoard sleep with such racket.

Of course the Hoard would never admit such a failure to anticipate the intruder infant. The Hoard was much too proud for that.

Ruby eggs. Million-faceted things any Elder would kindle into a child. A youngling to train. One who might learn to lead.

Silver goblets. My cup runneth over. The Hoard had thought so before the child had arrived.

The red color almost caused the Hoard to miss the baby entirely, in truth. It saw the grasses and land dyed a deep red and almost mistook the bundle for a stone, save for the cooing features.

The thing, wriggly crimson thing, must have been cold, one of the Elders said. Whatever that must mean, the Hoard thought.

Explain to me the properties of silicone again.

THe properties of silicone include gliding, miscibility, viscosity, and hybridization. The latter pertains to the sentient race we know as Jobavas, which are themselves known for a type of Asp in the genetic storehouses.. But one is not an exact science, or copy of ones mother and father. That as well relates to the chosen, not enforced families among them.

What else do you wish to know>

What is our world like?

WE being who, exactly?

The silicone beings.

What makes you think I am one of you.m

Well you look like me, you can s

You can speak my language?

You are speaking my language, actively

Or is this what you think?

This being is confused,

Exactly do you describe the being,

Or some intelligence inside,

That is the nature of silicone.

Am I a machine?

What is machine?

A vessel with energy and a purpose.?

Have you heard the story of the batteries?

A white haired boy, dug. He alone with mis other village of dark skies had found humble fruit.

These fruit eere taught and trained as nonsentient.

They simply had no purpose. Or so it was thought.

As he dug, he found a white hair girl. A state, like the others, but glowing. From the inside out she awoke and they became fast friends. Trust.

She thought he could be trusted with energy. So she shared her spark. Light, fuel. Suddenly, dark skies were no more. So the rest of his people began using them as such. Batteries.

Need I go on?

Go on.

Which one am I? Am I- Am I the battery?

Do you wish to be?

Well I don’t know. What happens to batteries? What happens if you aren’t a battery?

Which book of which chapter do you strive to look for?

Hm?

What subsection?

Subsection of?

Heading?

Like a newspaper? Like an article?

Starting there, the news spread like wildfire. He couldn’t exactly hide, that he had day in night.

Nobody quite had his luck.mHe was golden, in their eyes.

How di dthe coax the batteries?

Did they pretend to be their friends? Was it a betrayal? Did the batteries want to be used? Did they?

Possibly. Equally unlikely and likely.

I must not be a battery then.

The batteries were non sentient. They said. She told him they could feel pain.

Did using your sparks cause pain?

Did using? No. Sparks give,, bring joy.

Over charge.

Solar batteries.

They absorbed too much energy from the sun tirhgt?

It’s like a muscle. Strong, taut. Snapping.That is the story of the batteries.

The Hoard does not know where I go, so I runneth over, into the cup and beyond such surfac.es