Syte Scraps (Unfinished WIPs)

Swift's home device was typically quiet, a place of soft-spoken voices and softly burbling coffee machines. The device couldn't handle excessive motion or noise; it suited Strike and himself quite nicely, that way.

Swift and Strike's schedules rarely aligned. Swift had his day-job, and usually had an early night. Strike was all but nocturnal in comparison, though Swift didn't know what the vampire did with all of its free time. Granted, Swift never bothered to ask- he was a little too squeamish, and had a vague idea of what to expect. It was better that he didn't know for certain, anyway.

This morning was one of the few times that their schedules matched up. Swift was making breakfast, manipulating data to form something vaguely resembling the human experience of food. His barista side-gig made him especially experienced with the process- though he had no memory of consuming human food and drink himself, other Virusytes with more functional memories found it accurate enough to keep coming back. A bleary-eyed Strike was trying his best to stay awake at the table, head propped up in his arms as it watched Swift cook. Strike yawned, and Swift glanced away from the food.

“You don't have to stay up.”

“S'fine,” came Strike's reply, slurred from exhaustion.

[...]

Swift held the mug in his hand, the warmth permeating through comfortably as he picked through his supplies. Syrups, foams, creams- really, it was all modified image files, but he liked the experience. It was more fun to pour from a bottle or stir with a spoon, as opposed to simply editing the qualities into place. Deep down, beneath the Virusyte code, something playfully human remained. It was a Virusyte constant, really- his cafe remained in business for a reason.

“Do you mind if I try something?”

Strike shrugged nonchalantly in response. Strike was typically somewhat apathetic, but Swift wasn't entirely sure if the vampire had even heard him in its sleep-deprived state.

[...]

A sharp inhale from Strike, the electrical crackle of corrupt data gone sour, and the clatter of ceramic cracking against the counter, all in quick succession. Swift whipped around at the noise, knowingly grabbing a towel before he'd fully processed the noise.

“Strike? What happened?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Strike hissed, his face a mask of embarrassment. “Shit…”

Strike righted his cup with his good hand. His remaining arm flared up, jagged mosaics of broken textures rippling in peaks along his forearm. It was a telltale sign of data decay; the code was unraveling, detaching from the base program as it lost function. Not an uncommon sight from Strike, error-ridden as he was. Still, Swift felt bad. It looked painful.

Swift wordlessly moved to mop up the spill on the counter, and Strike lifted his mug to allow him to clean. Swift noted that the cup had a brand new adornment; a nasty crack, criss-crossing along the bottom. He was more impressed that the virtual item could be damaged than he was worried about the broken ceramic.