When they reach the edge of the sand - a stretch between the dock and the lighthouse - Ned stops. He experiences a moment of dissonance when he spots a camera and remembers that, even here, they are being watched. Even this second. The two of them, two of the subjects of whatever this experiment is, their behaviors no doubt being recorded and processed and assessed. Along with the usual wave of fear as he remembers just where he is and how helpless he is, Ned feels a stab of resentment, a desire to reap as much joy out of this as possible to spite the people behind it.
"Shoes off," he suggests to Daneel, pushing the thought away. "And you can- um-" Ned trails off in embarrassment, turning slightly away from Daneel as he pulls off his pants and folds up, setting them on the sand. He knows he oughtn't be so self-conscious: he's wearing boxers and a tee-shirt, hardly that immodest, by most people's standards. But Ned's standards aren't most peoples' standards, and so he crosses his arms tightly and buries his toes in the sand. Ice plants start poking up around them, neon purple flowers with thousands of thin petals.
"I don't normally do stuff like this really." He doesn't know why he feels the urge to explain to Daneel. "I'm not... impulsive. Or adventurous. Or good at... having fun."
It isn't such a long drive, from the city to the shore, but Ned hasn't gone in years. Perhaps it's because he knew that seeing all the people there in clusters - groups of friends, lovers both young and old, families with small children - would remind him of his own loneliness.
no subject
When they reach the edge of the sand - a stretch between the dock and the lighthouse - Ned stops. He experiences a moment of dissonance when he spots a camera and remembers that, even here, they are being watched. Even this second. The two of them, two of the subjects of whatever this experiment is, their behaviors no doubt being recorded and processed and assessed. Along with the usual wave of fear as he remembers just where he is and how helpless he is, Ned feels a stab of resentment, a desire to reap as much joy out of this as possible to spite the people behind it.
"Shoes off," he suggests to Daneel, pushing the thought away. "And you can- um-" Ned trails off in embarrassment, turning slightly away from Daneel as he pulls off his pants and folds up, setting them on the sand. He knows he oughtn't be so self-conscious: he's wearing boxers and a tee-shirt, hardly that immodest, by most people's standards. But Ned's standards aren't most peoples' standards, and so he crosses his arms tightly and buries his toes in the sand. Ice plants start poking up around them, neon purple flowers with thousands of thin petals.
"I don't normally do stuff like this really." He doesn't know why he feels the urge to explain to Daneel. "I'm not... impulsive. Or adventurous. Or good at... having fun."
It isn't such a long drive, from the city to the shore, but Ned hasn't gone in years. Perhaps it's because he knew that seeing all the people there in clusters - groups of friends, lovers both young and old, families with small children - would remind him of his own loneliness.