and with a cruel lick of face it happened that she felt her tongue had licked everything now so dementia could reasonably set in. She doesn't need any more sensations or tastes any more, probably just stick to sounds 'cos they can still stop breath deep and high in the chest, heavy sound lumps that evoke a newness that's unachievable by any other sensory means.
On the lounger her friends sit mute until she activates them with a wave of the metal arm, when she does 'the metal arm', their heads drop, humanely, and then rise shaking slightly from side to side as if waking from a dream. arguably almost true, as dreams still don't not mean being inanimate outwardly, whilst the cpu whirrs on standby.
'Let's share a raspberry cone' they say, and then automatically head for the door, she stops just beyond the door frame, feeling its smooth layered painted surface for bumps, reaches for moto-friends shoulder and stops them. Surprised they turn around, mouth agape in pre-programmed emotional response.
'click' sound is on.
Facing MF, eyes fixed on the bridge of their perfectly mimicked nose, they wait for the intro to play out and position their body square on, tense, almost robotic in style. The initial three noises are rumbling base, and she animates from the base up, her muscles softening as each cell activates, the tom-tom moves her shoulders and arms attached by strings. 'the lump is getting bigger!' she manages to judder out whilst arms rhythmically swing on their elbow axis. MF's unrealistic eyes don't move for a few seconds, whilst the CPU searches response appropriation and picks out globalised flash mob behaviours c2015 from an agglomeration of clips and news reel - and breaks into similar, but complimentary moves with their friend, two friends dance move.