( Conceded without a fight and without disappointment; now that they have the chance to wind down, relax, and rest, she feels her eyes growing heavy and the warmth of him against her side and the fire before them is something she just wants to bask in, see them both sleeping off the aches that have settled into them as well as that new ache of having reunited. To find that their edges still line up no matter how they've been tattered over the years.
He starts explaining the functions of his arm, but he trails off to the touch as she takes his hand in her own and begins pressing each pressure pad at his fingertips one by one, giving him a squeeze to give her back one in return, feeling out any grit she'll need to clean out for him once they get somewhere proper and she has the necessary equipment.
At least her multitool in her pouch should have what she'd need to get into it. He should have been able to grow accustomed to this by using it to pull someone close and test his touch with their own, but she imagines it wasn't quite so simple. )
Whoever did this did quite well, all save the attachment. That could have used a cleaner touch. I'm glad there's a nerve mesh in place, though, and that it seems to have done you well over the years.
( She'll draw it up and lean forward just enough to kiss the back of that metal hand in a brief little peck. A reverent thing that thanks his limb for pulling through when he likely had no one else. She'll keep ahold of it as she relaxes back against his chest and her arms go slack, resting in her lap with cool metal fingertips near the bend of her knee. She'll be glad to get the poor thing cleaned up and re-greased. It felt quite gritty and the water hadn't helped matters any. )
He didn't have a choice but to take it as it came, but you know he had faced a lot of hardships in acclimating to three new limbs when he had lost so much of himself. As well as the recovery process for what was left of his body. We helped, to a degree. But there was only so much even we could do. He was in a tremendous amount of pain for too long. He wrote once that the Shambali were impressed with the concept of the nerve meshes—
( It was likely her development, unable to watch his suffering a moment longer. And it was probably one of the biggest shifts in revisions toward his comfort, but it helped his body translate the signals from the prosthetics to the brain in a way that remained a bit distant. It registered heat but didn't "burn", and it could take pressure but wouldn't "ache". That is why she's glad it found its way to his arm, though she doesn't know if it's quite the same as the ones she was familiar with. Maybe it's more rudimentary or maybe it's more direct.
It didn't matter. She's rambling, exhausted, and she's relaxing back against him. )
We should... get some rest. I can tell I'm running out of energy. ( Admitted lightly and with good humor, specifically because of the rambling. ) Will you lie down with me?
no subject
( Conceded without a fight and without disappointment; now that they have the chance to wind down, relax, and rest, she feels her eyes growing heavy and the warmth of him against her side and the fire before them is something she just wants to bask in, see them both sleeping off the aches that have settled into them as well as that new ache of having reunited. To find that their edges still line up no matter how they've been tattered over the years.
He starts explaining the functions of his arm, but he trails off to the touch as she takes his hand in her own and begins pressing each pressure pad at his fingertips one by one, giving him a squeeze to give her back one in return, feeling out any grit she'll need to clean out for him once they get somewhere proper and she has the necessary equipment.
At least her multitool in her pouch should have what she'd need to get into it. He should have been able to grow accustomed to this by using it to pull someone close and test his touch with their own, but she imagines it wasn't quite so simple. )
Whoever did this did quite well, all save the attachment. That could have used a cleaner touch. I'm glad there's a nerve mesh in place, though, and that it seems to have done you well over the years.
( She'll draw it up and lean forward just enough to kiss the back of that metal hand in a brief little peck. A reverent thing that thanks his limb for pulling through when he likely had no one else. She'll keep ahold of it as she relaxes back against his chest and her arms go slack, resting in her lap with cool metal fingertips near the bend of her knee. She'll be glad to get the poor thing cleaned up and re-greased. It felt quite gritty and the water hadn't helped matters any. )
He didn't have a choice but to take it as it came, but you know he had faced a lot of hardships in acclimating to three new limbs when he had lost so much of himself. As well as the recovery process for what was left of his body. We helped, to a degree. But there was only so much even we could do. He was in a tremendous amount of pain for too long. He wrote once that the Shambali were impressed with the concept of the nerve meshes—
( It was likely her development, unable to watch his suffering a moment longer. And it was probably one of the biggest shifts in revisions toward his comfort, but it helped his body translate the signals from the prosthetics to the brain in a way that remained a bit distant. It registered heat but didn't "burn", and it could take pressure but wouldn't "ache". That is why she's glad it found its way to his arm, though she doesn't know if it's quite the same as the ones she was familiar with. Maybe it's more rudimentary or maybe it's more direct.
It didn't matter. She's rambling, exhausted, and she's relaxing back against him. )
We should... get some rest. I can tell I'm running out of energy. ( Admitted lightly and with good humor, specifically because of the rambling. ) Will you lie down with me?