[This place was colossal. The strange, barren landscape continued on endlessly, more expansive than any Titan. The confusion inexplicable fatigue and were bad enough, but then that damned bug... she hadn't noticed it until it bit her, and now it's nearly impossible to swat with the spotty numbness spreading through her limbs. Mòrag seems oblivious to the swirling marks spreading up her neck and over her jaw.]
[She clumsily drops to her knees beside the prismatic pool, utterly parched after wandering who knows how many peds. Her determined expression twists through confusion and something softer and pained; it's not her dusty uniform and marked face in the reflection, but a young boy dressed in white with a gold circlet lightly shaking an unresponsive Mòrag, soldiers ringed around him as another knelt and felt for her pulse. The Mòrag here tries to reach out to the surface of the pool, but her arm moves jerkily, and she seems to be having a hard time lifting it.]
...Niall...
II - e
Edible. [Mòrag repeats dryly, giving the food bag a light shake and listening to the powered content shift.] I suppose we're expected to take its word for it. Convenient, given that whoever left it here isn't around to attest to its safety.
[Seems like bait? Seems like bait.]
III - g
[Patience. This is—"How do you genetically differ from others within your subspecies?"—not captivity. They have food, water, and knowledge of the local area. This is preferable to starvation. This is—"-data shows you spend abnormal periods of activity with your headwear; is it vital to your physiological—"—trying her patience!]
I am not a spectacle! [Mòrag snaps, forcibly snatching back her hat from a scientist. At the outburst, one edges towards the sedating gun, while the one that had asked about her cap giddily whispers to another, "See! It IS an adaptation!"]
Mòrag Ladair | Xenoblade Chronicles 2
[This place was colossal. The strange, barren landscape continued on endlessly, more expansive than any Titan. The confusion inexplicable fatigue and were bad enough, but then that damned bug... she hadn't noticed it until it bit her, and now it's nearly impossible to swat with the spotty numbness spreading through her limbs. Mòrag seems oblivious to the swirling marks spreading up her neck and over her jaw.]
[She clumsily drops to her knees beside the prismatic pool, utterly parched after wandering who knows how many peds. Her determined expression twists through confusion and something softer and pained; it's not her dusty uniform and marked face in the reflection, but a young boy dressed in white with a gold circlet lightly shaking an unresponsive Mòrag, soldiers ringed around him as another knelt and felt for her pulse. The Mòrag here tries to reach out to the surface of the pool, but her arm moves jerkily, and she seems to be having a hard time lifting it.]
...Niall...
II - e
Edible. [Mòrag repeats dryly, giving the food bag a light shake and listening to the powered content shift.] I suppose we're expected to take its word for it. Convenient, given that whoever left it here isn't around to attest to its safety.
[Seems like bait? Seems like bait.]
III - g
[Patience. This is—"How do you genetically differ from others within your subspecies?"—not captivity. They have food, water, and knowledge of the local area. This is preferable to starvation. This is—"-data shows you spend abnormal periods of activity with your headwear; is it vital to your physiological—"—trying her patience!]
I am not a spectacle! [Mòrag snaps, forcibly snatching back her hat from a scientist. At the outburst, one edges towards the sedating gun, while the one that had asked about her cap giddily whispers to another, "See! It IS an adaptation!"]