Alex offered a shaky smile at his laugh, the kind that dissolved into beatific wonder as he shoved the coat from his shoulders. With her left hand she began to test the food on the end of a utensil. Her right slowly stretched across the counter toward the tech he was presently explaining. Her fingertips hovered at his sternum, tracing seams and rivets in the air, moving toward his shoulder and then toward his neck. The distance kept was a combination of things, the length of her arm being a strong deterrent, as it hurt to lean her midsection against the counter. But both not wanting to smear gunk on a stunning suit of tech and not knowing how her rescuer would react to a stranger mauling him in the hands-on, lost-in-fascinating-things world Alex had a tendency to embrace were cause to stay her hand as well.
Yes, probably it was a very good thing she wasn't close enough to lose herself in running her hands all over his suit.
"Fantastic," she mumbled around a mouthful of something passable as roughage. "And is it merely super functional plating, or more? There's a lot of components...It's not like, plugged into you, is it? Or actually you? I'm not judging--I've seen both. Worked with folks in both situations, though you know, a lot of them don't talk much."
That might have been the reason she wasn't fond of the overtly cyborg look, for herself. Because however much she hated her freckles, however much she had to fight to have her accomplishments seen as useful, she did like being unassuming and small. So long as she didn't open her mouth. People overlooked unassuming and small and quiet and in most cases, it was just fraggin' easier to work when no one considered you important enough to bother. She also rather expected using tech as part of one's person changed that person. Made them...less human and more...whoever owned the patent. If she were ever to get implants, she'd want them somewhere discreet, and WAY less bulky than any part of the suit the captain was encased in. Somewhere not noticeable to someone on a passing glance or during a conversation; she'd both want and need the edge.
Unfortunately, depending on where in the galaxy one was, that didn't leave many places for modification, and since she had zero tact and no interest in shoving a computer up her hoohah, the Agency had given up on trying to sign her in for their elite programs. No sense dressing a mouthy danger-prone engineer up to mingle in nothing but a couple slinky strips of fabric and her hair to cover up, no sir. Baggy cargo pants and a tank top and an antisocial spot in some maintenance tunnel somewhere? All the way.
Of course, not letting the Agency stick their tech in anything but her tools also meant that she always had a way out if she wanted. One that didn't involve trying to find a chop shop in order to get some tracking signal cut out of her flesh.
"But you're talking a little. So I guess that's a moot point. What does this do?" She wiggled her fingers toward the side of his face. "And obviously you can see me, right? But can you see me, see me? Or is it some funky infrared screen? Or code? Or multiple vid screens funneling in like some kind of insect-vision? Or neon green with white dots to tell you where...it's not important. I...it's been a really long time since someone's let me...moons, I'm mangling this."
Because he hadn't gotten angry at her speaking or asking of questions, because he hadn't beaten her to try to make her speak or answer questions, now apparently even her chastising thoughts were going to come out of her mouth.
Alex wanted to beat her head on the counter. Maybe hide in the cleanser for a year. She did neither. She took a breath, and considered what actually was important as she began to eat in earnest. The list of things that needed done on the ship, for instance. Which was a lot. A lot of pretty fraggin' important things.
"So I've gone from one demolished ship to one that might very well become demolished on attempt to land?" She snorted, inhaled red fluff the wrong way, and wound up coughing. When she opened the second packet of liquid with as much finesse at the first, he'd probably have some inkling that her table manners left a little to be desired. Either that, or he'd assume she had devolved to living like an animal during her time on the Diem Vuong. Alex considered that after she'd stopped choking herself, and vowed to do better next time. "No, no, and I'm not insulting your vessel of rescue, I swear. It's just after that rinse the first thing I need to take a look are those stabilizers."
It hadn't occurred to her not to get to work on the things he brought up, even as he seemed to assure her it wasn't necessary.
"I'd also like very much to make sure we don't simply explode somewhere random. Especially after you went through the trouble of rescuing me. It'd seem like a waste, you know? ...Will we be aloft long enough for me to wash up? Or do you think that will be a problem?"
The latter two were rather cheeky questions, said with a grin that indicated Alex was feeling far more like her usual self than should have been possible. Yes, she was the sort to bounce back, but the degree to which she was shoving down her most recent experiences...
Even Alex was aware her brain and body and pain tolerance would catch up to her eventually.
She had hauled the plate close enough to hug and was working toward finishing off everything but a little more than half the meat--"Best for last," she pointed out, even if he could care less that she wanted to compliment rather than insult something, and may as well begin with his impromptu cooking--when eventually came far too soon.
Rather than take hold of the counter as he suggested--a suggestion she didn't actually register--she delighted in another piece of hot, real food. The hard knock of the ship zipped her thin frame right off her stool, plate, utensil, and drink packet following to the floor and adding to the already mess.
There was an unnatural pause in her body, the calm before the storm, she supposed. An unsteady, sobbing laugh escaped at the notion that this list of his must be damned endless...and then things went multicolored, gray, multicolored again, and red. Bloody, bloody agony, every vein, every nerve like she'd been forced out an airlock, her mouth gaping like a fish and her mind unwilling to shut down the swell of memories, questions asked, answers unable to be given.
Face down like this, one could see the lashes criss-crossed on her flesh, layers and layers of interrogation sessions barely hidden under ribbons of somehow intact clothing.
Yes, probably it was a very good thing she wasn't close enough to lose herself in running her hands all over his suit.
"Fantastic," she mumbled around a mouthful of something passable as roughage. "And is it merely super functional plating, or more? There's a lot of components...It's not like, plugged into you, is it? Or actually you? I'm not judging--I've seen both. Worked with folks in both situations, though you know, a lot of them don't talk much."
That might have been the reason she wasn't fond of the overtly cyborg look, for herself. Because however much she hated her freckles, however much she had to fight to have her accomplishments seen as useful, she did like being unassuming and small. So long as she didn't open her mouth. People overlooked unassuming and small and quiet and in most cases, it was just fraggin' easier to work when no one considered you important enough to bother. She also rather expected using tech as part of one's person changed that person. Made them...less human and more...whoever owned the patent. If she were ever to get implants, she'd want them somewhere discreet, and WAY less bulky than any part of the suit the captain was encased in. Somewhere not noticeable to someone on a passing glance or during a conversation; she'd both want and need the edge.
Unfortunately, depending on where in the galaxy one was, that didn't leave many places for modification, and since she had zero tact and no interest in shoving a computer up her hoohah, the Agency had given up on trying to sign her in for their elite programs. No sense dressing a mouthy danger-prone engineer up to mingle in nothing but a couple slinky strips of fabric and her hair to cover up, no sir. Baggy cargo pants and a tank top and an antisocial spot in some maintenance tunnel somewhere? All the way.
Of course, not letting the Agency stick their tech in anything but her tools also meant that she always had a way out if she wanted. One that didn't involve trying to find a chop shop in order to get some tracking signal cut out of her flesh.
"But you're talking a little. So I guess that's a moot point. What does this do?" She wiggled her fingers toward the side of his face. "And obviously you can see me, right? But can you see me, see me? Or is it some funky infrared screen? Or code? Or multiple vid screens funneling in like some kind of insect-vision? Or neon green with white dots to tell you where...it's not important. I...it's been a really long time since someone's let me...moons, I'm mangling this."
Because he hadn't gotten angry at her speaking or asking of questions, because he hadn't beaten her to try to make her speak or answer questions, now apparently even her chastising thoughts were going to come out of her mouth.
Alex wanted to beat her head on the counter. Maybe hide in the cleanser for a year. She did neither. She took a breath, and considered what actually was important as she began to eat in earnest. The list of things that needed done on the ship, for instance. Which was a lot. A lot of pretty fraggin' important things.
"So I've gone from one demolished ship to one that might very well become demolished on attempt to land?" She snorted, inhaled red fluff the wrong way, and wound up coughing. When she opened the second packet of liquid with as much finesse at the first, he'd probably have some inkling that her table manners left a little to be desired. Either that, or he'd assume she had devolved to living like an animal during her time on the Diem Vuong. Alex considered that after she'd stopped choking herself, and vowed to do better next time. "No, no, and I'm not insulting your vessel of rescue, I swear. It's just after that rinse the first thing I need to take a look are those stabilizers."
It hadn't occurred to her not to get to work on the things he brought up, even as he seemed to assure her it wasn't necessary.
"I'd also like very much to make sure we don't simply explode somewhere random. Especially after you went through the trouble of rescuing me. It'd seem like a waste, you know? ...Will we be aloft long enough for me to wash up? Or do you think that will be a problem?"
The latter two were rather cheeky questions, said with a grin that indicated Alex was feeling far more like her usual self than should have been possible. Yes, she was the sort to bounce back, but the degree to which she was shoving down her most recent experiences...
Even Alex was aware her brain and body and pain tolerance would catch up to her eventually.
She had hauled the plate close enough to hug and was working toward finishing off everything but a little more than half the meat--"Best for last," she pointed out, even if he could care less that she wanted to compliment rather than insult something, and may as well begin with his impromptu cooking--when eventually came far too soon.
Rather than take hold of the counter as he suggested--a suggestion she didn't actually register--she delighted in another piece of hot, real food. The hard knock of the ship zipped her thin frame right off her stool, plate, utensil, and drink packet following to the floor and adding to the already mess.
There was an unnatural pause in her body, the calm before the storm, she supposed. An unsteady, sobbing laugh escaped at the notion that this list of his must be damned endless...and then things went multicolored, gray, multicolored again, and red. Bloody, bloody agony, every vein, every nerve like she'd been forced out an airlock, her mouth gaping like a fish and her mind unwilling to shut down the swell of memories, questions asked, answers unable to be given.
Face down like this, one could see the lashes criss-crossed on her flesh, layers and layers of interrogation sessions barely hidden under ribbons of somehow intact clothing.
Dreams come in a size too big so we can grow into them.
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