[L stares at Paul like someone who isn't sure where on Maslow's hierarchy of needs this particular boon falls. His has always been top-heavy, everything else following, and the result is a man who places his higher purpose above esteem, love and belonging, safety, and his most basic physical needs.
It's a missing piece; he's figured that much out so far, and after getting by for so long with its absence, there's a new existential ache now that he hopes isn't a harbinger of some other absence that's load-bearing, and suddenly direly needed.]
Yes, I'm alright.
[Just like someone who has no reason to believe there's a tumor until they've seen the x-ray, only to then inhabit the strange reality of nothing actually having changed between not seeing and seeing, except for awareness.
He watches Paul's hand over the protruding, sharp bone of his wrist, connecting the sight to something far less typical for him. He's been touch-starved from infancy, trained by experience to think of intentional touching in any context as for other humans.
He wants to like the strange warmth and connection of it; he's also very afraid of liking it enough to miss it when the fluke dissipates.
In his peripheral vision, he sees Lycka bumping against a particularly smooth and reflective portion of bloodstone, whistling low and plaintively, seeming to seek contact with a creature that moves and looks like her even if the illusion is understood.]
Could you--
[Keep touching his wrist? Stop touching his wrist? They're conflicting and cancel each other out. Fortunately, he has another request to sweep in and fill the void.]
Tell me why you learned this. Either it was customary, or necessity.
no subject
It's a missing piece; he's figured that much out so far, and after getting by for so long with its absence, there's a new existential ache now that he hopes isn't a harbinger of some other absence that's load-bearing, and suddenly direly needed.]
Yes, I'm alright.
[Just like someone who has no reason to believe there's a tumor until they've seen the x-ray, only to then inhabit the strange reality of nothing actually having changed between not seeing and seeing, except for awareness.
He watches Paul's hand over the protruding, sharp bone of his wrist, connecting the sight to something far less typical for him. He's been touch-starved from infancy, trained by experience to think of intentional touching in any context as for other humans.
He wants to like the strange warmth and connection of it; he's also very afraid of liking it enough to miss it when the fluke dissipates.
In his peripheral vision, he sees Lycka bumping against a particularly smooth and reflective portion of bloodstone, whistling low and plaintively, seeming to seek contact with a creature that moves and looks like her even if the illusion is understood.]
Could you--
[Keep touching his wrist? Stop touching his wrist? They're conflicting and cancel each other out. Fortunately, he has another request to sweep in and fill the void.]
Tell me why you learned this. Either it was customary, or necessity.