She laughs as he runs a hand down his own bare chest. ”Yes, but I would be red as a tomato and that’s just not appealing. At least your imagination gets to run wild this way.” She grins at him impishly, though it is true. Her skin is not used to the sun, and though she leaves her arms bare now, she cannot do so for long periods of time. She keeps a long sleeve shirt in her pack here, just in case she gets stuck outside in the sun for hours.
He talks about the fish, and she looks curious. ”We don’t exactly have water in Halo. Just ice. Lots of ice.” She supposes underneath all that ice is water, but she never got to it. ”Honestly, I’ve never even really gone properly swimming. It’s not like you can in below-freezing temperatures.” Even here, she has avoided more than ankle-deep water. She did not swim in to help the L’ma, she did not join the group and Ludo on the boat or swimming to find him. She stayed on the shore, where there was solid ground beneath her feet.
She shrugs at the mention of copies. ”I don’t really profess to understand what The Voice did to get you here,” she admits. ”But do you feel like a copy? And does it matter? You are you.” She is not trying to be unkind or insensitive, but is really asking. Does it matter? If they have all their memories, if they are still themselves and under their own control, maybe the details are unimportant.
His rod jerks, and he pulls back on the line. She watches, her own line still slack, as he attempts to reel in whatever has decided to take the bait.
He talks about the fish, and she looks curious. ”We don’t exactly have water in Halo. Just ice. Lots of ice.” She supposes underneath all that ice is water, but she never got to it. ”Honestly, I’ve never even really gone properly swimming. It’s not like you can in below-freezing temperatures.” Even here, she has avoided more than ankle-deep water. She did not swim in to help the L’ma, she did not join the group and Ludo on the boat or swimming to find him. She stayed on the shore, where there was solid ground beneath her feet.
She shrugs at the mention of copies. ”I don’t really profess to understand what The Voice did to get you here,” she admits. ”But do you feel like a copy? And does it matter? You are you.” She is not trying to be unkind or insensitive, but is really asking. Does it matter? If they have all their memories, if they are still themselves and under their own control, maybe the details are unimportant.
His rod jerks, and he pulls back on the line. She watches, her own line still slack, as he attempts to reel in whatever has decided to take the bait.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Quote by Charles Dickens
