- NATE -
Got my own monster
Nobody but me
Nobody but me
Every move that Isla makes is watched after carefully, Nate appreciative of the devotion to procedure, even if it seems unnecessary. ”Actually... I never actually got my medical license back home.” So she is indeed the only doctor, going by that scale, and one of the few people he’s actually told that to. Undermining his credibility is not something Nate likes to do often.
”I’ll just imagine a gentle touch. I’ve gotten pretty good at it.” Is it a joke, or a cry for help? Is this pure scientific curiosity, or something darker? They aren’t questions Nate has answers to, so he bustles right along. ”Neat scars? Isla I’m not going to match anymore.” He manages to huff out a breathless laugh, his mouth stretched into something toothy and wide and a little too strained to still be called a grin.
One final breath leaves him as fingers give way to blades, some small amount of appreciation in the one blue eye. He falls utterly still as that first cut is made, swallowing dryly and resisting the urge to nod in response to the soft reassurance. ”I’ve had worse.” There is just a touch of strain in Nate’s voice, his systems indeed telling him that he’s open, that this is wrong as if he couldn’t just look down and see that for himself. But he’s calm, safe, and as comfortable as he cares to be, so it’s an easy to ignore buzz in the back of his head. ”I’m just worried for when you actually crack me open.”
”I’ll just imagine a gentle touch. I’ve gotten pretty good at it.” Is it a joke, or a cry for help? Is this pure scientific curiosity, or something darker? They aren’t questions Nate has answers to, so he bustles right along. ”Neat scars? Isla I’m not going to match anymore.” He manages to huff out a breathless laugh, his mouth stretched into something toothy and wide and a little too strained to still be called a grin.
One final breath leaves him as fingers give way to blades, some small amount of appreciation in the one blue eye. He falls utterly still as that first cut is made, swallowing dryly and resisting the urge to nod in response to the soft reassurance. ”I’ve had worse.” There is just a touch of strain in Nate’s voice, his systems indeed telling him that he’s open, that this is wrong as if he couldn’t just look down and see that for himself. But he’s calm, safe, and as comfortable as he cares to be, so it’s an easy to ignore buzz in the back of his head. ”I’m just worried for when you actually crack me open.”
I would never call him enemy
He's the bad god I need
He's the bad god I need
