Blame it on days in the places they made for the people just like me
He’s been staying in the Infirmary since Isla had offered it. And he’s been being good and running his scans. There’s been a lot to go through but at least this time? This time his scans come back virtually empty, his new arm attached and metallic and wonderful if not for a little heavy. He’s gone for a decent amount of time without the arm so it only makes sense that he’d have grown unbalanced before he grows fully balanced again. But as always, the Voice was there for him. Even when his thoughts had grown a bit more traitorous since then.
He stares down at the metal arm, sitting on the bed with his legs tucked up under him — an old soldiers method of meditating before battle (though there wasn’t one yet, just old habits were hard to kill) — and he finds himself twisting the metal arm this way and that, watching the arm flex and pull, shift and move with the pressure he applies to it. And he can hardly feel a thing with it.
So he continues to flex and loosen his arm, getting used to it again, sucking in a deep breath he doesn’t need and starts the meditation over again, head straight and face set in a stony expression.
He stares down at the metal arm, sitting on the bed with his legs tucked up under him — an old soldiers method of meditating before battle (though there wasn’t one yet, just old habits were hard to kill) — and he finds himself twisting the metal arm this way and that, watching the arm flex and pull, shift and move with the pressure he applies to it. And he can hardly feel a thing with it.
So he continues to flex and loosen his arm, getting used to it again, sucking in a deep breath he doesn’t need and starts the meditation over again, head straight and face set in a stony expression.
VARUS
