Blame it on days in the places they made for the people just like me
The knock barely registers with how deep into the scan he’s gotten, his hand continuing to clench and unclench, flex and relax. Isla breezes in right in time to spy him in a cross of meditating and brooding and he tries to pull himself out of it when her voice pipes up — a breath sucked in sharply and his metal arm clenching again, before his attention flickers over to her right in time for her to notice his less than tiptop shape attitude.
A small smile is given her way, a roll of his neck to loosen the muscles there, before he’s reaching over to her with the metal arm, glinting in the lowlight of the room, as if he might be able to drag her over to sit beside him and maybe pluck the book from her (keeping her place in it of course). “No, it’s fine. Was just scanning.” He pauses, before he’s staring at the book. “What’s it about?” There's definitely a bit less fire to himself, but he pretends not to notice.
A small smile is given her way, a roll of his neck to loosen the muscles there, before he’s reaching over to her with the metal arm, glinting in the lowlight of the room, as if he might be able to drag her over to sit beside him and maybe pluck the book from her (keeping her place in it of course). “No, it’s fine. Was just scanning.” He pauses, before he’s staring at the book. “What’s it about?” There's definitely a bit less fire to himself, but he pretends not to notice.
VARUS
