we're always running scared but holding knives
"I think it might be called... empathy?" Isla says slowly, overstressing the syllables in all the wrong places and smiling down at her notes. Remi definitely must have Stockholm Syndrome regardless, though, because he starts his descriptions like clockwork - and whilst she doesn't respond to his cocaine comment, the bob of her eyebrows and the tilt of her head as she writes suggests that she just might know about it.
"Good," she murmurs of him feeling relaxed - beyond sating his appetite, that's also its main purpose. "Depending on how tonight's trial goes, we can start to administer it on a schedule to see how you take to it on a longer term." He wasn't supposed to have it yet, after all; it was just something Isla had grabbed whilst they were loading him onto the gurney post-seizure.
"Completely synthetic," she says with a hint of pride in her voice. "No death, no gore, no morgues. Just science." Finishing her notes, she glances back up at him. "If you still feel calm in a few more minutes, I'd like to give you the opportunity to get dressed, if that sounds good."
"Good," she murmurs of him feeling relaxed - beyond sating his appetite, that's also its main purpose. "Depending on how tonight's trial goes, we can start to administer it on a schedule to see how you take to it on a longer term." He wasn't supposed to have it yet, after all; it was just something Isla had grabbed whilst they were loading him onto the gurney post-seizure.
"Completely synthetic," she says with a hint of pride in her voice. "No death, no gore, no morgues. Just science." Finishing her notes, she glances back up at him. "If you still feel calm in a few more minutes, I'd like to give you the opportunity to get dressed, if that sounds good."
Isla
