hadriel_logs | i got the feeling that something ain't right [OPEN/CLOSED]

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i got the feeling that something ain't right [OPEN/CLOSED]

Who: Rey and You!
What: Deathclaw tango and the aftermath, along with maybe any other general whatnots for the month of July. ¯\(°_°)/¯
Where: The City, Rey and Nick Valentine's Home (House 1401), wherever your heart's desire.
When: Post-Intro log.
Warnings: Violence, language, and mostly violence.

I. The City [OPEN]

It's that time of month again. Equipped with her Exurosuit, Rey is already prepped when she heads out. Though seemingly unarmed (she had been training with the sword, but wouldn't nearly consider herself adept enough with the weapon to feel confident bringing one into combat), she isn't what you would consider helpless.

Some things not even Rey can prepare for, however. She doesn't get the chance to make it to the Colosseum, before halfway there she is stopped by the sound of an animal growl. And not belonging to something fluffy and/or cute.

She ignores it at first, attempting to act like casual, unsuspecting prey. Having been here long enough, she's since anticipated the appearance of new creatures accompanying the arrivals.

What she couldn't anticipate was the walking death machine skulking the city streets.

Rey doesn't move, gawking at the creature for a moment. It isn't much different from the others she had contended with here, but something about it screams more predatory and deadly than anything like overgrown spiders or chests with teeth.

Perhaps it's the sword-like claws, which it bears with a threatening poise as it locks its red eyes on Rey. She isn't going anywhere, the legs of her sturdy armor holding her in place as she gaps at the creature. If she runs, it'll surely follow. If she fights, who knows if it'll be something she can tackle on her own?

Before she has the chance to calculate such a gamble, the black and scaly beast sprints towards her on its massive hinds. It's a lot faster than it looks. Rey stumbles back, curling her fingers into fists as she braces herself for impact. It makes a clean swipe towards her head. No doubt it would have lobbed her skull clean off her shoulders in a matter of seconds just then, had she been a hair slower. She stumbles back, nearly tripping over her own feet when the beast is quick to recover and swings its massive arm again.

This time, its colossal claws tear into the chest of her armor. This sends her reeling backwards, crashing her sideways into one of the walls of the building.

"Der'mo," Rey curses under her breath, tasting blood in her mouth from where she had bit the inside of her cheek. She rolls in time before the creature can lunge towards her, cornering her up against the wall.

The light indicators of her armor flare up then, as she turns and faces the creature. Many times before had she gone up against synthetic creations much larger and greater in numbers than this. She had combated whole platoons to a battalion of soldiers who were trying to kill her.

This? She can do.

Heatwaves ripple in the air around her, as the light indicators on her armor brighten. Sparks inspire flames, casting at the tip of her fingers. She can do this. She just has to be ready, and hope like hell that no defenseless individual finds themselves cast into the middle.

II. Home (House 1401) [CLOSED to Nick Valentine]

Pieces of armor peel off as Rey staggers through the front door of the place she calls home. Bruises riddle her arms and chest. Cuts and scratches and gashes pour blood down the side of her face, a trickle dribbling from the corner of her lip. The metallic taste fills her mouth as she collapses into the couch, not caring to change out of her underclothes before dropping her armor on the coffee table.

"Think you could've been a little more help?" she says aloud to no one in particular, and no one answers in return. Rey's head tilts back against the cushion of the couch, staring up at the ceiling with blurry vision. She squints, shaking the senses back into her.

Though no one had answered her rather specific query, the response of Safronov's echo, the Russian sniper she had once been, seems to scoff at her from the recesses of her mind.

Rey huffs, bringing a bruised hand up over her eyes. "You've no room to talk."

She doesn't know if Nick is around to hear her speak with the ghosts that live in her head. It isn't something she is oft to do unless she's alone, at the risk of looking like a crazy person talking to voices that so rarely talk to her back.

It's probably better that way, anyway. Though it had been those echoes that helped retain Rey's sanity during those long weeks of isolation at the sky prison, she can't imagine the impression her old habits would leave on anyone who isn't aware.

"Fuck you, too," she mutters to the smug, silent phantom.

III. Wildcard

[ooc: I might add more prompts as they come to me, but feel free to hit me up if you want to do something or choose your own adventure here!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

His frequent flicking in and out is more than worrisome, and Nick's intuition would once again be on the mark. Rey really isn't as calm as she's making herself out to be. It's difficult enough just to focus with her injuries, to keep inhaling without worrying him in return. If he suspects even for a second that something serious is wrong with her, he'll try putting this off in favor of taking care of her own damned self. And she can't have that. Not one bit.

Trying to level her coarse breathing for now, she wills her hands to stay still long enough for her to work them into opening up the panel in Nick's now-exposed back.

"I'll look into it. You should try putting yourself into a low power state or something while I do this, just in case. Don't want you shorting out while I'm working these wires."

Yes. He needs to conserve his energy, anyway.

Silent for the moment, Nick nods, leaning forward just a little so Rey can have easier access to the panels on his back. He would put himself into a low-power state, but his mind is working overtime, the gears in his head turning when what he should be thinking of is conserving every bit of power he has. He can't help it, though: it's what most humans would do when faced with their own mortality.

One advantage he's had over the original Valentine is knowing what he is and never quite considering himself to be as human as he feels. It made it easier to accept the fact that one day, his time would run out. His gears would wear down to the point of no return, his battery would fail to charge, or hell, maybe a deathclaw would rip off a limb and critically damage both his frame and his wiring. Whatever his end, he'd been ready for it for some time -- not looking forward to it or anything, but ready if it came nonetheless. He's done some good in what time he's had, and hopefully made the world just a little better for those still be living in it.

But that had been before, when he hadn't had someone who really depended upon him -- maybe for a brief moment during a case, where he had to protect a client, but not like Rey. Not like this.

That error message comes up again, and he can't help but wonder what she'll do if he can't be repaired... or worse, if he can, but the Institute put in more fail-safes. There might have been another prototype out there he didn't know about, a brother he may have murdered. There's plenty that's still a mystery even to him, and there could always be more. He's seen the earlier model synths when they're on their last legs: they have a habit for going out with a bang, literally.

Shit. The things that come to mind when there might not be much time left to use it.

"Rey," he starts quietly. His voice is unsteady not from his body's struggle to stay online for just a moment longer, but because of the regret rising in him -- regret and fear. He hadn't been afraid of death -- what death a synth could have -- before, but now he was, if only because he was afraid for her. She doesn't want to be alone. "Just in case this doesn't wo—"

[critical error]
> shutting down...

The light behind Nick's eyes flickers out, and he slips forward from the chair, crashing onto the coffee table before him, the dead weight of his metal frame nearly breaking it upon impact.

Edited 2016-07-12 16:34 (UTC)

That fear is very real in Nick's tones when Rey hears him speak. She doesn't want to say anything, or hear him say or do anything that may end up wasting whatever energy he has left.

It's all too little too late, when Nick cuts off mid-sentence and topples forward like a broken doll. Before she can even grab for him, he's on the floor.

"Shit, no!" Rey yells, bolting to Nick's side on the floor. She places a hand over his shoulder, checking to see if she can feel any sign of functionality in his body, but senses that he's gone into a full system shutdown. "Don't you fucking do this..."

Rather than flipping him over to try and wake him up in vain, she hurries to work. First placing Nick on the floor so that she can kneel beside him, and then use whatever tools she has to lift open the panel in his back. Once his inner clockwork is exposed, she takes but a few seconds to re-familiarize herself with the mechanical setup.

Body aching and breath harsh, Rey gathers a moment to squeeze her eyes shut and focus. Pain erupts in her body; the damage taken from the deathclaw suddenly hitting her as she attempts to get started.

"Need you to work with me," she gasps, speaking to what would seem to be no one in particular. But in her head, she's gathering the knowledge of the personality that has an infinitely better idea on what to do here. Her eyes snap back open, understanding the display in front of her as she leans over Nick's open back. It's different from what she's used to, but a machine is a machine. Once you have the basics down, it doesn't take much more to discern what goes where and the function it serves.

It takes time. She can't rush this, and she has to remain calm. Wrong slips and shortcuts can lead to sloppy work, and Nick deserves better than that. He deserves better than going out this way in this damned pisspit of a city, with there being no certainty whether or not Hope is even capable of bringing him back with no ill effects. And as much as Nick claimed to be fine with his mortality, Rey isn't ready to let him go.

What a goddamned hypocrite she is, but it's an ugly flaw she's willing to live with if it can get Nick up and running again. This isn't about her, anyway. Hell, in a way it isn't even about him. It's about doing what needs to be done, because the world is already chalked full of shitty people. People who would no sooner leave their own mother to the flies, let alone help a synthetic. Rey has no right to judge, in any case; she knows that there are fragments of her being that makes her just as rotten. And that's why she has to do this. Has to help preserve what little good she has in this wretched life she's got. Lord knows she only has so many...

With what little she has in her box, she uses to replace whatever damage she can find inside Nick's workings. A frayed wire here, a fried circuit there. Taking out bits and pieces of broken equipment and putting the Tin Man back together again. She can do this. She has the memories, and the memories can walk her through it, tell her not to panic, not to scream, not to shake at the risk of damaging the interior even further. She even refrains from making a crude comment or two, not wanting to break her concentration from the connection she's maintaining in her own mess of a mind.

It's a rough patch-up job, but that's the most that anyone can expect, given the situation and timing and the fact that sometimes her vision blurs. Not even Rey's box of spare parts is enough this time, as she'd surely have to request for additional pieces to get Nick running at one hundred percent. But, hell, she'd be happy just to get him up and running at all.

Once she's finished, she leans back and coughs. She brings her arm over her mouth and coughs again, harsher this time. Stifling an all out fit, she reaches down with her other hand and completes the finishing touches.

From here, it's the waiting game. A little bit of tinkering, and pray that she can get the synth booted up again. She doesn't close up the panel just yet. Not until she knows that it's over.

That's right. Finish what you started.

The deathclaw had indeed done more than rattle Nick's insides: wires that were already falling apart from age had split and frayed as he'd been tossed around the arena, and rusted mechanisms that somehow still managed to turn were dented and knocked askew from the creature's grasp. The claws that had torn through his clothes had made it to his synthetic skin, leaving marks and rips along his side, but only managing to shred a few of the wires to his leg beneath. There were support rods and tubes that were bent, some cracked beyond simple repair.

But it could have been worse. The metal plating around his primary processor, while it had a few new scuffs and dings, had protected the device inside, and though his body had taken a beating, his head and synthetic brain were nearly untouched by the deathclaw's assault. And on top of that, he lived with a woman who had the mind of an engineer crammed into her brain, someone with enough know-how to assess his state and maybe put him back into some kind of functioning order. Valentine was indeed a lucky man.

And that's the first thing on his mind when his system finally does reboot. It takes several minutes for his processor to run through its emergency diagnostics, checking for the bare minimum of what he needs to be brought around. It whirrs and ticks quietly, scanning for the necessary components. Eventually, his body twitches slightly as a current runs through him. There's a spark from left side where his arm used to be, life coming back into the body as his eyes light up.

They narrow as Nick blinks a few times, his brow furrowing in confusion as he tries to sort through the ongoing processes in his head. He attempts to pick himself up; his remaining arm shakes from the effort, prompting him to stick to the floor for now. "R... Rey? What happened?"

Given what he can see of Rey and her tools from his vantage on the floor, he already knows the answer to that. So much for not making her worry.

Edited 2016-07-13 01:50 (UTC)

Relief should have washed over Rey the instant life springs back into Nick's once-lifeless body. Grateful that she is to see him at least sitting upright and asking her questions, she can't help but worry if all she did was borrow more time for him.

Rey opens her mouth to reply, only for another cough to escape. She lurches forward, holding in another series of coughs until the need subsides. Her throat scratches when she sucks in a wheezy inhale, trying to hold herself. Nick has to worry about keeping himself going. Not her.

"System shutdown. Had to restore connection to the power to get you... to get you back online," she tells him, her voice raspy when she speaks. "Should run some diagnostics. Maintenance on the cooling and..."

And that's all that she can get out. Her shoulders tuck inward as her hand covers her mouth.

Still booting up or not, Nick reacts immediately as Rey curls up, what energy she had spent on trying to get him back online. He grits his teeth -- he can be relieved he's alive and frustrated with himself all at once later. From the way she's coughing, she might have some internal damage, and there's no blessing from the gods to help her this time.

He pushes himself off the ground with his remaining hand, wishing he had another to help her up. Still, he extends the one he's got. "Come on, Rey," he insists, obviously not running diagnostics. "We either need to get you to a doctor, or get a doctor over here."

Unlike Nick, Rey can't run a full system scan to see what's wrong with her. That would have defeated the whole purpose of allowing her to often live without the knowledge that she wasn't human. Whatever the damage is, though, she can sense it in her chest. Nothing like a collapsed lung or major organ damage, but still not something that she can simply ignore. And yet...

"Will be fine." She shakes her head, letting out a shaky exhale. "Have survived worse than this. Just need to rest."

After the beatings she had taken and several blows to the head too many, sleep is sadly the last thing she should be doing.

Nick would say the same for himself, except that he hasn't survived worse than what the deathclaw did to him. That's the closest he's come to death as a synth. He watches the way she breathes, how she holds her ribs, his frustration clear on his face. He doesn't want to lose her any more than she wants to lose him, and the fact that she had to deal with an emergency like his system shutting down from a power failure when she should be getting medical attention just riles him. Maybe she would have gone and gotten it sooner if he hadn't suddenly blacked out.

He shakes his head, his expression hardening. "Then rest on the couch, but we're getting a doctor over here whether you like it or not. I'll go get one myself if I have to."

Much as Rey would love to argue, Nick's suggestion does sound enticing when she wants nothing more than to close her eyes a while. But now that she's got Nick up and running again, she also wants to make sure that he doesn't shut back down.

How stupid for the both of them to be in the identical predicament for the same (different) reasons.

Not wanting to cause more strain on her already bruised muscles, Rey ducks her head.

"All right," she says after a brief silence. "Just... don't ask me to go to the clinic. Won't make it that far."

The clinic isn't a terrible distance from their house, but it's far enough in Rey's condition that it may as well be halfway across the world.

"I'm not sure either of us would," he utters. His power is back on for the time being, but it's definitely a patchy fix, one scraped together out of desperation. This crisis is not what Rey needs right now.

Nick takes a step toward the couch, but he's not walking so well, either. The dented parts and damaged wiring in his side that trail down to the limb make up one item on a long list of fixes he's going to need to get back into any kind of working order. Putting pressure on it brings up an error; there's a jolt through him as his processor tries to send power to it, but with the wires barely hanging on, he might as well be getting nothing at all.

The rest of him is powered up enough, though -- there's another spark from where he arm was, and the shock sets off a multitude of his sensors at once. The sensation is obviously unpleasant as he grabs at the ruined socket. "Damn!"

He collapses back into the easy chair, trying to dig his phone out of his pocket, knowing good and well he's not going anywhere, either.

Just when she feels like she's fading out at any second, Rey whips her head in Nick's direction at his exclamation. Her heart gives a jerk at the thought that, if anything were to happen to him right then, there wouldn't be much she could do about it. She can barely move, and what little she can do involves a world of hurt.

Seeing him struggle with his phone, Rey holds up a hand before pushing herself onto her feet. Her posture is broken, like she's got a two-ton weight holding her down on one side. She wipes some of the damp blood down her chin from the open cut in her lip.

"Take it easy." She's quiet, unable to raise her voice above a murmur.

Rey is so out of focus right now that she doesn't trust herself to deal with the wirings in order to reattach Nick's severed limb. She limps towards Nick's arm, ignoring the twinge in her muscles when she moves to scoop it up off the floor with one hand and place it over the nearly broken coffee table.

She looks at him with a weary smile. It's about the most comfort she can offer in her current disposition. "Will get someone over here. Then I'll take care of your arm. Okay?"

Nick watches Rey as she gathers up his arm, his eyes focusing on the way she carries herself, his metal hand tightening on his shoulder in frustrated defeat. He wants to help her, but there's not much he can do. He can't pick her up and carry her to the clinic, certainly not while he's missing an arm. He doesn't have the medical know-how to treat her himself. Hell, given the only hand he has left is the bare one, he can hardly even use the touch screen on the phone to call someone.

He stifles a sigh. With the way he's still getting prompts to run diagnostics, there's still plenty wrong with him, and he needs to check it out. He's just going to have to trust she'll call someone, and she will be okay. She's a hardy woman, tougher than she seems in some ways. More fragile in others. They're lucky to be alive. If either of them were truly human, they'd probably be dead.

His mouth draws a wide frown across him; he realizes the best way for him to help her now is to help himself. Rey won't get any rest while he's still struggling to stay upright; she'll run herself ragged just trying to make sure he doesn't power down again. It's what he'd do in her shoes, after all.

His eyes flick back to hers. "Okay," he agrees. "I need to go run a couple of scans before my internal clockwork decides to do it for me. You gonna okay for a few minutes?"

In order to pull herself through this, Rey has to start thinking like Nick: If she wants him to survive, she has to look after her own damned self as well. After everything they've talked about and everything they've been through, what would happen to Nick if she's not around?

Well. Short of one mechanic, for one thing. But she's aware that there is more to it than that, and she has to face this fact. She also can't expect Nick to be doing a whole lot of good with only one metal arm and possibly wearing himself down at the rate he's going, especially without her around.

Yes, she'll just take to get her shit together first, then figure out how in the hell she's going to be any use to Nick.

"No worries, I'll be fine. Suppose it's one thing to thank my father for..." She waves a hand, as though putting it on display. "Quicker cellular regeneration, or something of the sort. Wouldn't expect any miracles, but it beats the alternative."

The alternative being having to wait for several weeks for whatever injuries she has to heal. Which, even then, is still more of a boon than what Nick has. His condition isn't exactly something that can be improved with time alone.

Though he gives Rey another uncertain look, he finally nods, acquiescing that one of them has to cave to their injuries before the other one will. They're both stubborn, but he's the one whose body is occasionally beeping as it tries to get him to go run internal scans.

"All right," he responds, his tone alone enough to say he's trusting her on this, though he doesn't particularly feel good about it. "Think I'll take the spare bedroom down here for these diagnostics rather than risk the stairs."

Rey nods, fighting another cough in order to say, "Good. You're not using those stairs for a while."

It isn't a suggestion -- it's an order. And for once it comes with an authoritative tone, husky from her scratchy voice. She's been charged with far worse soldiers than Nick.

"Do you need any help?" She's pretty sure she can still hold her own. Him, she isn't so certain.

Rey's tone definitely comes across as authoritative -- given how she reacted the last time he'd pushed his mechanical body too hard, he knows better than to step out of line this time. No stairs for him for now.

There's a beep from somewhere in him again, and he shakes his head. "If I don't make it to the bed, you'll know. Make that call, now."

And off to the spare bedroom he goes, hoping his diagnostics don't take longer than an hour.

Fortunately, Nick doesn't fight with her on this one. Rey wasn't expecting it, but one can never be too sure sometimes, especially when dealing with someone who almost equals in her own levels of stubbornness.

And just like her command, Nick makes his own as well. It isn't unreasonable. The cough is worrisome, even for her, and isn't something that can go unchecked. She nods, watching her roommate until he disappears into the room.

Believe it or not, Rey actually intends to make good on her silent promise there. She won't be any good to Nick if he comes back online to find her corpse in the middle of their home, and it isn't like the city is bustling in mechanics with knowledge in synthetic anatomy to be of any use to him. No, Rey is going to have to bite the bullet on this and accept this stupid thing called personal responsibility.

Whatever happens, she would much rather be in the comforts of her room, though. If Nick does wake up sooner than she anticipates, she'd prefer he not be there to hover, fuss, and fret over her while someone is attempting to do their job. Or whatever it is he would do.

As she goes to retrieve her phone from her pocket, she makes an attempt to remember which people are on board at the clinic. She's never really visited the place, and hasn't made much of an effort to familiarize herself with those that work there. Other than perhaps Kate, who she had only met once in person and once in her dreams...

Suppose that's better than nothing.

Just as Rey starts to dial the number on her phone, that cough starts up again. This time, it becomes a full out episode, her hand shaking and fingers instinctively clench around the device as the pain only grows, swelling inside her chest.

Shortly after, sweat beads down the side of her face. She hacks, wheezing as she throws her hand back up over her mouth once again.

Thick, red fluid bubbles up the back of her throat. The metallic taste of blood fills her mouth as it spits out into her palm.

The phone drops to the floor. Rey gaps down at the splotches of blood in her hand for only a moment before the pain of her internal injuries overwhelm her. She attempts to inhale again, but it's more like sucking in hot, burning air into her lungs.

Gasping, her legs give out. Her head spins. The last thing she sees is the floorboards just before she collapses face-first towards them...

It's the morning after. Several hours have passed since Rey has been put to rest.

As it turns out, she did not end up dying in her sleep, as she would have expected. Rather, she found herself experiencing a long sleep, mercifully devoid of dreams while her body attempts to fix itself.

When she gets up, the pain has mostly subsided. The medical treatment provided by Muscovy has proven to be effective, between his practical knowledge and whatever magical aid he had administered to her injuries. That doesn't mean that she is without aches here and there, but she is, for the most part, more than capable of standing on her own two feet without collapsing.

She brings a hand over the bandages wrapped around her chest, before limping to the dresser to pick out a clean tanktop to throw on. The throbbing pangs in her shoulders and the shock in her muscles make lifting her arms over her head a rather difficult endeavor, but she manages. After all, she always does.

Dressed and mostly cleaned of blood, a more recovered Rey steps out of the bedroom to look for Nick in the living area. With any luck, no wires or metal or anything became dislodged while he had been running those diagnostics. She could do without seeing him fall on his face again, as he had last night.

It's no surprise Nick is already up -- even if he ran every diagnostic he could (which he didn't), he'd have been up well before Rey awakened from her much-needed rest. He's pulled some of his clothes back on, identifiers of an individual among other synths. There's his undershirt, covering up the opening in his back, the panel still removed from the day before. Over that is his one-armed button-up, though it's unbuttoned for now. The bottom buttons aren't even attached anymore, anyway. He's missing his coat, which has been tossed across the back of the easy chair, draped there after he'd hastily shrugged it off the night before; he wouldn't have normally shed it so carelessly if he hadn't been worried he was going to power down at any second.

And in the hours Rey has been asleep, he's had a lot of time to mull over that.

As for Nick himself, he's on the coach, where he's been quietly working on notes. His single hand more than enough to work on the paperwork spread across the coffee table. As Rey exits the bedroom, he looks glances her way.

"Seems we had company last night."

Edited 2016-07-17 02:16 (UTC)

Seeing Nick getting to work is hardly the least astonishing thing Rey could wake up to. Hell, she'd be more concerned if he wasn't.

At the doorway to her room, Rey just stops. If Nick is implying Muscovy, then chances are the two had crossed while she had been out. She grimaces.

"Are you surprised?"

Silently she's wondering if Nick didn't believe that she would actually call anyone when he had asked. Which wouldn't have been too far from the truth, considering that Muscovy had dropped in on his own. Even though she hadn't planned for things to go that way, guilt does have its way of weighing down into the pit of her stomach.

Hand over the cloth covering her bandaged ribs, Rey sinks into the empty space on the couch next to Nick, more than happy to be off her feet again. "Hope he didn't give you any trouble."

For some reason, the kid is wary of Nick. Perhaps he's jealous, believing that he had been replaced or something. Rey can't fathom any other reason; only speculate.

Nick might have been surprised that their company was a child rather than one of the doctors in town, but he keeps that to himself, his glowing eyes not leaving the papers before him. Despite his mechanical nature, he feels leaden, tired; it shows in the way he holds himself, in the slight slump of his shoulders, in the crease in his brow. A heavy mind can weigh one down just as much as physical fatigue.

"We talked," he notes shortly. His pen scratches across the paper, filling the silence. "How you holding up?"

Even though she had just woken up, Rey is still worn down by the events of yesterday. Her body had taken care of the more serious damage, but she isn't her father. She can't so simply recover from missing limbs and broken bones like it's nothing. It is, regrettably, one of the few things that makes her a little more like-human.

Whatever their conversation may have been, perhaps it's for the best that Rey not ask for the specifics. She just leans back, resting herself against the soft back cushion of the couch.

"Well enough. Nothing that a couple days' rest won't heal." More than what she can say for her roommate. "And you?"

Good to make sure Nick didn't run into any errors during those diagnostics he was running.

Edited 2016-07-17 03:16 (UTC)

"I've been better," Nick replies, his pen stopping on the page, eyes flicking to her a moment as he sees how she holds herself. It's a definite improvement over the day before, but he's still grateful she can heal so quickly. Normal people don't have that option -- neither do old prototypes like himself.

He signs off on a report with a sigh, knowing what information she's looking for: the results of his scans. "Don't think I'll be patrolling again anytime soon. Got a bent shaft in my leg. So much for that fix."

And that's just the tip of the iceberg. It's better taken in small doses, even though she can probably tell some of his other problems just from looking at him. The missing arm is the most obvious ones, but some dislodged parts have a trickle-down effect, cutting one system off, then another because of that one. It all adds up to make a hell of a lot of repair work to be done.

Edited 2016-07-17 03:23 (UTC)

The fact that Nick is downplaying his condition is obvious. Rey bites her tongue, knowing that she is no better and no less frustrating about the matter.

"It's fine. I've still got a few parts left."

The edge of her lip twitches, her mouth tightening into a thin line. She knows that those parts aren't going to last. Back when she had ordered them from Hope, it had been for the existing issues Rey had noticed, both on the surface level as well as when she had taken a peek at his insides. There is more damage now than before, which means she may have to go back to Hope for more material.

She glances to Nick out the corner of her eye, realizing that he isn't going to like that option, but it's the only one they have. "Mind if I take a look at your arm now? Shouldn't be too hard to reattach it."

For the time being, she'll just keep her sights on the immediate problems, rather than discussing the ones they will have ahead of them.

Nick returns her glace for only a second, worry still firmly planted in his brow. "If you don't mind. I'll need both hands to sew the sleeve back on my coat. Kind of need two to pull off the detective look."

He chuckles somberly, setting his pen aside and pulling off the buttonless button-up, his eyes lodging themselves firmly on the floor. He knows good and well that there's no way Hope gave her enough parts to fix all the problems he now has. That means more work for Rey, as he can't do it himself in his condition -- more debt to the gods, all because he couldn't keep his nose out of the Colosseum, left the rescuing to people who were better suited for it. Who was he kidding, thinking an old synth like him could help against deathclaws?

Well, he had helped, right before getting his arm ripped off. People were safe because of him; he needed to remember that. What happened to an artificial man like himself didn't really matter in the end.

... except to her. And the fact that it matters so much to her is at the heart of his concerns.

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1/2

2/2 [July 11th]

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