[ pain transmits differently up mechanical nerves. so does everything else but chuck spends a lot more time pinching the fake skin and digits than she does gently caressing her forearm. she's test driving, and you're not supposed to be gentle with a test drive; she's also bitter about the fake limb, and you don't treat things that insult you by their very existence kindly. what few techs they still have in the shatterdome keep fiddling with it, keep peeling back the plastic skin like newton geiszler peels back his shirt cuffs, and taking micro screwdrivers to the joints and — it's one of the most disturbing things she's ever witnessed, seeing her almost passable skin being removed. but the arm never felt right, so it wasn't that much of a shock every time it happened.
it hurt. her shoulder ached constantly, and sometimes she imaged pains in her elbows and fingers as well. the doctors say maybe she should rest and go back to the sling, but chuck's stubborn and refuses once they begrudgingly admit that her arm's not going to fall off if she keeps assalting punching bags. the hansens were never a weepy sort; they may have grown misty eyed and shed a few tears when they were saying goodbye (and hello), but other than that chuck's not cried since they first anchored the supportive plate in her bone, and refuses to cry or bitch and complain about residual aches. she refuses to even talk about them, and starts heavily favoring her left arm subconsciously. she suddenly understands raleigh becket's love for long sleeved sweaters, because every time she looks down and the tattoo of striker's logo isn't on her forearm, she feels a little sick.
she actually understands a lot more about raleigh becket. now. after. likes him a lot more, but it's different; it's not hero worship, and not just respect. there's a lot of respect, sure, because hey, thanks for (helping in) saving the world, becket. chuck's never been very good with emotions. no matter how much she was encouraged to use your words, charlotte as a child, that only went so far if your vocabulary was limited, so she doesn't know what to say to him a lot of the time, and doesn't know what to tell herself either. so when they talk, they talk about stupider things. like how much faster striker is (was) than gipsy right now, squished together on their sides in the bunk in her (and her old man's, but they've separate rooms and is never around anymore) quarters. they have their clothes on,and the lights on too, but they're talking quietly, hushedly; breathing in each other's faces. and she's laying on her right arm, otherwise she'd use that one to gently stroke the side of his face. but it's the fake arm she raises, and fake fingers that she pets his cheek with.
just as her faux nerves transmit pain differently, they transmit tickling differently too. but that doesn't mean she doesn't know he's got more facial hair than usual. for one, she can see it, and wrinkles her nose in distaste. ]
I know she's slower. I've seen ya fight, I watched your entire brawl with Leatherback from the top of Striker. Mako may have made some improvement, but she can't fix old fashion mechanics. And you should shave, mate.
i'm attached to this robotic arm idea okok
it hurt. her shoulder ached constantly, and sometimes she imaged pains in her elbows and fingers as well. the doctors say maybe she should rest and go back to the sling, but chuck's stubborn and refuses once they begrudgingly admit that her arm's not going to fall off if she keeps assalting punching bags. the hansens were never a weepy sort; they may have grown misty eyed and shed a few tears when they were saying goodbye (and hello), but other than that chuck's not cried since they first anchored the supportive plate in her bone, and refuses to cry or bitch and complain about residual aches. she refuses to even talk about them, and starts heavily favoring her left arm subconsciously. she suddenly understands raleigh becket's love for long sleeved sweaters, because every time she looks down and the tattoo of striker's logo isn't on her forearm, she feels a little sick.
she actually understands a lot more about raleigh becket. now. after. likes him a lot more, but it's different; it's not hero worship, and not just respect. there's a lot of respect, sure, because hey, thanks for (helping in) saving the world, becket. chuck's never been very good with emotions. no matter how much she was encouraged to use your words, charlotte as a child, that only went so far if your vocabulary was limited, so she doesn't know what to say to him a lot of the time, and doesn't know what to tell herself either. so when they talk, they talk about stupider things. like how much faster striker is (was) than gipsy right now, squished together on their sides in the bunk in her (and her old man's, but they've separate rooms and is never around anymore) quarters. they have their clothes on,and the lights on too, but they're talking quietly, hushedly; breathing in each other's faces. and she's laying on her right arm, otherwise she'd use that one to gently stroke the side of his face. but it's the fake arm she raises, and fake fingers that she pets his cheek with.
just as her faux nerves transmit pain differently, they transmit tickling differently too. but that doesn't mean she doesn't know he's got more facial hair than usual. for one, she can see it, and wrinkles her nose in distaste. ]
I know she's slower. I've seen ya fight, I watched your entire brawl with Leatherback from the top of Striker. Mako may have made some improvement, but she can't fix old fashion mechanics. And you should shave, mate.