[It's when he inspects the the bottles of liquid with more scrutiny does what he's doing clicks. Absently, she hopes he finds a good bourbon or whiskey, not that she's any position to be picky.
Young and naive. Those words brought to the surface memories of the Brotherhood, of attacking the Earth's Mightiest Heroes, of hate and anger blindly fueling her to rack up regrets like they would make up for her inability to truly connect with anyone. She had been so malleable, so ripe for manipulation that when she finally broke free the damage had already been done, the seed of self-doubt deeply planted.]
Ain't hindsight a peach?
[But that's her only interjection until he finishes, her green eyes sharply following his movements as she keenly listened to Arthur, finding her own desire for a bottle of high proof comfort. The training device has direct parallels to the Danger Room, and she finds herself uncomfortably putting herself in his shoes, wondering what the first iterations of the Danger Room or Cerebro had truly been like before it had been deemed safe for frequent use. Maybe they'd been lucky and nothing quite so terrible had happened, but it's not difficult to imagine other outcomes with the stories she's hearing now about this military technology.
She herself has trained to endure pain and torture, both physical and mental. It's made her scarred but strong, stitched together with grit and sheer stubbornness. What he describes is sobering, and she finds herself wishing it shocked her more. That she couldn't empathize so easily with him.
Good, he's found something. It's a welcome distraction from her own dark rabbit holes beckoning her. Truth be told, following his movements as he collects the glasses and pours them each a healthy dram gives her something to focus on along with his words, like a tether to the present. It's far too easy for her to imagine the horrible side effects he describes and to experience the horrors like they are happening right now. So when she floats closer to take the glass from his hand, she consciously allows her gloved fingers to brush and linger against the back of his hand before eventually slipping down to take the glass in her hand, her eyes search out his.]
Ah'm sorry Arthur. [Her voice resonates a heavy empathy, a reassurance that he's not alone. She hates that he's experienced such horrors, but knows that like her, they've made him stronger.] It ain't ever easy livin' with that regret. Thinkin' you could've done more, could've saved them.
[She brings the glass to her lips and takes a healthy swallow, her eyes shifting to stare into the amber liquid.] What good's all that trainin' if we can't use it to save the people we care 'bout?
no subject
Young and naive. Those words brought to the surface memories of the Brotherhood, of attacking the Earth's Mightiest Heroes, of hate and anger blindly fueling her to rack up regrets like they would make up for her inability to truly connect with anyone. She had been so malleable, so ripe for manipulation that when she finally broke free the damage had already been done, the seed of self-doubt deeply planted.]
Ain't hindsight a peach?
[But that's her only interjection until he finishes, her green eyes sharply following his movements as she keenly listened to Arthur, finding her own desire for a bottle of high proof comfort. The training device has direct parallels to the Danger Room, and she finds herself uncomfortably putting herself in his shoes, wondering what the first iterations of the Danger Room or Cerebro had truly been like before it had been deemed safe for frequent use. Maybe they'd been lucky and nothing quite so terrible had happened, but it's not difficult to imagine other outcomes with the stories she's hearing now about this military technology.
She herself has trained to endure pain and torture, both physical and mental. It's made her scarred but strong, stitched together with grit and sheer stubbornness. What he describes is sobering, and she finds herself wishing it shocked her more. That she couldn't empathize so easily with him.
Good, he's found something. It's a welcome distraction from her own dark rabbit holes beckoning her. Truth be told, following his movements as he collects the glasses and pours them each a healthy dram gives her something to focus on along with his words, like a tether to the present. It's far too easy for her to imagine the horrible side effects he describes and to experience the horrors like they are happening right now. So when she floats closer to take the glass from his hand, she consciously allows her gloved fingers to brush and linger against the back of his hand before eventually slipping down to take the glass in her hand, her eyes search out his.]
Ah'm sorry Arthur. [Her voice resonates a heavy empathy, a reassurance that he's not alone. She hates that he's experienced such horrors, but knows that like her, they've made him stronger.] It ain't ever easy livin' with that regret. Thinkin' you could've done more, could've saved them.
[She brings the glass to her lips and takes a healthy swallow, her eyes shifting to stare into the amber liquid.] What good's all that trainin' if we can't use it to save the people we care 'bout?