[Waiting is never something that had bothered her- Contractor, Regressor, or... Whatever she was now. As a Contractor she'd lacked the impatience and sense of offense that led to such frustrations, and as a Regressor every moment seemed so full of stimulus that even if she was merely sitting, she never feel anything remotely close to bored. As it was now, she sat somewhere between the two, in a slightly disconnected slump, as if she physically (but only physically) shut down somewhat without others around, something that didn't turn in to movement until she heard the sounds of the shower ending and took herself to the stove, to reheating what little temperature had been lost.
It was better hot. But her mind is also on the mission as she stirs, repetitive as her thoughts. She'd done the best she could with her... Emotional situation, it could be said. No one she was charged with protecting got injured. The objectives she'd been set had been achieved. But it was unclear to her still what caused the end results, and the guilt in her ached for punishment of her own. Not out of masochism, but something else.
His voice is a welcome relief. The guilt is still heavy in her gaze (has been ever since that night), even through the wane smile she manages. The attempt at comfort that seemed to come with soup, with care. Something she'd felt once and wanted to feel again in order to give it away.]
Right. It's... More shille than chicken but. I did what I could.
[She's always been a long-range fighter, always been too powerful in her own world to come close to death... Save the time death actually came for her. She doesn't remember what her appetite had been like. It's with a slightly awkward pause that she follows up with.]
no subject
It was better hot. But her mind is also on the mission as she stirs, repetitive as her thoughts. She'd done the best she could with her... Emotional situation, it could be said. No one she was charged with protecting got injured. The objectives she'd been set had been achieved. But it was unclear to her still what caused the end results, and the guilt in her ached for punishment of her own. Not out of masochism, but something else.
His voice is a welcome relief. The guilt is still heavy in her gaze (has been ever since that night), even through the wane smile she manages. The attempt at comfort that seemed to come with soup, with care. Something she'd felt once and wanted to feel again in order to give it away.]
Right. It's... More shille than chicken but. I did what I could.
[She's always been a long-range fighter, always been too powerful in her own world to come close to death... Save the time death actually came for her. She doesn't remember what her appetite had been like. It's with a slightly awkward pause that she follows up with.]
Hungry?