Warrick keeps his expression unreadable as Prior forces himself upright, taking stock of the man’s condition. Or rather, his reaction to his condition: sweat darkening the hair at his temples, a shivering, jerky quality to the pull of taut muscle beneath fresh bandages, and beneath that something else, something enticing, intriguing… Dangerous.
Pain, Warrick realizes, allowing the notion to fold into his understanding, to intrude upon the vision he’d had for his perfect creation. Pain in his sim… How had he let it come to this?
Best not to dwell, he reasons firmly, dismissing the thought to focus on the present, immediate, (mostly) concrete request in front of him. It perplexes him for a moment, ‘a fag’, but he recovers quickly as the most probable meaning of the term pushes past the dominating, up-to-date definition; nicotine has been illegal since before Warrick was born, but somehow, distantly, the knowledge is there when he reaches for it. Had it come from something he’d heard or read, or directly from the man before him? Warrick decides to file that question away for later— as intriguing a line of inquiry as it is, it won’t do him much practical good now.
Back to the task at hand.
“Ah, yes,” he says as he moves toward the nearest cabinet which he finds stocked with an assortment of bottles, jars, and other primitive— though still unmistakably medical— paraphernalia. “Of course.”
He selects one of the smaller bottles, narrowing his eyes at it in brief consideration, then strides toward the side of the bed. A glass of water which may or may not have been there a moment ago now sits atop the makeshift nightstand, and Warrick passes both it and the tablets he’d taken from the cabinet to Prior. As he’s learned from vast experience, there’s little sense in calling attention to the minor inconsistencies: the mind is capable of filling in the gaps all on its own, and quite instantaneously to boot.
That ought to cover the sudden-but-not appearance of the chair Warrick settles into as he waits for Prior to take the painkillers, too.
“Can you tell me the last thing you remember?” Best to establish a starting point, and the sooner the better…. Both to preserve the organic quality of the data provided and, naturally, to satisfy Warrick’s own curiosity.
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Pain, Warrick realizes, allowing the notion to fold into his understanding, to intrude upon the vision he’d had for his perfect creation. Pain in his sim… How had he let it come to this?
Best not to dwell, he reasons firmly, dismissing the thought to focus on the present, immediate, (mostly) concrete request in front of him. It perplexes him for a moment, ‘a fag’, but he recovers quickly as the most probable meaning of the term pushes past the dominating, up-to-date definition; nicotine has been illegal since before Warrick was born, but somehow, distantly, the knowledge is there when he reaches for it. Had it come from something he’d heard or read, or directly from the man before him? Warrick decides to file that question away for later— as intriguing a line of inquiry as it is, it won’t do him much practical good now.
Back to the task at hand.
“Ah, yes,” he says as he moves toward the nearest cabinet which he finds stocked with an assortment of bottles, jars, and other primitive— though still unmistakably medical— paraphernalia. “Of course.”
He selects one of the smaller bottles, narrowing his eyes at it in brief consideration, then strides toward the side of the bed. A glass of water which may or may not have been there a moment ago now sits atop the makeshift nightstand, and Warrick passes both it and the tablets he’d taken from the cabinet to Prior. As he’s learned from vast experience, there’s little sense in calling attention to the minor inconsistencies: the mind is capable of filling in the gaps all on its own, and quite instantaneously to boot.
That ought to cover the sudden-but-not appearance of the chair Warrick settles into as he waits for Prior to take the painkillers, too.
“Can you tell me the last thing you remember?” Best to establish a starting point, and the sooner the better…. Both to preserve the organic quality of the data provided and, naturally, to satisfy Warrick’s own curiosity.
Clinically impersonal, indeed.