[ Grey's first instinct when he sees the gun is to pull away, and he would have if d'Artagnan hadn't been holding him still. It didn't look like any gun Grey had seen before, but he recognized a trigger when he saw one. He glared, mad that d'Artagnan tricked him, and that he fell for it, and that he was- what?
He sounded sincere, not at all like he was on the cusp of betrayal. Grey had already braced himself for a needle, he had no time to also prepare for a gun. It felt. It wasn't like being stitched, or even stabbed. If it was a bullet, Grey guessed he would be missing a hand right now. It felt like getting his arm caught in a piston, or being punched by a very small pretty dull knife. Not that either of those things had happened before. Grey winced and gritted his teeth.
This was supposed to help? He was about to react when he started to see what was happening. It was putting his hand back together? Mesmerized, Grey watched his hand seemingly repair itself. It itched.
Grey flexed his fingers, inspecting his hand front and back and seeing no signs of the wound at all. He looked back over at d'Artagnan in awe. Today featured an overwhelming amount of impossible things happening, but d'Artagnan hadn't lied or tried to trick him after all. He should apologize. Apologies were on his other arm, the one that was broken. What happened to it?
D'Artagnan was right about a battle. Grey thought about Franco and he should feel angry, but he's just ashamed. He tried lifting his arm and weakly mimed a snapping-in-two motion. With his other arm, still marveling at his healed hand, he tilted it so the word "Trouble" was visible. No, that wouldn't work. What if he thought Grey had done something to get in trouble and deserved it? He hadn't done anything wrong... ]
[ Miming. D'Artagnan's eyes narrow a little while he tries to make sense out of those gestures. Then as Grey's arm turns, he notices what he hasn't before - that it's not just dirt and grime on that skin. D'Artagnan automatically reaches for him again, stilling his arm to look at them. All of them, so many words. ]
They're tattoos. [ His eyes slide back to the boy's strange face, and he shakes his head. ] Who are you? So many marks.
[ Where he's from - when he's from - tattoos like this aren't common. Sailors have them, and criminals. Often criminals. But those wouldn't be this kind of tattoo. They wouldn't be words, written in cursive, and...
Written in English. D'Artagnan can speak some English, now. He couldn't when he first arrived here, but he'd learned, because of those times when the translators fail. Reading it still isn't all that easy. The one he picks out isn't 'Trouble', but 'Die' - that one, he knows. But there are so many, and they seem so random. Individual words, not sentences or quotes. Just words, written all over the boy who doesn't speak. ]
They're how you talk, aren't they? I...
[ He pauses, and then his face settles into something sympathetic. ]
Listen. This? [ He holds up the nanite gun, letting Grey see it this time. ] It gives you a shot, and it fixes anything. Any injury. Just like your hand.
[ His head tilts, and he nods to Grey's broken arm again. ]
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He sounded sincere, not at all like he was on the cusp of betrayal. Grey had already braced himself for a needle, he had no time to also prepare for a gun. It felt. It wasn't like being stitched, or even stabbed. If it was a bullet, Grey guessed he would be missing a hand right now. It felt like getting his arm caught in a piston, or being punched by a very small pretty dull knife. Not that either of those things had happened before. Grey winced and gritted his teeth.
This was supposed to help? He was about to react when he started to see what was happening. It was putting his hand back together? Mesmerized, Grey watched his hand seemingly repair itself. It itched.
Grey flexed his fingers, inspecting his hand front and back and seeing no signs of the wound at all. He looked back over at d'Artagnan in awe. Today featured an overwhelming amount of impossible things happening, but d'Artagnan hadn't lied or tried to trick him after all. He should apologize. Apologies were on his other arm, the one that was broken. What happened to it?
D'Artagnan was right about a battle. Grey thought about Franco and he should feel angry, but he's just ashamed. He tried lifting his arm and weakly mimed a snapping-in-two motion. With his other arm, still marveling at his healed hand, he tilted it so the word "Trouble" was visible. No, that wouldn't work. What if he thought Grey had done something to get in trouble and deserved it? He hadn't done anything wrong... ]
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They're tattoos. [ His eyes slide back to the boy's strange face, and he shakes his head. ] Who are you? So many marks.
[ Where he's from - when he's from - tattoos like this aren't common. Sailors have them, and criminals. Often criminals. But those wouldn't be this kind of tattoo. They wouldn't be words, written in cursive, and...
Written in English. D'Artagnan can speak some English, now. He couldn't when he first arrived here, but he'd learned, because of those times when the translators fail. Reading it still isn't all that easy. The one he picks out isn't 'Trouble', but 'Die' - that one, he knows. But there are so many, and they seem so random. Individual words, not sentences or quotes. Just words, written all over the boy who doesn't speak. ]
They're how you talk, aren't they? I...
[ He pauses, and then his face settles into something sympathetic. ]
Listen. This? [ He holds up the nanite gun, letting Grey see it this time. ] It gives you a shot, and it fixes anything. Any injury. Just like your hand.
[ His head tilts, and he nods to Grey's broken arm again. ]
Do I need to give you more?