Waking up in the medical bay had been a shock. Her fist going through the doctor had been another one, one that startled her enough that she hadn't realized that she was disarmed until she left. It didn't matter. She knew enough about barehanded fighting to get by. More than she had when she used to do cage fights on Thandra to pick up some extra money.
But missing the small knives didn't hurt as much as what else was missing. It had been hardly more than a week that she had to get used to that gait that was a soft scuff of shoe, then a tap, then cycling around again and again. Such a new sound, but she kept straining to hear it, listening for it, as she sat in the odd commissary. She kept listening for other sounds too, the taptaptaptap of four footed mine drones. Dimwit, Cusser, Whirlygig, Clank, Clunk, Zippy, and Ticktock. She closed her eyes, hands curling around a mug of something that tasted nothing like the coffee she was used to, and reminded herself that she did not cry in public. Would not cry in public.
Dane no longer counted as public. But Dane wasn't here, and that ache hurt worse than the worst bruised ribs she had ever had. There was no dermal regenerator that could take that sort of pain.
She would not cry, but that didn't mean that the pretty young woman with the fair skin, white braided hair, and blue eyes didn't look like she could use someone to talk to. Or a problem to puzzle out, or a computer to stitch.
Princess Elurra Snow | Stitching Snow |Yes, I used Elsa as her PB. | Spoilers | B
But missing the small knives didn't hurt as much as what else was missing. It had been hardly more than a week that she had to get used to that gait that was a soft scuff of shoe, then a tap, then cycling around again and again. Such a new sound, but she kept straining to hear it, listening for it, as she sat in the odd commissary. She kept listening for other sounds too, the taptaptaptap of four footed mine drones. Dimwit, Cusser, Whirlygig, Clank, Clunk, Zippy, and Ticktock. She closed her eyes, hands curling around a mug of something that tasted nothing like the coffee she was used to, and reminded herself that she did not cry in public. Would not cry in public.
Dane no longer counted as public. But Dane wasn't here, and that ache hurt worse than the worst bruised ribs she had ever had. There was no dermal regenerator that could take that sort of pain.
She would not cry, but that didn't mean that the pretty young woman with the fair skin, white braided hair, and blue eyes didn't look like she could use someone to talk to. Or a problem to puzzle out, or a computer to stitch.