NICK:
The detective pauses to listen to her, surprised at how near to desperate she sounds. How long as she been down here, and what’s to happen if her suit gets broken (perhaps it’s got something to do with those startling peepers she’s sporting)? He could only guess, but he’s never been one for blind speculation. Instead, he only waits until that ❝okay❞ comes, and then he meets it with one of his own.
❝Okay?❞ it’s got the inflection of a question, but it isn’t one. It’s really a confirmation in exchange for hers, letting her know that he’s about to give this thing a proper go.
His mismatched hands trace the outer part of her shoulder armor, finding where it’s stuck and giving him a good idea of how he can get it loose. Then he’s turning himself a little to one side, and although he’s still in that half-crouch, he’s grounding his feet and curving his body to balance himself, his legs like springs to push upward and give his effort momentum as he suddenly gives her shoulders a hefty shove.
There’s still that unrelenting anxiety COILED up in the pit of her stomach, but she nods at the synth anyway, and swallows dryly. For someone with a..hobby..as dangerous as hers, she sure did worry a whole lot over the least stressful things-- namely, getting a tear in her suit. In reality, she knew he would very likely be just fine if he were exposed to her radiation. But it was the thought of HER being ‘exposed’ against her wishes that sent her mind into a frenzy. (Would he even care though-- he, of all beings? She didn’t know him though, and she’s met far odder a being than he, who had reactions that left her reason to be wary, to be able to assume how he himself would react.) Her toes wiggle in her boots-- feet getting cold from inactivity. ‘Meant she’d been down there for FAR too long. Longer than she’d of liked, anyway. And then there’s a SHOVE and some WEIGHT against her shoulder and she finds herself slipping out from between the rubble, with an absolutely terrible noise of scraping metal and a quiet huff of an “oof--”. Unfortunately, she was also slipping very quickly, and she finds herself very nearly finding the face of her helmet against the cement adjacent to the two of them. Gloved hands fling outwards and she catches herself-- just barely, with her face but a few inches from the ground. Mitzie heaves a deep sigh and brings herself from her hands and knees back up to her feet, dusting the front of herself off as she does. She’s a little wobbly at first-- probably from having not eaten this morning-- but she easily finds her footing. Hands glide over the broken wall of rubble as she turns to face him, hidden eyes gazing inquisitively at the old synth. “god --you’re strong..” she notes amicably after a few moments, a hand slowly fumbling along the edges of her shoulder pad, scratched to hell and back-- it was like she was put through a cheese grater. “Damn it..” she breathes; her attention momentarily faltering. “--nothing that can’t be fixed, I guess...” she mutters with a shake of her head. The ghoul focuses her full attention back on the other, slipping just a little closer-- a few inches to where she was, but no further. She’d hate to get stuck again. And she stays there, the rubble between them acting as a form of comfort for her. Safe, behind this wall. “Thank you.” she says slowly-- her voice a little hoarse, even with the modulator in place. Thirsty.. she was thirsty... “--and.. sorry.” a nod. “That’s not, you know... normally how I like to meet people, but... I’m--” a pause. hesitation, but just brief. “.. Mitzie.” "And, If you don’t mind me asking... what were you... doing.. all the way out here?” She’s never once seen a synth by itself before. Not once. Those guys like to move in groups. In fact... that’s probably why she was on edge-- even after what he’d done for her. “--you out here all by your lonesome?”
