@chaosthery .
he treats it casually.
exactly the way you shouldn’t treat things like this, but yet again; who looks at circumstances and thinks, ‘it will be best that i put a bullet in my former general’s kneecap because they’re saying things i don’t agree with?’ not many people. people with PROBLEMS, felix supposes, vaguely recalling descriptions of such in articles and movies and books, but that thought is snuffed out like the dreadful blight it is. right. their current encounter is as natural as the cosmic explosion of stars in their daily, system-destroying and miniature re-enactment of the big bang. he sits on the sad excuse for a bedside table, legs crossed over one another with a hand on one knee in a way that seems like it should be inherently provocative (as much of his wonderless body language is; thinking that all movements should be made to incite want. it’s most of what he conveys, and it’s a little unsettling). the only reason why the table is holding up the heavy weight of his armour is because the legs are steel and bolted to the floor no doubt to prevent the very hypothetical person in bed from being beaten to death with it. yes, it does happen more than you would think.
undoubtedly, she does not want him here. but he hasn’t came to sneer or apologise or even explain; the screaming pain in her leg from a week or so ago is irrelevant now, actually. felix is only here so he can emphasise. sympathise. comfort? the thing he’s missed out a lot on doing, the thing he hasn’t tried since locus and the squadmate from the war who died the night after they complimented him. or had at least done something along those lines, anyway. not that vanessa cares. she is a bird, held hopelessly between the mercenary’s child-like fingers; curious eyes wondering just what the hell would happen if he gave miss birdie a twist n’ spin, stuck the thumb at the base of the feathery neck, you know. but he doesn’t feel like he loves her very much, at least at the moment, so such ideas haven’t even formed in the back of his mind. felix taps on the plating of his knee, head titled to the side and eyes glued on the same part of the room, body language speaking like it’s bored. he is not.
❛ so, how’s the joint holding up? ❜
