“ah - uh, could you,” see, a looming piece of defunct prothean tech is currently propped up by her shoulder, the one barrier between the relic and smashing to bits on the ground, “got a second to - shit,” it slips and helen repositions, braces her shoulders, “ - lend a hand?” voice rises in tempo and pitch, concern shooting through the words. totally not panic, though. not even a little bit of it! @choseparagon











