You really must be a fool, Julius Visconti, to suggest that I take my rest while you are injured.
[ As though the Director would ever be capable of such a thing, even when wearied by the fantastic exertion of channeling programmable matter into such a great size and shape that his body thrums, yet, as though in anticipation of further combat. The sensation is worrisome, but Sion chooses to say nothing, instead following his friend into the med bay of the ship before assisting in the gathering of surgical instruments: sterile gloves and a pair of forceps, iodine and proper bandaging. ]
Sit down, my friend. [ —naturally, the chiding continues, but Sion's voice is nothing if not fond as he doles out the command, his golden eyes falling upon Julius in a look which flickers between exasperation (Julius is wounded, he should mind himself!), guilt (...all of this, it is Sion's fault...), and gratitude (though they'd saved one another in the end, he cannot help but feel indebted toward the other man). ] I am the one with steady, surgical hands, and you are not yet fully recovered from the procedure you underwent not one week ago.
[ What's more... Sion will be all right for awhile, yet. Though he is running on the fumes of adrenaline from the altercation of before, he hasn't yet crashed, and nor will he until Julius has been taken care of.
Lowering his eyes, he shifts away to wash his hands, thoroughly scrubbing them before donning a pair of medical gloves:] The way you interacted with Fenrir just now, and the way you interacted with me... this is what the oracle cells had been capable of, all along?
no subject
[ As though the Director would ever be capable of such a thing, even when wearied by the fantastic exertion of channeling programmable matter into such a great size and shape that his body thrums, yet, as though in anticipation of further combat. The sensation is worrisome, but Sion chooses to say nothing, instead following his friend into the med bay of the ship before assisting in the gathering of surgical instruments: sterile gloves and a pair of forceps, iodine and proper bandaging. ]
Sit down, my friend. [ —naturally, the chiding continues, but Sion's voice is nothing if not fond as he doles out the command, his golden eyes falling upon Julius in a look which flickers between exasperation (Julius is wounded, he should mind himself!), guilt (...all of this, it is Sion's fault...), and gratitude (though they'd saved one another in the end, he cannot help but feel indebted toward the other man). ] I am the one with steady, surgical hands, and you are not yet fully recovered from the procedure you underwent not one week ago.
[ What's more... Sion will be all right for awhile, yet. Though he is running on the fumes of adrenaline from the altercation of before, he hasn't yet crashed, and nor will he until Julius has been taken care of.
Lowering his eyes, he shifts away to wash his hands, thoroughly scrubbing them before donning a pair of medical gloves:] The way you interacted with Fenrir just now, and the way you interacted with me... this is what the oracle cells had been capable of, all along?