"I'd be stupid not to," he volleys back. Of course, he thinks it's a good
idea. It's a fantastic idea and one he's still thinking about.
He'd feel a lot worse about all of this if he couldn't be helpful. He hates
that he feels blind, deaf, and numb here. Even having his vision doesn't
make up for the lack not having his senses has left. He tests the razor
carefully against the memory foam, attempting to judge how much pressure
he's going to have to use to cut it, how much it will take to shape it and
that sort of thing.
He's very proud of her and she should be proud of herself. He can hear that
pride in her voice and he glances over at her quickly to see the smile on
her face. If he could get used to the amount of stimuli that the vision
implants give him, he might appreciate being able to see. Of course, the
things he missed being able to see like the sky and the sun, New York in
the spring and the skyline at night, none of those things exist here. He's
having to come up with a whole new list of things that he's grateful to be
able to see.
"I can't blame them. We've got so few luxuries in this place. People are
eager to take any offered to them." He's busily trying to shave the foam
into shape while he talks, eyes open as he focuses on the block of memory
foam. He really is paying attention. He just feels like his senses
are so wrapped in cotton and the implants are still so overwhelming. He
overestimates how much pressure is needed to shape the foam and the razor
slips, slicing into his thumb. He watches the blood well against his skin
and for a moment, he's not even sure what has happened. He remembers pain
and this is dull in comparison (because his sense of touch is so dull in
comparison to what it is back home). He'd forgotten that blood was so
bright. Finally, he shakes himself out of his stupor. "Uhm...Lydia,
do we have a first aid kit down here?"
no subject
"I'd be stupid not to," he volleys back. Of course, he thinks it's a good idea. It's a fantastic idea and one he's still thinking about.
He'd feel a lot worse about all of this if he couldn't be helpful. He hates that he feels blind, deaf, and numb here. Even having his vision doesn't make up for the lack not having his senses has left. He tests the razor carefully against the memory foam, attempting to judge how much pressure he's going to have to use to cut it, how much it will take to shape it and that sort of thing.
He's very proud of her and she should be proud of herself. He can hear that pride in her voice and he glances over at her quickly to see the smile on her face. If he could get used to the amount of stimuli that the vision implants give him, he might appreciate being able to see. Of course, the things he missed being able to see like the sky and the sun, New York in the spring and the skyline at night, none of those things exist here. He's having to come up with a whole new list of things that he's grateful to be able to see.
"I can't blame them. We've got so few luxuries in this place. People are eager to take any offered to them." He's busily trying to shave the foam into shape while he talks, eyes open as he focuses on the block of memory foam. He really is paying attention. He just feels like his senses are so wrapped in cotton and the implants are still so overwhelming. He overestimates how much pressure is needed to shape the foam and the razor slips, slicing into his thumb. He watches the blood well against his skin and for a moment, he's not even sure what has happened. He remembers pain and this is dull in comparison (because his sense of touch is so dull in comparison to what it is back home). He'd forgotten that blood was so bright. Finally, he shakes himself out of his stupor. "Uhm...Lydia, do we have a first aid kit down here?"