[ It doesn't quite feel right to be tending to something as relatively trivial as his arm when the weight of what just happened is still looming over them. But at the same time, he gets it -- distractions always work. He'd found his own thoughts unbearable back when that had happened in his younger days; he can only imagine how much worse it must have been for Amos, back then and even now.
So he only breathes a quiet exhale before holding his prosthetic arm forward, pointing out the screws that hold in the panel at his inner elbow. With that out of the way, he can point out where it feels 'off,' it shouldn't be hard for a practiced eye to figure out where some components have come a little loose, nothing difficult to fix once spotted.
And while he watches Amos tighten those screws and oil a few tiny joints, Gen thinks. A vague, static-y cloud of concern laps at the very edges of their Aspect-borne connection, and the furrow of his brow makes it clear Gen is actually trying to figure out the correct thing to say.
Not that he knows. What would be the correct answer here? ]
... there's nothing I need to ask. You don't gotta talk about anything if you don't want to.
[ Because what the hell is he supposed to ask? 'How did that happen?' 'Who hurt you?' 'Are you okay?' They all feel ridiculous to ask, and he's not sure he wants to know any of the answers. But after a moment of biting nervously at his lip, Gen fixes a careful stare on Amos. ]
But -- is there anything you wanted to say? [ He's not sure if that's the right thing to say, either. But at least for him, that was what had eaten him the worst after what had happened to him. The need for secrecy, the inability to talk about anything. He'd often felt like his chest would explode from the pressure of keeping everything contained. And while it doesn't look like Amos' situation is anything at all like his own ... it's all he can think to say. (The only way he knows to try and help.) ] Even if it's something small, or ... anything.
no subject
So he only breathes a quiet exhale before holding his prosthetic arm forward, pointing out the screws that hold in the panel at his inner elbow. With that out of the way, he can point out where it feels 'off,' it shouldn't be hard for a practiced eye to figure out where some components have come a little loose, nothing difficult to fix once spotted.
And while he watches Amos tighten those screws and oil a few tiny joints, Gen thinks. A vague, static-y cloud of concern laps at the very edges of their Aspect-borne connection, and the furrow of his brow makes it clear Gen is actually trying to figure out the correct thing to say.
Not that he knows. What would be the correct answer here? ]
... there's nothing I need to ask. You don't gotta talk about anything if you don't want to.
[ Because what the hell is he supposed to ask? 'How did that happen?' 'Who hurt you?' 'Are you okay?' They all feel ridiculous to ask, and he's not sure he wants to know any of the answers. But after a moment of biting nervously at his lip, Gen fixes a careful stare on Amos. ]
But -- is there anything you wanted to say? [ He's not sure if that's the right thing to say, either. But at least for him, that was what had eaten him the worst after what had happened to him. The need for secrecy, the inability to talk about anything. He'd often felt like his chest would explode from the pressure of keeping everything contained. And while it doesn't look like Amos' situation is anything at all like his own ... it's all he can think to say. (The only way he knows to try and help.) ] Even if it's something small, or ... anything.