( Hmm, it figures they'd find a kindred spirit at their side when they most needed one. But even the most resilient ship needed a port in a storm. Maybe it's that there's no one else to be brave for, finally given the chance to breathe and feel honestly. Or maybe it's just that inherent understanding, if they're this much alike, that there would be no judgment. There's nothing wrong with needing help. Everyone did, at one point or another. That their secrets would be safe in similar hands.
The hair style's simply old habit; she's worn it the same way for so many years now, easy to pull half the pony back through a loop of the gold elastic to slap a surgeon's cap over, keeping it free from face mask ties at the back of her head. The bobby pins are part and parcel, but when she feels his eyes on her, she glances up with a little crinkle of the nose from her concentrating that smooths back out as she smiles.
(It's sweet of him to think so highly of her, based on appearances and a few words. Good thing she thinks the same of him. He seems very nice, and his eyes are endlessly kind despite the scar running beneath them. He's also far too young to be so white; was it natural? Hah. No, she knows stress when she sees it.) )
One would certainly think, yes. But there's little enough here to observe, and the guards don't speak to us. ( Thus, the solution is to break out and see what they can find for themselves. And, you know, avoid the "off with their heads!" of it all. He mentions a fighter, and she isn't sure yet if it meant a plane or some other thing entirely, but the stray pieces of her observations seem to seam right together. The scar, the build— military. Of course. She's been around it for years herself. It's his demeanor that threw her off, but she should have known. ) My. You had fun at least, I hope? That's grounds for a court martial.
( Plenty mischievous in tone on her own, sneaking a sly glance over— which is why the placement of the chains rustled, once she gets it unlocked, and they go still, waiting on bated breath. No confetti and giant checks here to celebrate, just yet, much as she'd been enjoying the funny space dad side of this nice stranger she'd found herself in prison with. She couldn't possibly ask for better. Hopefully she won't be the reason they cut the simulation off early, though.
When no guard comes, Shiro's the first to breathe out that relief, and then Angela half a second behind him. But here's the kicker; now she has a hand free, which means she can lower it to his forearm beside her and give him a little squeeze. Both in thanks and reassurance. He's managed to keep her calm through it all, in return. An exchanged half-smile, a bit lopsided, and then she's switching the tools to her dominant free hand to get the next one free. )
You don't recognize me? I'm a regular Houdini. I never fumble. ( The amount of time it's taking her to even get her tools inserted properly says that is a bald-faced lie. The teasing keeps them young and on their toes, exchanged in low-pitched murmurs as this one works open in half the time, tools of her newest trade up between her lips so she can very quietly set the chains and shackles down under their bench. Now, his turn. Forgive her for leaning over your knee, there. ) Now, let's get you out of here, too.
I have faith in u new friend you're gonna do great at jail-tagging!!
The hair style's simply old habit; she's worn it the same way for so many years now, easy to pull half the pony back through a loop of the gold elastic to slap a surgeon's cap over, keeping it free from face mask ties at the back of her head. The bobby pins are part and parcel, but when she feels his eyes on her, she glances up with a little crinkle of the nose from her concentrating that smooths back out as she smiles.
(It's sweet of him to think so highly of her, based on appearances and a few words. Good thing she thinks the same of him. He seems very nice, and his eyes are endlessly kind despite the scar running beneath them. He's also far too young to be so white; was it natural?
Hah. No, she knows stress when she sees it.) )One would certainly think, yes. But there's little enough here to observe, and the guards don't speak to us. ( Thus, the solution is to break out and see what they can find for themselves. And, you know, avoid the "off with their heads!" of it all. He mentions a fighter, and she isn't sure yet if it meant a plane or some other thing entirely, but the stray pieces of her observations seem to seam right together. The scar, the build— military. Of course. She's been around it for years herself. It's his demeanor that threw her off, but she should have known. ) My. You had fun at least, I hope? That's grounds for a court martial.
( Plenty mischievous in tone on her own, sneaking a sly glance over— which is why the placement of the chains rustled, once she gets it unlocked, and they go still, waiting on bated breath. No confetti and giant checks here to celebrate, just yet, much as she'd been enjoying the funny space dad side of this nice stranger she'd found herself in prison with. She couldn't possibly ask for better. Hopefully she won't be the reason they cut the simulation off early, though.
When no guard comes, Shiro's the first to breathe out that relief, and then Angela half a second behind him. But here's the kicker; now she has a hand free, which means she can lower it to his forearm beside her and give him a little squeeze. Both in thanks and reassurance. He's managed to keep her calm through it all, in return. An exchanged half-smile, a bit lopsided, and then she's switching the tools to her dominant free hand to get the next one free. )
You don't recognize me? I'm a regular Houdini. I never fumble. ( The amount of time it's taking her to even get her tools inserted properly says that is a bald-faced lie. The teasing keeps them young and on their toes, exchanged in low-pitched murmurs as this one works open in half the time, tools of her newest trade up between her lips so she can very quietly set the chains and shackles down under their bench. Now, his turn. Forgive her for leaning over your knee, there. ) Now, let's get you out of here, too.