whipshots: (pic#12830721)
brigitte lindholm ([personal profile] whipshots) wrote in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs 2019-05-10 02:31 am (UTC)

In all ways. She catches that slight (but important) distinction. The hint that Niska might be hurting, too, even if it doesn't show.

But there's a chill down Brigitte's spine at the rest of Niska's words. Waking them all. Perhaps the omnic crisis started with someone (something) just like this: one spark, lighting the sentience and self-awareness in all the rest, a virus multiplying and multiplying until they all rose up. Thousands and thousands dead, four years of war, her father almost dying--

Her chest feels heavy and tight, the anxiety strangling. She doesn't often panic, but this feels like a looming panic attack.

"I'm-- I'm glad you're okay," she says, because that is still true, even if she can't sort out how she feels about the rest of it. She rises to her feet, a hand at her throat, hovering on the verge of just walking right out.

"Will you be alright, now that it's sewn up? Is there anything else I can do for you?" she asks stiffly, as if she's nothing more than Niska's physician. Medical care. Focusing on the logistics, rather than addressing the elephant in the room or how she feels about it. Brig's not sure she could even explain it herself.

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