Raven curls her fingers around the edge of the crate and leans in, eyes scanning for anything that could be of use to her. A screw, a bolt, anything that belongs on the bench of her workstation. Unsurprisingly, the crate offers her no such gifts.
Her fingers remain curled around the edge. She thinks of the Mountain Men, how they'd offered her friends food and clothes and comfort and companionship. The crates are almost the same gesture, if a little less enthusiastic to gain their trust in one sweep. It's merely a small token, almost like the Grounders and their bid for peace with many stipulations that showcased their paranoia and distrust of Arkadia.
"I'm not an alien," she opts for. She looks at him, still somewhat bent over, fingers around the lip. "The space station I was born on was a part of an evacuation plan the world had in place in case of a nuclear attack. There was an underground bunker on Earth, too, where people survived. Space has radiation. I can deal with living in a world where there's radiation. People who haven't been exposed can't."
Though it's more of a lecture for him, conversationally given to him in hopes of seeing him finally accept what she's saying, she's trying to piece it altogether. Looking at these Crate Men similarly to the Mountain Men, she wonders what it is she has in common with the people in this room.
It isn't radiation immunity. She doubts Jess Brightwell has it.
Standing at her full height, she flexes her fingers. "But I doubt that's why I was almost drowned in a fountain." She looks at him, then drops her gaze to his scrub top. "You're not grey because you're immune to radiation like me."
no subject
Her fingers remain curled around the edge. She thinks of the Mountain Men, how they'd offered her friends food and clothes and comfort and companionship. The crates are almost the same gesture, if a little less enthusiastic to gain their trust in one sweep. It's merely a small token, almost like the Grounders and their bid for peace with many stipulations that showcased their paranoia and distrust of Arkadia.
"I'm not an alien," she opts for. She looks at him, still somewhat bent over, fingers around the lip. "The space station I was born on was a part of an evacuation plan the world had in place in case of a nuclear attack. There was an underground bunker on Earth, too, where people survived. Space has radiation. I can deal with living in a world where there's radiation. People who haven't been exposed can't."
Though it's more of a lecture for him, conversationally given to him in hopes of seeing him finally accept what she's saying, she's trying to piece it altogether. Looking at these Crate Men similarly to the Mountain Men, she wonders what it is she has in common with the people in this room.
It isn't radiation immunity. She doubts Jess Brightwell has it.
Standing at her full height, she flexes her fingers. "But I doubt that's why I was almost drowned in a fountain." She looks at him, then drops her gaze to his scrub top. "You're not grey because you're immune to radiation like me."