[There's a delay between her response and his, a lengthy pause as he reads and rereads the message, takes it in, and she'd be forgiven for momentarily thinking that he'd once again decided to cut the conversation short. Because it does frustrate him, what she's saying here, leaves him feeling vaguely indignant in a way that he doesn't quite understand. He doesn't want to be seen as 'distressed', doesn't like the subtle implications that he somehow needs assistance in a way she believes him incapable of grasping, just yet.
But nor can he quite bring himself to tell her to leave him alone. Things have been said, he won't forget, her words are in him now. And so in the end he responds with a dismissal of sorts, but responds all the same.]
I don't require food in order to live. I'm immune to all known poisons and pathogens. I regenerate even from loss of limbs or a bullet to the head; it hurts, of course, but I survive it. As I say, there is very little I need.
[Never mind the suspicion in him that she's referring to something other than those physical functions. For the moment, he doesn't want to hear it. Doesn't know how to.]
As for whether I'm grateful...I both am and am not. They fixed something in me I believed to be irrevocably broken, and as such they prevented a fate worse than death. I owe them something for that. But if they'd left me to be devoured by the Storm, that too would have fixed my problem.
[And perhaps death would have been preferable-- it's what he'd wanted, before waking up to find that he'd been fixed. Now he has to learn to adjust to a world that is not his, something he doesn't really believe himself capable of. To die along with his twisted world...it has a certain appeal.]
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Date: 2017-08-17 12:12 pm (UTC)But nor can he quite bring himself to tell her to leave him alone. Things have been said, he won't forget, her words are in him now. And so in the end he responds with a dismissal of sorts, but responds all the same.]
I don't require food in order to live. I'm immune to all known poisons and pathogens. I regenerate even from loss of limbs or a bullet to the head; it hurts, of course, but I survive it. As I say, there is very little I need.
[Never mind the suspicion in him that she's referring to something other than those physical functions. For the moment, he doesn't want to hear it. Doesn't know how to.]
As for whether I'm grateful...I both am and am not. They fixed something in me I believed to be irrevocably broken, and as such they prevented a fate worse than death. I owe them something for that. But if they'd left me to be devoured by the Storm, that too would have fixed my problem.
[And perhaps death would have been preferable-- it's what he'd wanted, before waking up to find that he'd been fixed. Now he has to learn to adjust to a world that is not his, something he doesn't really believe himself capable of. To die along with his twisted world...it has a certain appeal.]