[ To get a better look at the scars, to see what's new all these years. He still manages to give him a bit of a look, though, lifting an eyebrow. ]
That what this is about? [ Dryly, a bit of a smile to it, friendly, but again the act isn't as clean and polished as it usually would be. He's still tense. He knows when Maine is fixed on something, knows how he drives at it until he gets it, but he can't. He can't. There's things he can't give him. ] Wouldn't it be more fun if you did it yourself?
[ Even as he says it, though, he's already pulling off his shirt, and he has changed, of course he has. Any scars that Maine might remember are still there but older and faded, layered under new scars he's picked up, and he was never weak but he's certainly intensified in training since then, the difference would be easy to see. There's an especially awful scar on his left shoulder, like a bulletwound but one that really tore, and he's still wearing his tags, of course he is, the metal jostling around his neck -- but there's something different, something new. One for the UNSC, one for Freelancer, one for something else Maine wouldn't know, Recovery-One.
He turns around, then, stepping purposefully into shaft of light they have in the room. Let Maine look at those scars, he knows he'll force him to show him, anyway, spreading out like forked lightning from his implant and without his shirt it's clear how far they go, over the backs of his shoulders, stretching down over most of his back. ]
It's fine, Maine. Really. [ Glancing back over his shoulder. ] Doesn't even hurt.
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That what this is about? [ Dryly, a bit of a smile to it, friendly, but again the act isn't as clean and polished as it usually would be. He's still tense. He knows when Maine is fixed on something, knows how he drives at it until he gets it, but he can't. He can't. There's things he can't give him. ] Wouldn't it be more fun if you did it yourself?
[ Even as he says it, though, he's already pulling off his shirt, and he has changed, of course he has. Any scars that Maine might remember are still there but older and faded, layered under new scars he's picked up, and he was never weak but he's certainly intensified in training since then, the difference would be easy to see. There's an especially awful scar on his left shoulder, like a bulletwound but one that really tore, and he's still wearing his tags, of course he is, the metal jostling around his neck -- but there's something different, something new. One for the UNSC, one for Freelancer, one for something else Maine wouldn't know, Recovery-One.
He turns around, then, stepping purposefully into shaft of light they have in the room. Let Maine look at those scars, he knows he'll force him to show him, anyway, spreading out like forked lightning from his implant and without his shirt it's clear how far they go, over the backs of his shoulders, stretching down over most of his back. ]
It's fine, Maine. Really. [ Glancing back over his shoulder. ] Doesn't even hurt.