Tributary memories

[psycholumin]

Memory summaries below!

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Day 23 bubble (surgery, mild body horror)

[psycholumin]

Metawing sits astride a chair, arms crossed over the back - topless, but sitting in such a way that it mostly exposes her back in. She turns slightly, glancing over her shoulder at the woman behind her - a troll older than herself, with forked horns and an undercut that flops into her face and amber-tinted glasses that muddy her eye color and make it difficult to judge her blood color - and gets lightly slapped in the back of the head for her trouble.

"Sit still," the Sawbones scolds, and Metawing ducks her head over her arms, hiding a smile that turns to a grimace as the bite of a scalpel slides into her between her shoulder blades, clean and cool and strangely painless under the local anesthetic. "It's bad enough you want me to graft a thing you grew in your respiteblock into your nervous system, if you wiggle I am going to end up maiming you."

"It's not like I dunked the seed cable in my recuperacoon and hoped for the best," Metawing objects. "I've got a lab. I keep telling you you should come let me give you a tour, Jetshard, you need to get outta the infirmary more often. You work too much."

"You complain about me working too much a lot for a troll who's currently undergoing experimental surgery -"

"I could have handled this myself! I handled the other dorsal ports!"

"Doing it with telekinesis and a hand mirror is not 'handling' it, more or less by definition, Helmsman," the Sawbones sighs. "You're not some kind of paragon of work-life balance either, you know."

Metawing braces a little, as the other troll slides the implant into the incision and the filaments of synthetic neural tissues begin searching out purchase in a neuropsionic impulse node. When the fizzle of psionic sensation fades from sharp pain to dull awareness and she's able to relax a little, she ventures, "So like, if we went for a drink, neither of us would be working, yeah?"

"Hmmm," and Metawing thinks she can hear a smile in Jetshard's voice, though she knows better than to try to look. "I'd like that. Assuming you haven't talked me into paralyzing you from the neck down."