#celia001

it’s a small thing. friday night, the restaurant is busy. if there isn’t a seat after all, it doesn’t have to mean anything. it’s more frustrating that the hostess first asked who else was with them, gaze drifting past roz’s shoulders like she was expecting to find a chaperone—followed immediately by a string of unnecessary clarifications, as if realizing what she was doing. by the end of it, roz is fairly certain she was more uncomfortable than they were, and it’s a relief when they slip back outside.

roz hasn’t gone far from the restaurant when they pause again though, distracted by the sight of a woman seemingly in the midst of readjusting the brace wrapped around her leg. the technology looks leoran in nature. admittedly, they’d lost their childhood interest in the specifics of leoran tech in other the years—although with the revelation of energy cores, that’s changed too. whatever the purpose of the brace though, it doesn’t seem like it’s behaving the way the woman wants. 

“need any help?” roz says. where she appears dressed up for the night, roz hasn’t bothered. they aren’t in work clothes, but they’re comfortable, and they usually have extra tools tossed in their bag for convenience in case they forget to pack something the morning of a shift—and maybe there’s a little sentimentality too, in at least one case.