@chaosthery .
         he treats it casually.
     exactly the way you shouldnât treat things like this, but yet again; who looks at circumstances and thinks, âit will be best that i put a bullet in my former generalâs kneecap because theyâre saying things i donât agree with?â not many people. people with PROBLEMS, felix supposes, vaguely recalling descriptions of such in articles and movies and books, but that thought is snuffed out like the dreadful blight it is. right. their current encounter is as natural as the cosmic explosion of stars in their daily, system-destroying and miniature re-enactment of the big bang. he sits on the sad excuse for a bedside table, legs crossed over one another with a hand on one knee in a way that seems like it should be inherently provocative (as much of his wonderless body language is; thinking that all movements should be made to incite want. itâs most of what he conveys, and itâs a little unsettling). the only reason why the table is holding up the heavy weight of his armour is because the legs are steel and bolted to the floor      no doubt to prevent the very hypothetical person in bed from being beaten to death with it. yes, it does happen more than you would think.
            undoubtedly, she does not want him here. but he hasnât came to sneer or apologise or even explain; the screaming pain in her leg from a week or so ago is irrelevant now, actually. felix is only here so he can emphasise. sympathise. comfort? the thing heâs missed out a lot on doing, the thing he hasnât tried since locus and the squadmate from the war who died the night after they complimented him. or had at least done something along those lines, anyway. not that vanessa cares. she is a bird, held hopelessly between the mercenaryâs child-like fingers; curious eyes wondering just what the hell would happen if he gave miss birdie a twist nâ spin, stuck the thumb at the base of the feathery neck, you know. but he doesnât feel like he loves her very much, at least at the moment, so such ideas havenât even formed in the back of his mind. felix taps on the plating of his knee, head titled to the side and eyes glued on the same part of the room, body language speaking like itâs bored. he is not.
                                  â so, howâs the joint holding up? â
