[ perhaps shiro shouldn’t be surprised by keith’s readiness. if keith is to be believed – and shiro does believe him to the extent that something is starkly mismatched between them – then obviously, this keith would be familiar with shiro’s hardware. more than that, shiro’s been keith’s mentor, friend and overall, confidant through some of the more formative years of keith’s life; shiro recognizes that he’s put in the work necessary to earn that ever elusive keith-trust. back at the garrison, shiro regarded it as some monumental achievement. he still does, honestly, but it’s tainted in the way shiro doubts the intelligence of it.
should keith trust him so readily? should he not hesitate when this arm is pointed his way? does keith know, fully, what this arm has been used for?
questions circle and shiro’s confidence shrinks, his own expression wavering with uncertainty as he’s faced with keith’s exuberance. gosh, he just looks so… unguarded. naïve, almost, in how unquestioning he is to simply offer up his hands.
shiro pulls himself together, though. it was his damn idea, so why the hell is he the one hesitating when he gets absolutely no pushback? shaking his head to rattle his brain and force some sense back into it, shiro then draws in a steadying breath and brings his left hand closer. it’s not as though this arm came with a manual. no real explanation, either. just some shit line about being made stronger for his impressive feats in the ring. activation comes easily, though. like moving his feet or waving his arms, it’s as simple as wanting his body to complete a task.
or used to be.
his arm does light a fluorescent purple, but it’s duller than its usual brightness. he thinks little of that first clue and thinks heat and shearing and burn through as he brings his lit fingers to that taunt chain. nothing happens. he doesn’t slice through. he doesn’t even make the slightest of marks. frowning, he pushes his hand harder against it, and again, finds no significant change. ]
What the hell?
[ again, he pushes hard, focusing just as intensely and visualizing the burn through… but nothing. he pulls his hand away, frowning a perplexed gaze down at it. if he really concentrates, he can sense there’s something lacking in its power, but he’s yet to put together – or at least doesn’t want to acknowledge – that his bodily make up may have been messed with again. ]
It’s not working. [ a beat, the light of his hand fading as he powers down. ] I don’t know why.
no subject
should keith trust him so readily?
should he not hesitate when this arm is pointed his way?
does keith know, fully, what this arm has been used for?
questions circle and shiro’s confidence shrinks, his own expression wavering with uncertainty as he’s faced with keith’s exuberance. gosh, he just looks so… unguarded. naïve, almost, in how unquestioning he is to simply offer up his hands.
shiro pulls himself together, though. it was his damn idea, so why the hell is he the one hesitating when he gets absolutely no pushback? shaking his head to rattle his brain and force some sense back into it, shiro then draws in a steadying breath and brings his left hand closer. it’s not as though this arm came with a manual. no real explanation, either. just some shit line about being made stronger for his impressive feats in the ring. activation comes easily, though. like moving his feet or waving his arms, it’s as simple as wanting his body to complete a task.
or used to be.
his arm does light a fluorescent purple, but it’s duller than its usual brightness. he thinks little of that first clue and thinks heat and shearing and burn through as he brings his lit fingers to that taunt chain. nothing happens. he doesn’t slice through. he doesn’t even make the slightest of marks. frowning, he pushes his hand harder against it, and again, finds no significant change. ]
What the hell?
[ again, he pushes hard, focusing just as intensely and visualizing the burn through… but nothing. he pulls his hand away, frowning a perplexed gaze down at it. if he really concentrates, he can sense there’s something lacking in its power, but he’s yet to put together – or at least doesn’t want to acknowledge – that his bodily make up may have been messed with again. ]
It’s not working. [ a beat, the light of his hand fading as he powers down. ] I don’t know why.