Convalescence [ota]
Forge had never done well with Westernized medicine--needful tolerance was about as far as he went down that road. So it was that after almost two weeks of being trapped in medbay under the watchful eyes of the doctors, he made good his escape.
He tried to put his fatigues on neatly but the shirt ended up open over his white tank top, the ends untucked. His boots were mostly untied. Nothing was working as well as it had been before... or it was, and he'd just become too easy with the weeks spent with his real limbs to adjust smoothly back to the metal ones.
It was frustrating enough to ruffle his normally unshakeable calm.
He had to hold onto the wall to make it down to the mess, where he lowered himself down at a table with a low growl of discontent.
He tried to put his fatigues on neatly but the shirt ended up open over his white tank top, the ends untucked. His boots were mostly untied. Nothing was working as well as it had been before... or it was, and he'd just become too easy with the weeks spent with his real limbs to adjust smoothly back to the metal ones.
It was frustrating enough to ruffle his normally unshakeable calm.
He had to hold onto the wall to make it down to the mess, where he lowered himself down at a table with a low growl of discontent.