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[goodweather]

TEXT ‎‏‏‎ ☀ ‎‏‏‎ DELIVERY ‎‏‏‎ ❄ ‎‏‏‎ ACTION

cabin: 137

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[goodweather]

"And I'm glad you did," he says, turning to look at SecUnit while he gets himself a glass. And he means it. He can't imagine this is something so ordinary or natural for something like it. "Really. And I'm glad that you see me as someone you trust enough to talk about this kind of stuff. That's, you know, who I try to be."

Try. He's just glad that whatever he's doing, it seems to be working.

He takes a sip from his new whiskey. "If... there really is nothing else, and you have a job to do, then I won't hold you back. But I'm always here if you want to talk again. You know where to find me."

And a little grin. "That's me saying I care."

[serialskiller]

"Thank you for translating. I would not have been able to tell."

There's zero sarcasm there.

"I care about you, too. How are your feathers growing in? I can't preen while in armor, but I can maybe make time."

[goodweather]

Phil recognizes the lack of sarcasm and is just a little bit surprised, since it was partially a joke--but it was meant to be as informative as it was taken, too. There's a part of him that sees Murderbot as childlike in some ways. Not in irresponsibility, or loudness, or lack of coordination, or snottiness--but just like a kid, it's only been acting in this messy world and living a messy life for... well, he can't assume for very long.

And like a parent or a teacher, he's doing his best to give that space to learn.

And that offer is so sweet of it. He extends his ripped wing. "Slowly, but well. All of Dr. Watson's--Joan's, I mean, all those stitches have come out. The pins are mostly grown in. I'm not sure I'll be able to fly until the next month or two."

He folds it back in. "Reaching around's still hard, so... yeah, you can let me know when you have a moment. Don't worry about it if you don't."