[ the arm is familiar, but not. like a memory twisted through a mirror, it's just enough to spark the edges of recognition, but not to light the fire completely. her gaze catches on it for a moment (or ten) too long, only to jerk back down to her collection of items a beat later.
they're in the future. twenty-sixth century men may very well enjoy sporting metal arms. maybe it's a fashion statement. maybe it's not even real metal. this isn't the time or the place to interrogate strangers on their mild resemblance to men she used to know. ]
I wasn't planning on it, but I'll take requests into consideration if that's something you're into.
[ one knife in particular is picked up and cradled in her palm, the edge inspected as if expecting to spot damage on the blade that isn't there, and then slipped neatly into place on a band around her arm. ]
no subject
they're in the future. twenty-sixth century men may very well enjoy sporting metal arms. maybe it's a fashion statement. maybe it's not even real metal. this isn't the time or the place to interrogate strangers on their mild resemblance to men she used to know. ]
I wasn't planning on it, but I'll take requests into consideration if that's something you're into.
[ one knife in particular is picked up and cradled in her palm, the edge inspected as if expecting to spot damage on the blade that isn't there, and then slipped neatly into place on a band around her arm. ]