[It's difficult to find ways to offer comfort, here even more than most places. One must contend with the reality of the empathy bond, the risk of letting slip more than one ought. Feelings are mercurial, and not all may be taken kindly. Such a shockingly intimate experience can, moreover, be intensely difficult to bear, and touch is a difficult enough prospect already. OA can wield it when she thinks it will help, but at the moment she isn't convinced it would be.]
It is hard. The implant helps, but it isn't perfect. It does translate, though. You don't have to speak English; I'll understand.
[A beat, quiet sympathy before she gives as much context as she's willing to delve into right now:]
It isn't my first language either.
[The rest isn't private, but it's a long story, and this conversation isn't about her. What she wants to say still takes some formulation, a lull only extended by a momentary distraction as she casts her gaze about to orient herself. This place is still wonderful, still absorbing, with its flying vehicles and synthetic animals and dizzying array of culinary choices. Even finding herself back in Crestwood after so many years, she hadn't been quite so overwhelmed by the plethora of options before her. It has, therefore, been a source of twinned joy and horror to find herself building habits, finding places she likes to go, things of which she likes to partake.]
Someone gave me some advice once about things like this, about... upheavals, when life gets away from you, or becomes unrecognizable to you. He said you have to treat it like you'd been in a car crash, you know, that you can let it be as big as it is. He was right; the first thing you have to do to help other people is to be gentle with yourself. Worry about that first. The others will help. We've all been through it, we're all here together.
no subject
It is hard. The implant helps, but it isn't perfect. It does translate, though. You don't have to speak English; I'll understand.
[A beat, quiet sympathy before she gives as much context as she's willing to delve into right now:]
It isn't my first language either.
[The rest isn't private, but it's a long story, and this conversation isn't about her. What she wants to say still takes some formulation, a lull only extended by a momentary distraction as she casts her gaze about to orient herself. This place is still wonderful, still absorbing, with its flying vehicles and synthetic animals and dizzying array of culinary choices. Even finding herself back in Crestwood after so many years, she hadn't been quite so overwhelmed by the plethora of options before her. It has, therefore, been a source of twinned joy and horror to find herself building habits, finding places she likes to go, things of which she likes to partake.]
Someone gave me some advice once about things like this, about... upheavals, when life gets away from you, or becomes unrecognizable to you. He said you have to treat it like you'd been in a car crash, you know, that you can let it be as big as it is. He was right; the first thing you have to do to help other people is to be gentle with yourself. Worry about that first. The others will help. We've all been through it, we're all here together.