No, not slow. Charming, rather. Funny how quickly the protective instinct rises to the forefront of her mind. She even tweaks a smile that can be felt rather than seen under her hood.
"That's pretty mild, isn't it?" Blood may be thicker than water, but it can't compare with the mental feedback loops that happen between broodmates or this shared sense of grief. It isn't metaphorical. The sorrow is its own living, breathing thing. A palpable form of sadness, its tendrils creeping into the crevices of one's mind -- no, into the folds of one's physical brain. A thrill of nausea escapes her mind before she swings the door shut again.
"It's Misato, by the way. Welcome to the crew. We're pretty down in the dumps right now."
The logical follow-up to that: but it will start looking up soon enough. She doesn't say it, because she doesn't want to say things she doesn't believe in.
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"That's pretty mild, isn't it?" Blood may be thicker than water, but it can't compare with the mental feedback loops that happen between broodmates or this shared sense of grief. It isn't metaphorical. The sorrow is its own living, breathing thing. A palpable form of sadness, its tendrils creeping into the crevices of one's mind -- no, into the folds of one's physical brain. A thrill of nausea escapes her mind before she swings the door shut again.
"It's Misato, by the way. Welcome to the crew. We're pretty down in the dumps right now."
The logical follow-up to that: but it will start looking up soon enough. She doesn't say it, because she doesn't want to say things she doesn't believe in.