[it won't burn her, but it might be a little uncomfortable.
she'll lean to let camille touch, if she wants. and she'll be close enough that she can hear the steam train sort of thing it's got going - a hiss and clunk, pedals working, chugging along.]
And that's half the appeal isn't it? Maybe this is an urge that she, in particular, should be curbing, reaching for things that might hurt her.
But Karlach is a person, not a thing, and Camille's fingertips press to the sternum and her brain melds the hiss with the heat, and she imagines smoke sizzling off her fingers.
Yet she's not burning. Just on the precipice of it, feeling the thump through the skin, serenaded by metal and pistons. She presses down, so that the rest of her fingers share the heat. So close to searing.
karlach watches her do this, and she obviously doesn't know what's going on in camille's head, but. the pause, and the look on her face - well. karlach's worked with a lot of people in her life. she recognizes it.
[Camille cradles that hand, touching cold fingers to the fresh toasted tips. Enamoured with the split in sensation.
Karlach has quieted a little though, and that makes her nervous. Better keep it moving.]
But it had to hurt when you first got it. Right? [Because there's no way she was born with that. Boothill was both man and machine, but Karlach seemed cut of very different cloths. Plural.] Some kind of emergency operation?
Hard to imagine a heart removal that isn't an emergency. [But she'll ease off. It's been what, a few days? Karlach doesn't owe her shit and it's not relevant to their plight.]
Well, if the temperature dips, you'll be the belle of the ball.
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no subject
It's artificial?
[Her hands draws up towards it.]
Can I...
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[it won't burn her, but it might be a little uncomfortable.
she'll lean to let camille touch, if she wants. and she'll be close enough that she can hear the steam train sort of thing it's got going - a hiss and clunk, pedals working, chugging along.]
no subject
And that's half the appeal isn't it? Maybe this is an urge that she, in particular, should be curbing, reaching for things that might hurt her.
But Karlach is a person, not a thing, and Camille's fingertips press to the sternum and her brain melds the hiss with the heat, and she imagines smoke sizzling off her fingers.
Yet she's not burning. Just on the precipice of it, feeling the thump through the skin, serenaded by metal and pistons. She presses down, so that the rest of her fingers share the heat. So close to searing.
Then she remembers herself and pulls away.]
It doesn't hurt you?
no subject
karlach watches her do this, and she obviously doesn't know what's going on in camille's head, but. the pause, and the look on her face - well. karlach's worked with a lot of people in her life. she recognizes it.
quiet, for a moment, then:]
Nah. Not here.
no subject
Karlach has quieted a little though, and that makes her nervous. Better keep it moving.]
But it had to hurt when you first got it. Right? [Because there's no way she was born with that. Boothill was both man and machine, but Karlach seemed cut of very different cloths. Plural.] Some kind of emergency operation?
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Not an emergency, really, but yeah. It hurt about as much as replacing a heart would.
[the way she says it, casual and airy, might suggest that she is. downplaying it.]
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Hard to imagine a heart removal that isn't an emergency. [But she'll ease off. It's been what, a few days? Karlach doesn't owe her shit and it's not relevant to their plight.]
Well, if the temperature dips, you'll be the belle of the ball.
no subject
Right? It's happened before. It got cold in the Shadowlands. Can't even tell you how many times I woke up to Shadowheart crawling into my tent.