[ We'll see what he's like in a minute without Starfleet grade painkillers. Speaking of, he should probably have something before they give this a go, but oh well. Maybe she'll jab him with something from the supplies in here, maybe not. Jim thinks, somewhat perversely, that he remembers missing his scars; some of the bigger ones he'd collected in his years as a neglected, abused child had faded upon resurrection, more smaller ones vanishing entirely. Most Federation citizens don't have scars, not even from acne, medical science wiping out most adolescent plagues. ]
Huhhh. [ What a choice. Jim ends up deciding to scoot back so he's laying down, just in case he passes out. Which seems distinctly possible. His left hand is still pretty munched, but he works with his elbow and his right hand well enough, shimmying carefully.
For a while he stays sat up, helping her with one hand getting pieces of the offending boot cut away, until they get to a certain angle and his face goes abruptly very pale, and he has to move to steady himself. ]
no subject
Huhhh. [ What a choice. Jim ends up deciding to scoot back so he's laying down, just in case he passes out. Which seems distinctly possible. His left hand is still pretty munched, but he works with his elbow and his right hand well enough, shimmying carefully.
For a while he stays sat up, helping her with one hand getting pieces of the offending boot cut away, until they get to a certain angle and his face goes abruptly very pale, and he has to move to steady himself. ]