[Dirk's sympathy for the small man who's just popped out of a pod and flopped to the ground in front of him is acute. His own introduction to this planet had progressed in much the same fashion. He has, in fact, only relatively recently gotten upright, much less acquired anything even remotely resembling his bearings.
Sympathy is not, however, the emotion that makes it to his face. Confusion, instead, and no small helping of suspicion have the dubious honour to have won out there. His brow furrows. He opens his mouth. Closes it again. Points wordlessly over his shoulder, turns his head to see... nothing. No, of course not. Doctors are busy. Always, it seems.
Right, well, forget that then. He drops to a squat.]
Well, the good news is, you're quite small, so there probably can't be much more where that came from.
[No. Wait. Goodness, that's not the sort of thing you say to someone, is it? In his defence, he's still a bit frazzled. Maybe more than a bit: he's looking no less worse for wear, sickly-pale and bright-eyed, a faint sheen of cold sweat still visible on his features -- which have contorted themselves into an apologetic expression.]
a.
Sympathy is not, however, the emotion that makes it to his face. Confusion, instead, and no small helping of suspicion have the dubious honour to have won out there. His brow furrows. He opens his mouth. Closes it again. Points wordlessly over his shoulder, turns his head to see... nothing. No, of course not. Doctors are busy. Always, it seems.
Right, well, forget that then. He drops to a squat.]
Well, the good news is, you're quite small, so there probably can't be much more where that came from.
[No. Wait. Goodness, that's not the sort of thing you say to someone, is it? In his defence, he's still a bit frazzled. Maybe more than a bit: he's looking no less worse for wear, sickly-pale and bright-eyed, a faint sheen of cold sweat still visible on his features -- which have contorted themselves into an apologetic expression.]
Sorry. Need a hand?