M7 listens, quiet and rapt. It makes sense, explained that way; it still seems like something easier said than done and perhaps requiring more of Doe's cool je ne sais quoi than she thinks it does, but it costs him nothing to try it.
He takes in that hand on her stomach with curious dark eyes, gaze lingering in a way that might be prurient interest from someone else but is only for ease of imitation here, and rests his hand on his own to see if he can feel any difference when he tries. He can, though he doesn't know what to make of it--but somehow he does feel a little steadier as he exhales, as if some of that nervous jerky tension that's been winding his muscles tight since he woke up is being carried away on the cold breeze now.
Not all of it, but enough. Breathing in general feels like it's coming a little easier now. He looks back up at Doe with some wonderment. "It really does work."
His lips quirk almost imperceptibly, the kind of expressiveness he's begun unconsciously to pick up and practice only since coming to the surface. It's the kind of thing oddly more encouraged in the Gen 2s than the Gen 3s--the scientists pride themselves on being able to make polymer faces that can emote, but they don't want the flesh-and-blood ones getting ideas. "But I don't think anyone will be thinking I don't need help anytime soon."
Doe doesn't mind the way he looks at her; it's clear to her at least that it's curiousity alone, in a learning sort of way, and when he tries it himself there is something maternal in her that feels a tinge of pride. She smiles warmly at his astonishment, patting him encouragingly on the arm in response.
"Most people will tell you I'm a bullshitter. Hell-I'll tell you I'm a bullshitter. But there is real advice stowed awarly in this old noggin' of mine, if you're not put off by it. Scout's honor."
She shrugs at his next comment. The good thing about him being slower to adapt to facial expressions is that he has a great pokerface. "Maybe. I dunno. You've got that strong stoic thing going for you."
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He takes in that hand on her stomach with curious dark eyes, gaze lingering in a way that might be prurient interest from someone else but is only for ease of imitation here, and rests his hand on his own to see if he can feel any difference when he tries. He can, though he doesn't know what to make of it--but somehow he does feel a little steadier as he exhales, as if some of that nervous jerky tension that's been winding his muscles tight since he woke up is being carried away on the cold breeze now.
Not all of it, but enough. Breathing in general feels like it's coming a little easier now. He looks back up at Doe with some wonderment. "It really does work."
His lips quirk almost imperceptibly, the kind of expressiveness he's begun unconsciously to pick up and practice only since coming to the surface. It's the kind of thing oddly more encouraged in the Gen 2s than the Gen 3s--the scientists pride themselves on being able to make polymer faces that can emote, but they don't want the flesh-and-blood ones getting ideas. "But I don't think anyone will be thinking I don't need help anytime soon."
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"Most people will tell you I'm a bullshitter. Hell-I'll tell you I'm a bullshitter. But there is real advice stowed awarly in this old noggin' of mine, if you're not put off by it. Scout's honor."
She shrugs at his next comment. The good thing about him being slower to adapt to facial expressions is that he has a great pokerface. "Maybe. I dunno. You've got that strong stoic thing going for you."