76 is not in very great shape, all things considered--he doesn't have much self-preservation on a good day, to say nothing of his very recent stint as some kind of brainwashed murder machine. He'd come out the other side of this ready and willing to submit to medical attention. That's how he knows this was bad.
You know, beyond the whole 'stint as some kind of brainwashed murder machine'. He remembers all of it, because he's just that unlucky.
He knows it's not really his fault, of course, but he'll shoulder guilt anyway, because that's about all he knows how to do. He'd let this happen to him and been too weak to resist it.
The medics take care of any immediate issues and give him the clear, and all he really wants to do is wander off somewhere and hide--as he's sure Azúcar is trying to do in turn. 76 imagines she is not going to like this (he can recognize a desire to be left alone). Still, he's self-aware enough to know that if he doesn't talk to her now, when they're all stuck in close quarters on the ship, he never will, and she's been a surprisingly valuable ally so far. That's enough to convince him he should make an attempt to talk.
He's not wearing his tactical gear out of necessity, having had it swapped for a loose-fitting shirt and pants courtesy the medical team, but he's kept the visor on in a perhaps futile effort to preserve his identity. When he sits down on the bed opposite her, it's slow and a little pained.
"They'll clean you up, if you want."
Because sitting around covered in dried blood can't be terribly comfortable.
no subject
You know, beyond the whole 'stint as some kind of brainwashed murder machine'. He remembers all of it, because he's just that unlucky.
He knows it's not really his fault, of course, but he'll shoulder guilt anyway, because that's about all he knows how to do. He'd let this happen to him and been too weak to resist it.
The medics take care of any immediate issues and give him the clear, and all he really wants to do is wander off somewhere and hide--as he's sure Azúcar is trying to do in turn. 76 imagines she is not going to like this (he can recognize a desire to be left alone). Still, he's self-aware enough to know that if he doesn't talk to her now, when they're all stuck in close quarters on the ship, he never will, and she's been a surprisingly valuable ally so far. That's enough to convince him he should make an attempt to talk.
He's not wearing his tactical gear out of necessity, having had it swapped for a loose-fitting shirt and pants courtesy the medical team, but he's kept the visor on in a perhaps futile effort to preserve his identity. When he sits down on the bed opposite her, it's slow and a little pained.
"They'll clean you up, if you want."
Because sitting around covered in dried blood can't be terribly comfortable.