[Carlisle gives Glacius a brief smile, his willingness to help always reassuring; however, he's aware of how sensitive a subject the scar that marrs his partner's face can be. Glacius has expressed before that the wound and his missing mandible might give off the impression of bloodthirstiness: others may see an old injury and believe him to have been an aggressor rather than a defender. The ruined flesh reminds him every day of his failure to protect his friends from all harm.
Of course, Carlisle sees the scar in another light entirely. Those across his own abdomen are the brand of ineptitude, of a true disappointment who couldn't even die properly; however, Glacius' is different, as is everything when it comes to how Carlisle views the benevolent giant. That scar reminds him of the trust they have for one another: it was born when Glacius shielded him, mended under his watchful eye. He knows the injury as if it were his own, his hand having trailed along every inch of it numerous times. It became so much more for Carlisle as the two of them recovered together, growing closer as they shared the burdens they carried.
But ultimately, the scar bothers Glacius -- it still must, Carlisle thinks to himself, his eyes flicking downward, landing on the helmet. The confident, proud alien wouldn't hide it otherwise.
Carlisle hesitates, swallowing down his apprehension and another bite of bread as he works up the nerve to broach the topic.]
Well. Um.
[So far, not so good. Back his eyes go to Glacius, to that scar. He takes a deep breath -- Glacius has always been patient, as he is in all things; he won't suddenly and violently snap over this. Carlisle is just worried about reinforcing his friend's self-consciousness over the injury by bringing it up. He can't put it off forever though, not with how badly he's wondered about it for two days now.]
When you told me that the snow would restore you from any wound or infection, I thought you meant it would simply aid in your recovery, but your gills are truly like new. They were ruined, torn, and yet, you breathe better now than I may have ever heard you. I was given the impression the snow could do more for older wounds, then. And I suppose it was foolish to think it would mend your missing, ah. I mean, your scar. That one.
[There wasn't a question in ther, but perhaps Glacius knows what he's getting at.]
no subject
Of course, Carlisle sees the scar in another light entirely. Those across his own abdomen are the brand of ineptitude, of a true disappointment who couldn't even die properly; however, Glacius' is different, as is everything when it comes to how Carlisle views the benevolent giant. That scar reminds him of the trust they have for one another: it was born when Glacius shielded him, mended under his watchful eye. He knows the injury as if it were his own, his hand having trailed along every inch of it numerous times. It became so much more for Carlisle as the two of them recovered together, growing closer as they shared the burdens they carried.
But ultimately, the scar bothers Glacius -- it still must, Carlisle thinks to himself, his eyes flicking downward, landing on the helmet. The confident, proud alien wouldn't hide it otherwise.
Carlisle hesitates, swallowing down his apprehension and another bite of bread as he works up the nerve to broach the topic.]
Well. Um.
[So far, not so good. Back his eyes go to Glacius, to that scar. He takes a deep breath -- Glacius has always been patient, as he is in all things; he won't suddenly and violently snap over this. Carlisle is just worried about reinforcing his friend's self-consciousness over the injury by bringing it up. He can't put it off forever though, not with how badly he's wondered about it for two days now.]
When you told me that the snow would restore you from any wound or infection, I thought you meant it would simply aid in your recovery, but your gills are truly like new. They were ruined, torn, and yet, you breathe better now than I may have ever heard you. I was given the impression the snow could do more for older wounds, then. And I suppose it was foolish to think it would mend your missing, ah. I mean, your scar. That one.
[There wasn't a question in ther, but perhaps Glacius knows what he's getting at.]