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KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant holds your hands in his and tells you you need to start taking better care of yourself.
EMPATHY [Medium: Success] — He means it in the kindest way he can manage.
PERCEPTION (SOUND) — Meaning there’s a passive inflection in his speech.
SUGGESTION — Even though he’s concerned.
YOU — But he’s always concerned. I can’t make him *not* concerned.
EMPATHY — Concern is a good thing. It means he cares enough to stay, even in spite of your ugly hands.
VOLITION — The state of your hands would not be the straw that breaks the metaphorical camel’s back. He has endured far worse from you than this.
YOUR UGLY HANDS — Palms up, all you can see is an expanse of pink-red skin. Red like raw meat.
INLAND EMPIRE — Like blood dripping from the metal of an abattoir’s conveyor belt.
YOUR UGLY HANDS — The scar on your left palm is puffy and white. It extends diagonally from your wrist to the base of your little finger.
YOU — Where did it come from?
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — You were drunk as shit at that pub in Grand Couron. High too, if I recall correctly. Felt really, *really* good. So good, you ended up yelling at some rich cunt and throwing your bottle at him, and got glassed in return.
REACTION SPEED — Luckily your hand had gone up quickly enough to shield your face.
HALF-LIGHT — He could have blinded you. You should have fucking killed him. You should’ve choked him out and watched the life leave his eyes.
YOU — Also could have given me an awesome facial scar. That‘d be cool.
ENDURANCE — Instead all you have to show for this encounter is a *hideous* scar that periodically gets irritated. Especially when it’s cold, which it *has* been lately.
KIM KITSURAGI — He turns them over.
YOUR UGLY HANDS — There are scars all over your knuckles and where the skin should be its softest. On your left hand: little nicks, their origins unknown. On your right hand: the same, only the skin covering the phalanges is gnarled like an age-old tree, roots twisting through the soil.
VOLITION — The memory of that one eventually came back too.
PAIN THRESHOLD — Punched a mirror.
YOU — That’s not very exciting.
HALF-LIGHT — The man looking back at you was screaming. This was the only way to stop him.
KIM KITSURAGI — He runs his thumb over your knuckles. Squeezes your hands for good measure too.
EMPATHY — Looking at them with such sad eyes.
YOUR UGLY HANDS — There’s no smoothness to your hands. They’re bumpy and dried out as winter grows more frigid. Lines criss-cross the skin, giving the impression of plains in the midst of a drought.
INLAND EMPIRE — Begging for the first drop of rain.
PERCEPTION (SIGHT) — Scabs too. Some healed, some not.
ENDURANCE — You have *got* to stop picking those. That’s how you get infections.
YOU — I’m eternally sick. This cannot make me any worse.
INTERFACING — Don’t go saying that shit and then complain when it starts to hurt while writing. Can’t even pick up a pencil and fill out a report without the skin cracking. It’s pathetic.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — Your hands are a necessary tool. They’re hardened. They’re a representation of all you’ve done, the man you are.
YOU — *Were.* I barely remember him anymore.
VOLITION — He wouldn’t have allowed anyone to do this for him. This gentleness one gives to another, something only the luckiest human beings can hope to receive.
KIM KITSURAGI — His hands keep yours warm. They’re quite unsweaty. They’re a bit calloused too, but for the most part, they’re unremarkable.
INTERFACING — The man knows his way with a wrench. He’s also got a hard, darker spot on the inside of his right middle finger from always writing.
ENDURANCE — He’ll hurt himself one day.
KIM KITSURAGI — He lets go and you’re left to bear the weight of your own hands, still hanging limply in front of you.
L’PANIER ALL PURPOSE SKIN CREAM™ — The small, white tube rests on the table. Kim unscrews it and squeezes a small amount onto his finger.
ENCYCLOPEDIA — It is part antiseptic and part moisturiser. 5.75 from the chemist, which is expensive in this part of the city for cream.
KIM KITSURAGI — “This might sting a little.”
- [SAVOIR FAIRE — Medium 10] “Baby, I can handle the pain.” (Wink.)
- “Okay.”
- Say nothing.
KIM KITSURAGI — He doesn’t respond.
SAVOIR FAIRE [Medium: Failure] — Shit.
KIM KITSURAGI — He’s trying to concentrate. You can see it on his face. He swipes the cream over the back of your left hand.
PAIN THRESHOLD — Sure enough, it does hurt like a motherfucker.
ENDURANCE — Hardly a sting. You can handle that.
VOLITION — You’ve handled worse.
YOU — You wince and inhale sharply. Kim keeps looking at your hands as he rubs the cream into your skin.
PERCEPTION (TOUCH) — It’s cold at first. But then he starts working his thumb over your knuckles, and that’s…
CONCEPTUALISATION — Comforting. No, more than that. It’s…
YOU — Words fail you. All you can do is watch as he makes soothing circles over the red, knobbly bits of your skin.
YOUR UGLY HANDS — The scratches are covered with a thin layer of cream. The dryness starts to recede.
KIM KITSURAGI — He’s humming to himself.
SUGGESTION — You could hum back.
- Hum playfully.
- Hum mournfully.
- Hum sensibly.
- Um, don’t do any of that, what the fuck?
PLAYFUL HUM WITH NO STRUCTURE — You’re just kind of making this stupid, droning sound, like a car’s tyre spinning in mud, or a fly on oxycodone.
KIM KITSURAGI — He keeps humming, but you can almost swear you see the sadness leave his eyes. Further south is the smallest semblance of a smile.
CONCEPTUALISATION — Or something like it.
KIM KITSURAGI — He squeezes another pearl-sized bit of cream onto his finger and starts to rub your other hand, humming all the while.
YOU — You hiss again. This one hurts a lot more, but the coldness is brief.
KIM KITSURAGI — He really *is* quite warm. He gets in between your fingers too, where some of those more elusive cuts are. After a minute of making sure the cream has been fully rubbed in, he looks at them the way you imagine a sculptor from some ancient century would look at their marble creation.
SUGGESTION — Not so bad, he reckons. You know, considering.
KIM KITSURAGI — “How does it feel?”
YOU — Your hands are outstretched in front of you, as if dropping them any lower will cause them to self-destruct.
YOUR LESS UGLY HANDS — Fingers wide apart.
INLAND EMPIRE — Frog-like.
PAIN THRESHOLD — Your cuts sting from doing that. But it’s not all bad.
YOU — “It’s kind of damp.”
KIM KITSURAGI — “Well yes, I’d imagine so. You’ve got to let it dry, so don’t touch anything for a few minutes.”
ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Failure] — We should *totally* make an innuendo.
VOLITION [Medium: Success] — Terrible idea. Don’t do that, please.
YOU — “I won’t.” There’s a pause. For whatever reason, your hands feel a bit tingly.
KIM KITSURAGI — “You really need to stop scratching them too, Harry. That’s how you get infections.”
ENDURANCE — Exactly what I said.
YOU — “Okay”, you say without conviction.
KIM KITSURAGI — “Don’t make me force mittens onto you.“”
YOU — “I can’t pick things up in mittens. You can make clothes, can’t you? I wouldn’t mind some gloves instead.”
KIM KITSURAGI — “Tailor. I can tailor. But if you find any half-decent, relatively clean ones in your travels, then, well. I might be able to make something work.” He sighs. “You don’t have to hold them out like that.”
AUTHORITY [Formidable: Failure] — Keep doing it just to spite him.
YOU — You slowly drop your hands to your side, fingers still stretched apart. “They feel better.”
KIM KITSURAGI — “Do they now?”
YOU — Slowly, you nod.
YOUR LESS UGLY HANDS — They are still cursed to depict your forgotten history until the day you die. They are coarse like sandpaper. You would never be able to hold a baby without making it cry. You could never allow a woman with soft, small, unblemished hands to interlock her fingers with yours again, because you’d probably disgust her if her fingertips were to press against your rough knuckles.
KIM KITSURAGI — But he won’t flinch or turn away. You don’t scare him. You are not a monster.
YOU — “Yes. They really do.” And you believe it.