Even in the midst of a crisis of memory, Joan is observant. She has to be. Details make the difference in the field between life and death. Details are an analyst and a manager's stock-in-trade. She's an intelligence asset (even when her own intelligence seems fragmented, emotions raw and strangely predominant), so of course her gaze tracks the movement of his hands to see new, thin scars.
"I don't think I knew you had a laboratory in Rapture," Joan ventures as she takes a seat beside him. "You'll have to show it to me sometime. I've not even ventured down." At least, not that she remembers and there's nothing in the journal about it, but she seems to remember everything else just now. "What happened to your hands, John?" It's asked in the same tone, slightly more concerned perhaps, but without a missed beat and or any particular emphasis.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-07-14 06:22 am (UTC)"I don't think I knew you had a laboratory in Rapture," Joan ventures as she takes a seat beside him. "You'll have to show it to me sometime. I've not even ventured down." At least, not that she remembers and there's nothing in the journal about it, but she seems to remember everything else just now. "What happened to your hands, John?" It's asked in the same tone, slightly more concerned perhaps, but without a missed beat and or any particular emphasis.