Snippet #1048202

The girl's reaction slowly filtered through Crip's foggy mind, but none of it was clear enough to register at the moment and so was stored for later contemplation while he continued his attempt to be social. He'd been trained for that. "A perfect citizen is polite and sociable; everybody loves him." the words of his etiquette instructor floated by unnoticed. Since coming to Mars, Crip had spent many a hour cursing his design. Who needs a perfect citizen!? I could be a soldier or a politician or a scientist, but they wanted an upper-middle class worker!? And I wasn't even good enough for that!? Of course it was an attempt to seed the population with perfect genes in hope of improving civilization on all levels--a noble goal--and Crip knew it. But it still pissed him off. Right now, his thoughts were along the lines: Dr. Pickering's "Socializing with Alcohol" segment never mentioned trying to befriend a bemused, mutant, martian, girl after slapping her across the face. That class was becoming more and more useless every day.

"Don't be discouraged to easily;" the instructor's voice chuckled in the back of Crip's thoughts again, nonetheless. "most people out there haven't been so lucky as to take my class." And he wasn't to be discouraged so easily. He came out here to meet someone and this is who he met. Putting his hand to his chest as if feeling a pain, he made a mock-hurt face, then laughed and smiled at the girl before spinning around and dropping down next to her. He took one more swig and set the bottle between them. "Well,the offer still stands if you change your mind." He told her in his friendliest tone, trying to recall the cheeriness he spoke with back on Earth and unsure how well he pulled it off. But as his eyes left the bottle and drifted upward, they stopped on his legs sprawled out in front of him and the look she'd first given him suddenly made sense. He often forgot he didn't just look scary when he wanted to, but all the time. His one complete leg sat next to the girl's own, but his right leg looked absurd, barely extending past the knee before turning into a rubber-capped rod of curved steel. It made the rest of his appearance rush to the forefront of his mind as well. His clothes, while always old and a bit ratty, were usually clean, as was the rest of him--the need for hygiene haven been drilled into him day after day back on Earth--but but yesterday he had fallen asleep right after working on his roof and today had jumped straight into things without cleaning up. So he had come out here stinking and filthy. There was actually a chunk of thermal sealant stuck to his pant leg. Then he had offered this girl a drink from a hand with obvious incomplete fingers? It was no wonder she looked disgusted. And frightened. Even when I don't want to be....

The sudden wave of self-consciousness-leaning-toward-self-loathing made Crip's stomach turn over. He pretended to shift to a more comfortable position, but in the process scooted a bit away from the girl and tucked his prosthetic foot behind him; his left hand closed into a fist, hiding the ends of his fingers and he suddenly found it hard to look at the girl. He spoke to avoid awkwardness. "What's up with hanging around at the dome wall, anyways? All the excitement's out there." he gestured towards the interior of the dome and prayed to any god that might be out there that she'd reply and not just run away.