[ Even after everything that's happened, Skye is still the social butterfly she's always been. Joking, smiling, laughing, witty repartee. She's right at home in the mass of pulsing bodies crammed together in the caves. And it makes her feel better too, to go back to that.
But even down here, she can't forget the ports in her arms and her chest and her back, can't help but miss the brush of dark hair against her shoulders because it's buzzed now—or, more accurately, it never grew out in the first place.
She tries to act normal anyway when she sees May, slipping off to the side and pulling the sleeve of her flimsy gray sweater back up her shoulder and giving a nod of acknowledgment. ]
Getting in touch with the party animal within? [ Impossible to imagine, but that's why it's a joke. Skye doesn't even need to add the wry, lopsided smile that she gives. ]
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But even down here, she can't forget the ports in her arms and her chest and her back, can't help but miss the brush of dark hair against her shoulders because it's buzzed now—or, more accurately, it never grew out in the first place.
She tries to act normal anyway when she sees May, slipping off to the side and pulling the sleeve of her flimsy gray sweater back up her shoulder and giving a nod of acknowledgment. ]
Getting in touch with the party animal within? [ Impossible to imagine, but that's why it's a joke. Skye doesn't even need to add the wry, lopsided smile that she gives. ]