[ The crown of his head still to the cool of the tile, Spock tips his chin. His hands too are folded in his lap, a perfect mirror to Jim's position with a singular exception: he leaves his index fingers steepled. A preferred meditative practice, he focuses much of his mind upon the space between his fingertips — the perceived boundary of touch. It is this that buys them time, the remainder of his faculties upon discerning Jim's location and less upon the way Gwen (most wisely) obfuscates her password and text.
He might only imagine what such infection might feel like to Jim. He might only imagine, as his own begins to worm its way in. Like rot within the foundations, it is cloying to the mind and copper to the tongue. ]
You are young and under duress, [ he says, eventually. His dark eyes flit once to Peter. ] Your emotional response is not unexpected.
[ Best to cover that while he can, he supposes. He too lacks any knowledge here, a fact that similarly causes a reasonable amount of frustration. It is masked, knowing it will not serve him or them, but it is there. It lingers at the periphery, just out of reach of the infection. ] To your point, Miss Gwen: I was and likely will be in full or in part unshielded. I am sorry, to have exposed my capabilities like this. This is... [ The webbing is unpleasant, as he presumed it would be, but the internal and external sensations are a touch... Overwhelming, perhaps. His nose wrinkles as he winces, only just. As though one had taken a particularly bold swig of wine and had not expected it to bite. ] An atypical experience. [ A beat. ] Three hits have proven effective.
[ Why does he know that? Never mind that. But: indeed, most contact of the decidedly telepathic nature was not at all unpleasant if both parties were at baseline and mutually consented. He is not unsurprised that such perceptions continue to spread among Humans and others in their time, never mind here.
Either way, Jim has that question covered. For the moment, Spock focuses on testing the strength of the bonds and occasionally indicates other parts of himself that will require further webbing with low murmurs and directional glances. ]
no subject
He might only imagine what such infection might feel like to Jim. He might only imagine, as his own begins to worm its way in. Like rot within the foundations, it is cloying to the mind and copper to the tongue. ]
You are young and under duress, [ he says, eventually. His dark eyes flit once to Peter. ] Your emotional response is not unexpected.
[ Best to cover that while he can, he supposes. He too lacks any knowledge here, a fact that similarly causes a reasonable amount of frustration. It is masked, knowing it will not serve him or them, but it is there. It lingers at the periphery, just out of reach of the infection. ] To your point, Miss Gwen: I was and likely will be in full or in part unshielded. I am sorry, to have exposed my capabilities like this. This is... [ The webbing is unpleasant, as he presumed it would be, but the internal and external sensations are a touch... Overwhelming, perhaps. His nose wrinkles as he winces, only just. As though one had taken a particularly bold swig of wine and had not expected it to bite. ] An atypical experience. [ A beat. ] Three hits have proven effective.
[ Why does he know that? Never mind that. But: indeed, most contact of the decidedly telepathic nature was not at all unpleasant if both parties were at baseline and mutually consented. He is not unsurprised that such perceptions continue to spread among Humans and others in their time, never mind here.
Either way, Jim has that question covered. For the moment, Spock focuses on testing the strength of the bonds and occasionally indicates other parts of himself that will require further webbing with low murmurs and directional glances. ]