[Mops has almost no memory of her life as a feral. It only ever comes to her in dreams, of being cold and hungry, of hunting, always hunting. As far as she's concerned, her life began twelve years ago, in a tank full of fluid, other newly-cured humans, and small alien fish. And her Awakening and Orientation Officer, waving her tentacles and shouting "Humans, cease all fear and confusion immediately!"
Good old Scheherazad, Mops thinks. Probably still posted in Antarctica, probably still getting unhelpfully overexcited by new creches.]
Yes?
[She has no idea what Ian's doing and it shows on her face as she glances between his hand and his face. Mops is inclined to hold eye contact quite intensely, but she's an excellent reader of people and has picked up that they tend not to like that, so she's already working out how long to hold gaze. Which does not mean she understands gestures she hasn't seen before.
Maybe he's waiting for her to mimic it? Mops holds her left hand out in a similar way, a good foot and a half distant.]
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Good old Scheherazad, Mops thinks. Probably still posted in Antarctica, probably still getting unhelpfully overexcited by new creches.]
Yes?
[She has no idea what Ian's doing and it shows on her face as she glances between his hand and his face. Mops is inclined to hold eye contact quite intensely, but she's an excellent reader of people and has picked up that they tend not to like that, so she's already working out how long to hold gaze. Which does not mean she understands gestures she hasn't seen before.
Maybe he's waiting for her to mimic it? Mops holds her left hand out in a similar way, a good foot and a half distant.]