She feels chastened somehow, no matter how kindly he pushes her inquisitive hand away. An all too familiar prickling spreads across her face.
“They are never just marks,” she says finally, forcing her pale green eyes to his. Scars were memories, be it good or bad. It was becoming clear which sort Neo’s were. “I apologize. I… was curious.” It was hard to control such urges. The smile she gives is almost shy, a trace of playfulness there. “A shame you are not a warrior now. I would very much like to spar.”
“Spar?” There’s a hint of amusement in Neo’s voice at that word, and he imagines himself going into battle against the lightning rod before him. “I don’t think it would’ve been a fair fight.”
A puny, horribly put-together human against a being from Asgard? He doesn’t think so. And isn’t Myawlneer a hammer? He’s not sure about his Asgardian folklore, but he’s pretty sure she’s a hammer. Neo has very rotten luck around hammers, most likely. He’s completely certain that he’s the type of guy who has to hit himself in the thumb a lot before actually being able to get a nail stuck into a board.
“No need to ‘pologise for it, though. It’s all right. Maybe one day I’ll tell you the stories.” He grins up at her, then he’s getting to his feet and slinging his knapsack over his shoulder. “Now, Chinese fried rice. If you haven’t tasted it, you really should, Mi.”