[ she does not wait for permission — even if she ought to, even if this place wants to make her bend at the knee for anyone who sports a bracelet instead of a band and stripe against their neck — but rather for help. the collar is fastened in such a way that rey cannot unlatch the buckle on her own. she'd learned that the hard way upon first waking up with it; she'd spent a good amount of time trying to rip the thing off, later trying to finesse the lock with nimble fingers, but she'd never been quite successful.
the volunteers who had helped her dress after exiting the doors had commented on its particularly devoted design. a challenge, she'd been told, to ensure she obliged the nature of her designation, and not simply adhered to the letter of the law. apparently that was an issue lately — troublemakers.
but as she wants it off, she is not shy about asking (demanding) his assistance, crossing the small elevator to stand in front of him and turning so that the nape of her neck is exposed, her head held up so as not to lock the collar into place, her loose hair swept up to the crown of her head with one palm pressing it in. ]
There's a latch, [ she murmurs, but does not elaborate with pointing. she trusts him to see it. ] Will you?
[ much like unzipping a dress, really. she might appreciate the romanticism of the posturing, if she'd had any experience to compare it to. instead, it's only practical, a necessary step in getting out of an already miserable accessory. the less often she can be roped into wearing it, the better. ]
no subject
the volunteers who had helped her dress after exiting the doors had commented on its particularly devoted design. a challenge, she'd been told, to ensure she obliged the nature of her designation, and not simply adhered to the letter of the law. apparently that was an issue lately — troublemakers.
but as she wants it off, she is not shy about asking (demanding) his assistance, crossing the small elevator to stand in front of him and turning so that the nape of her neck is exposed, her head held up so as not to lock the collar into place, her loose hair swept up to the crown of her head with one palm pressing it in. ]
There's a latch, [ she murmurs, but does not elaborate with pointing. she trusts him to see it. ] Will you?
[ much like unzipping a dress, really. she might appreciate the romanticism of the posturing, if she'd had any experience to compare it to. instead, it's only practical, a necessary step in getting out of an already miserable accessory. the less often she can be roped into wearing it, the better. ]