[ There's a stretch on the flexed limb closest to Krouse that's rough like scales or hide, with a sheen he realizes isn't dampness when it's this close. There are so many details about these parts of her he's never been able to look at long enough to see.

It's not that he's staring. Just an automatic glance as she gets closer, the way they eyes are drawn by any motion in the peripheral vision. He refocuses on the intent arc of her bending out towards the water, watching her teeth worry her lower lip. He remembers the shiny pinkness that would peek out between flaking dry skin during especially demanding games, little gnawed, vulnerable patches to commemorate her effort.

Images overlap like projector sheets. Then, later, now. He wants to hold as much of her in his head as he can, now that he can, greyscale fog pulled back from his brain. ]

It's the surface tension too, though, right?

[ He hangs his arms over his knees as he stays hunkered, turning over a rock shaped like the one she took for herself. ]

Or how the angle of the rock hits it? Whatever makes it bounce instead of sink. [ He pushes up to his feet with a little bounce of his own at the start. ] I'm just saying - environmental factors.

[ It doesn't sound like he's making an excuse for her. It's the thoughtful cadence of analysis, from those times when he'd come to her with ideas of varying levels of practical in-game application to vet them. The two of them against a problem, captain and hopeful lieutenant.

He mimics her throw, flicking his wrist as best as he can. He's got the confidence, but not the angle. It plunges into the river, and he shakes his head, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as he tilts his head to glance up at her sidelong. ]

...I'm realizing it's possible we're just throwing rocks into industrial robot coolant runoff.