As his hand wrapped around hers, she found herself a bit surprised that his prosthesis would feel so natural. If she hadn’t looked, she would’ve imagined shaking someone who merely had cold fingers, not a completely prosthetic arm. She couldn’t imagine the military giving this quality medical care, but she didn’t want to be rude. The banker was used to tip-toeing around some people, all in the idea of being politically correct; then again, he might have been thinking the same thing in regards to her bumps and bruises. She smiled again and let go of his hand, returning to her drink.
If there was one thing she didn’t understand about mutant culture in general, it would be the nicknames. They seemed to permeate everything, even outside the arena. It all seemed like one big boys’ club. She assumed he had been here long enough and had been unique enough to warrant a nickname, though, and again smiled and left her thoughts alone.
Abigail had her drink raised to her lips just when he mentioned his inventions, and she lowered it quickly, laughing softly, “The collars? You must be the most hated man on the island.” With a teasing smile as she brought the martini glass back up to take a sip, she added, “Well, second most.” The first being the man in charge, of course. She knew the collars were important, and that some of the mutants they kept in check were more than dangerous, but she still didn’t like seeing them very often. Logically, they were dehumanizing and put the fighters in their place, but emotionally, she couldn’t shake the gut reaction off.