Damon stayed quiet as he listened to Forge. His eyebrow was raised in confusion as Forge described "shaman training" and being "on the reservation." Okay.... he thought to himself as he remembered what he was taught in Geography class about some of Sera's more primitive tribes. Dance around statues and beg a piece of wood to make it rain, yeah, makes total sense..
But when Forge chuckled, he did too.
"Thought you were magic just because you could build stuff! Oh man..." At least some idiots are amusing rather than annoying, he thought.
His eyebrow went back to its skeptical arch when Forge confessed using magic occasionally, and that it even worked. Really? Really? Are you high? And he was going to say just that, but he laughed again at Forge's characterization of it as dressing in loincloths and painting one's face funny colors.
After recovering from his laughter, Damon turned around from the wall almost on reflex. "Gimme a good irrigation system anyday. More reliable than prayers to whoever-the-fuck is up there. They might be in a pissy mood and just decide to fuck you all over with a drought."
His eyes took in Forge's prosthetic arm and leg, but he didn't find it grotesque at all. "How did you get those?" Baird asked absolutely casually, as if seeing someone with a lost limb or two were "Tuesday."
Then he realized that he had turned around, and his own torso could be glimpsed. Including all the damage. Fuck he thought as he self-consciously glanced down at the network of scars and clumps of blond body hair that irregularly sprouted from what unscarred tissue remained on his chest. Like a well-tortured lab rat.
He tried to turn back around, hoping to minimize Forge's exposure to the sight. Least he probably won't be too shocked, given his limbs he thought. Or maybe hoped.