Moonspear All anybody would tell me is all that bad news

Keen couldn't relate to losing a limb, but she could empathize with the general sentiment. How many things had she been forced to give up over the years because shit happened? Too many for her to get her hopes up about anything new. Even this. But she could enjoy it while it lasted, at least.
She flushed when Bridget called her occupation impressive. She was more used to hearing that it was boring, or weird, or nerdy, or obsessive — and maybe those things were true, but Keen loved it all the same. Bridget would quickly find that indulging this love of hers was the easiest path to earning Keen's affections. Not that the blonde medic needed any help in that department.
All kinds. Mainly pack history and personal history. I suppose I'm something of a biographer, Keen thought of it as living vicariously in some aspects. All these experiences she would never have for herself, tucked away in her memory for safekeeping. It's a lot of talking and listening, mostly. Then I have to put it all together, make it a cohesive story. People tend to remember their feelings more than any details, but sometimes things slip through, little mundane things like remarks about the weather, and then I can start to fill in the blanks.
She wasn't sure if that made sense to anyone but herself, and suddenly felt self-conscious. Ah, sorry, I'm rambling. You're a medic, right? Do you enjoy it?