Percy nearly doesn't hear her; he's at his desk, drafting out possible upgrades to the pepperbox with a feverish intensity. He's been banned from his workshop for the foreseeable future by general agreement, and in his heart of hearts, he knows he needs to stay away for a while. A looming eternity spent before a forge, beating his own self-hatred into imperfect shapes, hasn't scared him off - but it's given him pause. He needs to rediscover just who he is outside of his work, or he'll lose himself to it.

But if he doesn't find some way to tinker in the meanwhile, he'll go mad. And it's as absorbing to make plans as it is to carry them out.

"Hm?" His head lifts two or three words in, and he blinks owlishly at her from behind his spectacles. Truthfully - shamefully - his first instinct is no. So many of these walks have been painful, both for his body and his pride; he's hobbled along at Vex's elbow, her invalid lover, incapable of appreciating just how good it is to be alive. (He remembers that best when they're in bed, the world quiet and dark, her hands moving gently through his hair. He remembers it at all times, besides those moments when he's struggling to put one foot in front of another.) But there'll be no improvement without struggle, however mortifying it feels at the time, and he knows that someday, this frustration will be worth something. It has to be. "Yes - I'd like that."

Setting his pen down, he pushes himself out of his chair, wobbling slightly as he reaches for his cane.