If he braces too much, then when the shoe loudly drops, all the tension will leap out through whatever path of least resistance it finds. He will jump, or yelp, or some other such disastrous display. If he does not brace enough, then shock will seize the wheel before he can stop himself. There is a sweet spot. A rhythm of breath, a flow of anxious energy, a bow held at a draw he could find in his sleep. There is him. There is her. The knowledge is in him. He can find the draw.

Except.

Thick coils flex around his legs. Up and down. Up and down. He isn’t wiggling. He isn’t fighting her, why would he fight her? (This could just be how they say hello, after all) No flicker of realization disturbs her deep, brilliant eyes as she thoroughly envelopes his lower half. How does she know the secrets of his muscles, his body? It may simply be that her coils are opposed to stiffness and tension on principle, and they are powerful enough to make their will reality. Up and down. Up and down. Coils thicker than both his legs put together gradually squeeze tight, then loosen. The pressure ripples from one to the next, working with surgical precision, irresistibly pushing.

He grasps for the draw. He is not permitted the luxury. He knows he should be ready. The tension slowly leaks from him, and his thoughts find no fuel for their signal fires. There is him. There is her. There is a question. There is an answer.

“Of course, Lord Governor.” He bows his head, but cannot break her gaze. “I am just a chef from Beri, right now. But 20022 has shown me the world is much wider than my cafe and town. I rather would like to see more, but there is only so much he can teach me. “

The words flow out from the swirling clouds of his heart, a steady stream of honesty. ”If I am to know where I stand and what I can do, I [i]need[/i] to see much more of you, Lord Governor. I hope you will not mind my presence overmuch.”