Tiraa grinned and her lips parted to let out a soft laugh. "Ah, yes... it is a bit jarring at first isn't it? Especially when its so sudden."

Her black eyes regarded him with sympathy and she reached out to run her fingers over one of the rifles while looking at his face. "It bothers me too, if it is any solace for you."

He made a non-committal noise, looking at her. "It's a weird thing to say. Why would your discomfort mirroring my own be of...solace?" he asked, but there was no malice in it. If anything, a slight disconnect at the sentiment. He then sighed and looked around. "I thought I could do this until my body told me to get some rest. Or they finished."

"It's natural to take comfort in knowing one isn't alone in an uncomfortable experience." Tiraa pointed out. "It is not that you would enjoy my discomfort, more that you would find some peace in knowing there is someone who can relate." She watched him look around in what she could only assume was an attempt at continued distraction.

"Do you have blockers?" She asked.

He looked at her for a moment before he gave a nod. "Two doses," he finally said before he met her eyes. He held them, his own green ones slightly narrowed. He pushed the embarrassment down. It didn't serve a purpose. "Plan to purchase more when this job's done and I got my cut. There's this...scientist on New Ferenginar, she does good work. Not a single seizure." Which was better than some he had picked up over time.

"Seizures?" Tiraa's eyes widened just slightly and she was clearly taken aback by what he had said. She took a step closer to him, her black eyes filled with concern.

"Ragnar," she began, his name falling like a purr from her lips, "you should never be having seizures from those; this doctor on Ferenginar... maybe she does do good work, but 'no seizures' is just a standard, not something astounding about her work."

He gave her a smile that was pure charm and some defensiveness, arching an eyebrow. "Princess...out here, you work with what you can afford," he said smoothly. "She makes the best blockers for me, so I go to her. Before I found her, I picked up the more generic ones. And those...well..." he shrugged and finally broke eye contact. "Maybe it is the human bits that don't work with it."

"I doubt that. Plenty of human-Betazoid hybrids use the blockers without issue. You've just been using substandard product and that certainly won't do. We need you at your best." She gave an elegant, dismissive wave of her hand. Obviously she didn't see either side of his lineage as problematic.

"Come with me, then," she half invited, half commanded, and angled her body toward the door.

He looked at her, for a moment stubbornly hesitating as if that made a difference. But he had heard the half-order, the velvety smoothness of her voice. He looked at the weapons, laid out there. He made an internal promise to clean up after before he took a cloth, to clean his hands before he followed. "It wasn't a problem when I could go down to medical," he said, the honesty clear. "It was when I came outside the Federation it got...problematic."

Tiraa had waited for him with the patient confidence of someone very accustomed to being obeyed without having to force or demand. His hesitation did not phase her in the slightest, and when he finally moved to join her she granted an approving smile. Without delay, she turned and began to walk down the corridor to the turbolift.

"That would be problematic, yes." Tiraa nodded then glanced over as he walked beside her. "Who led your training?"

"Training?" he asked, his gaze settling briefly on her before he looked ahead, eyes scanning the corridor. He walked with a straight back and a gait that spoke of someone used to move silently when he had to. "You mean...like schooling?"

“No. Who helped you to train your psionic abilities?” Tiraa clarified, unhurried as they walked and perfectly at ease. “Your Betazoid parent?”

“No.” Ragnar’s voice sharpened for a moment with old rejection before he took a breath. When he spoke again, it was more neutral. “No one did. Didn’t really know my father. Think he was the Betazoid. Mother died. Didn’t really...get trained. Learned bits and pieces through trial and error over the years. Got evaluated as a teen, but apparently it was just a trace, ’cording to them. Gave me blockers for when I might need them, but no training for something that...faint.” As he spoke, his voice grew rougher, the careful neutrality of Standard slipping into the rougher English accent beneath it.

Tiraa’s next step hung in the air in an involuntary expression of her shock, but true to her nature she recovered quickly. She took a few beats before responding and stepped onto the turbolift when the doors opened.

“Deck 2.”

The doors closed, and she looked over to him finally. “It certainly doesn’t seem like it’s that faint for you.”

He glanced at her and gave a small shrug. "Depends on a lot of things," he finally said. "Sometimes, I can go weeks and not feel anyone else. Other times, it's like their emotions are my own. Got worse when I became an adult. Then better for a while." Starfleet had helped, the routine. For all the emotions around him, he had been able to focus with the help of blockers.

Tiraa listened with the same patience and grace she had displayed through the entire encounter. It had been a very long time since she had experienced what he was talking about – she had been a child in fact. The memories were distant but not completely lost to her. "It sounds like perhaps your abilities simply blossomed later than most? Do you think that is a possibility?"