his twisted limps like rubber stumps are waved in welcome

Frail as he is, Shulk's no stranger to twists and sprains about his ankles. It's part of the reason he wears boots that cuff up so high without being rigid - not that that stops them from doing as much harm as good, sometimes.

But, well.

Enough of the volubility.

Alvis is clipped, as he observes the Wielder's ungraceful, limpid stumble.

He is fascinated by such frailty.

He wonders if he could ever so much as resemble the same.

Hollow, like open bones. Brittle, like birds'.

Closed, like a door without a key.

But Shulk stumbles in.

Opens, opens.

Alvis cracks.