It had been two days, two days of nothing, no sound, no visuals, no nothing. It was a limbo of questionable existence for everyone left behind; the Sim Troops had gone up, teleported and gone to their final battle (at least for now; there always seemed to be a new “final battle” every year or so, perfectly timed), while they left everything else to the people below. Then… nothing.
So much nothing.
At least for a bit. Twenty-four hours gave way to thirty-six, to forty-eight, and finally, finally, there was a tired voice that radioed in – Grif – who said they were on their way back. A new wait began, but one with less pressure: they were alive.
How alive remained to be seen.
Like Tucker, for example, who had a sweet new armor upgrade, but lost one of his asshole best friends in the process. He had been strangely quiet, an odd change for him, but there was a level of melancholy that had sat with most of them since that battle. Church wasn’t coming back with them. Someone was going to have to tell Wash and Carolina. Ultimately, it was going to fall on his shoulders, he knew, because Caboose was still having a hard time comprehending it and what other Blue was there?
Even though colors and lines meant nothing, there was still Blue Responsibilities. Fuck responsibilities. Tucker hated them because too many found their way to him.
They pulled up to the motorpool and people were already waiting, happy, cheering. Some of them took it to be a positive thing, Donut waving, but for the moment, they were quiet. Tucker knew they were going to be debriefed, but he just wanted some time to himself before that happened. Or, rather, not himself, but he wanted to make sure Wash and Carolina were okay; the way they had left hadn’t been the most promising. He slid out of the vehicle and started to slink off before anyone could catch him. Kinda hard to miss him now, though.
This armor was going to take some time to get used to, though; it was heavier, larger and taller than he was accustomed to, and he still tensed up when he passed by any reflective surface. Fuck, he looked like a badass. No wonder the Meta had worn it.
Stop staring in the mirrors and go find Wash. Fuck. Yeah.
Tuckington - Post 13. Now I need icons of that suit.
Date: 2016-06-01 12:19 am (UTC)So much nothing.
At least for a bit. Twenty-four hours gave way to thirty-six, to forty-eight, and finally, finally, there was a tired voice that radioed in – Grif – who said they were on their way back. A new wait began, but one with less pressure: they were alive.
How alive remained to be seen.
Like Tucker, for example, who had a sweet new armor upgrade, but lost one of his asshole best friends in the process. He had been strangely quiet, an odd change for him, but there was a level of melancholy that had sat with most of them since that battle. Church wasn’t coming back with them. Someone was going to have to tell Wash and Carolina. Ultimately, it was going to fall on his shoulders, he knew, because Caboose was still having a hard time comprehending it and what other Blue was there?
Even though colors and lines meant nothing, there was still Blue Responsibilities. Fuck responsibilities. Tucker hated them because too many found their way to him.
They pulled up to the motorpool and people were already waiting, happy, cheering. Some of them took it to be a positive thing, Donut waving, but for the moment, they were quiet. Tucker knew they were going to be debriefed, but he just wanted some time to himself before that happened. Or, rather, not himself, but he wanted to make sure Wash and Carolina were okay; the way they had left hadn’t been the most promising. He slid out of the vehicle and started to slink off before anyone could catch him. Kinda hard to miss him now, though.
This armor was going to take some time to get used to, though; it was heavier, larger and taller than he was accustomed to, and he still tensed up when he passed by any reflective surface. Fuck, he looked like a badass. No wonder the Meta had worn it.
Stop staring in the mirrors and go find Wash. Fuck. Yeah.