So, yeah, this wasn't comfortable at all, but it was too much effort to move. And Wash's look... that had been worth every piece of metal, every hard edge, every angle jutting into his kidney. It was almost cute, the rare moments when the Freelancer looked a little less like a soldier-robot and a little more like a human being.
Not that he'd say anything. At...least not at the moment. Because things were still dark and laden with bombs and this was an active minefield they were both navigating through. His head cocked back a little, watching him from where he could, the angle all wrong. He sat up, sliding up the other's body, trying to be more on par, more even with him, an impossible feat.
"Not even like a beer on a certain day? Or, like prayers or some shit?" The heaviness of the talk was robbing the slurs from his words; he spoke quiet, tired, a little spent. Surprised. Because wasn't military about all that camaraderie? Always remember? Memorials? Holidays? Wouldn't Freelancers be the same?
The glass of the bottle's mouth was cold against his lips, the alcohol flavorless. "You know, we could do something. For your dead friends and mine." Sighing a little, he closed his eyes, trying to let the numbness drag him down, down, down. "Don't ask me what, but...something. A big fucking statue or something. Probably shoots fire. A fire fountain. Just...just so everyone can see it and know there were people here once. Fucking assholes, but fucking assholes who had friends that cared about them."
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branchandroot
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Date: 2016-06-15 03:19 am (UTC)Not that he'd say anything. At...least not at the moment. Because things were still dark and laden with bombs and this was an active minefield they were both navigating through. His head cocked back a little, watching him from where he could, the angle all wrong. He sat up, sliding up the other's body, trying to be more on par, more even with him, an impossible feat.
"Not even like a beer on a certain day? Or, like prayers or some shit?" The heaviness of the talk was robbing the slurs from his words; he spoke quiet, tired, a little spent. Surprised. Because wasn't military about all that camaraderie? Always remember? Memorials? Holidays? Wouldn't Freelancers be the same?
The glass of the bottle's mouth was cold against his lips, the alcohol flavorless. "You know, we could do something. For your dead friends and mine." Sighing a little, he closed his eyes, trying to let the numbness drag him down, down, down. "Don't ask me what, but...something. A big fucking statue or something. Probably shoots fire. A fire fountain. Just...just so everyone can see it and know there were people here once. Fucking assholes, but fucking assholes who had friends that cared about them."