( it sounds practiced, methodical. a built-in muscle he can't stop from twitching once touched. he should've let the freelancers kill him, he should've killed him himself, he should've left him to die in new alexandria, should've, should've, should've. )
He's all my bad karma personified into a scowly human form. Such a constant buzzkill.
( what the fuck is he even talking about anymore? who cares. he's pretty sure — 98% sure at least — that sharkface was a single microsecond away from smashing his faceplate in not even ten minutes ago, and now they're reminiscing about the war like crotchety old veterans at midday brunch. sentimentality is a dead thing for the dead people who never learned how to scorch it out of them or cut it off at the head before it spread like a disease to paralyze the other limbs. that's not him. he survives. lock it up, isaac. pathetic.
it's the gas, prickling into his suit through the broken seal, knocking him off his center. has to be. he's too tight in his own skin.
as sharkface smokes, felix blinks twice and retrieves the alert on his hud. chemical compound unknown. sharkface hadn't seemed particularly surprised or concerned when felix mentioned it, so it wasn't lethal. unless it was and he was lying. maybe. that'd be some petty, spiteful shit felix would do.
his eyes slide to sharkface, considering. he's all bulk and distorted angles in the half-dark, severe and brooding. nah. not his style. he doesn't have the finesse. )
no subject
( it sounds practiced, methodical. a built-in muscle he can't stop from twitching once touched. he should've let the freelancers kill him, he should've killed him himself, he should've left him to die in new alexandria, should've, should've, should've. )
He's all my bad karma personified into a scowly human form. Such a constant buzzkill.
( what the fuck is he even talking about anymore? who cares. he's pretty sure — 98% sure at least — that sharkface was a single microsecond away from smashing his faceplate in not even ten minutes ago, and now they're reminiscing about the war like crotchety old veterans at midday brunch. sentimentality is a dead thing for the dead people who never learned how to scorch it out of them or cut it off at the head before it spread like a disease to paralyze the other limbs. that's not him. he survives. lock it up, isaac. pathetic.
it's the gas, prickling into his suit through the broken seal, knocking him off his center. has to be. he's too tight in his own skin.
as sharkface smokes, felix blinks twice and retrieves the alert on his hud. chemical compound unknown. sharkface hadn't seemed particularly surprised or concerned when felix mentioned it, so it wasn't lethal. unless it was and he was lying. maybe. that'd be some petty, spiteful shit felix would do.
his eyes slide to sharkface, considering. he's all bulk and distorted angles in the half-dark, severe and brooding. nah. not his style. he doesn't have the finesse. )
What's in the gas, sweetest?