sam "flying jackhammer" alexander ✧ nova (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
headinjuries) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
legionworld2016-07-20 08:20 pm
headinjuries) wrote in legionworld2016-07-20 08:20 pm
Entry tags:
in which there is no attempted torture or flaming ragepuke
Who| Sam, open.
What| Downtime, pretending that mission never happened okok.
Where| One of the common rooms.
When| After the Lantern plot.
Warnings/Notes| Nothing yet, will edit if necessary.
Well, that had felt like the longest mission ever.
Or it might've if Sam hadn't spent such a significant chunk of it without the mental faculties to think about pesky things like "time" or "comparisons to other hard missions" or "anything other than blind frothing rage." That kind of ruined it. But once the ring came off?
Longest mission ever.
He didn't really want to think about it, but Sam had a well-established procedure for not thinking about things, and thankfully he'd been able to translate it to a thousand years in the future without too much trouble. Sure, the candy bars had some kind of alien nut he couldn't pronounce instead of peanuts, and the soda tasted like snozzleberry (whatever that was) instead of Mountain Dew, and the sports were completely different and it had taken him a good three games to figure out how the heck scoring worked, but other than that? Just like home.
He'd commandeered one of the common rooms. There was an impressive array of junk food and an even more impressive array of discarded wrappers and empty cans on the table, and the TV (he didn't care what they called it here, he still thought of it as a TV) was blaring a heated semi-final match of splatterball, which looked something like the illegitimate child of hockey and paintball, but with a low-gravity arena, a lot of weird obstacles, and impenetrably dense scoring rules that were most easily summarized as "you get a lot of points for hitting things."
And if anyone was keeping track, he'd had command of that room for...a good long while already, to be honest. But he didn't look like he was planning on going anywhere - curled up on one end of the couch, knees tucked up to his chest, a half-empty can of soda next to him and half a pizza forgotten on the table.
It wasn't his usual "occupy half the couch" posture, at least. There was plenty of room for one (or more) more.
"What the - that was totally a red card! Is this ref blind?"
What| Downtime, pretending that mission never happened okok.
Where| One of the common rooms.
When| After the Lantern plot.
Warnings/Notes| Nothing yet, will edit if necessary.
Well, that had felt like the longest mission ever.
Or it might've if Sam hadn't spent such a significant chunk of it without the mental faculties to think about pesky things like "time" or "comparisons to other hard missions" or "anything other than blind frothing rage." That kind of ruined it. But once the ring came off?
Longest mission ever.
He didn't really want to think about it, but Sam had a well-established procedure for not thinking about things, and thankfully he'd been able to translate it to a thousand years in the future without too much trouble. Sure, the candy bars had some kind of alien nut he couldn't pronounce instead of peanuts, and the soda tasted like snozzleberry (whatever that was) instead of Mountain Dew, and the sports were completely different and it had taken him a good three games to figure out how the heck scoring worked, but other than that? Just like home.
He'd commandeered one of the common rooms. There was an impressive array of junk food and an even more impressive array of discarded wrappers and empty cans on the table, and the TV (he didn't care what they called it here, he still thought of it as a TV) was blaring a heated semi-final match of splatterball, which looked something like the illegitimate child of hockey and paintball, but with a low-gravity arena, a lot of weird obstacles, and impenetrably dense scoring rules that were most easily summarized as "you get a lot of points for hitting things."
And if anyone was keeping track, he'd had command of that room for...a good long while already, to be honest. But he didn't look like he was planning on going anywhere - curled up on one end of the couch, knees tucked up to his chest, a half-empty can of soda next to him and half a pizza forgotten on the table.
It wasn't his usual "occupy half the couch" posture, at least. There was plenty of room for one (or more) more.
"What the - that was totally a red card! Is this ref blind?"