going native

[agnominal]

Who| Locus and YOU? Open.
What| Newcomer to the Legion finding his feet.
Where| Wandering around Legion at large. Locations will be notated.
When| /coughs vaguely and gestures randomly
Warnings/Notes| n/a


It was difficult, even now, to part with the armor. He'd born its weight, its visage, its name for years now, rather than his own. If this was truly meant to be a new start, he should start by leaving it behind. He was no longer meant to be simply a weapon, a gun, but a warrior earning worthiness.

But some habits are difficult to break. He's not ready to show his face. Not yet.

So, on the initial walkthrough of what is expected to be home base for some time, Locus does so in full armor. It does much to ease his sense of discomfort in finding himself in unfamiliar territory, surrounded by strangers, alone. But the way that helmet turns to side-eye people who pass speak volumes about that unease, even if his expression isn't visible.

It's easy enough to find himself on a self-guided path. Past crew quarters, through the mess hall, past the training room and holodeck, before halting briefly on the observation deck for a time. This, at least, feels familiar. The vast emptiness of the black void, dotted with cold, distant lights, and the looming shape of a planet beneath that would be satisfied to drag them down to its surface in a fiery heap.

So he's in a cheerful mood, in other words. Surely not too intimidating a figure to be spoken to.

Comments

[goddamngrenades]

"Tomorrow, around 1900?" Evening, late enough that it'll help him sleep but early enough that they can get a few solid rounds in before they beat each other into exhausted pulps inside suits of power armor.

After a moment that he spends finishing off his own coffee York levers himself to his feet and snags Locus' cup with a lazy smile. "Stick around. The sunset's pretty close to the real thing."

Somewhere quiet, somewhere safeish. How many vets get that?

[agnominal]

And he doesn't have it in him to argue. He does retrieve his helmet, however, before moving towards the front door of the residence. The helmet almost slips on but for the breeze, the soft ambient sounds, and he hesitates for a moment.

Admittedly, it's a nice view.

[goddamngrenades]

York makes his way to the kitchen to rinse out the mugs before joining Locus on the porch, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the railing. It's not home, he knows that but...it's his.

No one really bugs him here, he can forget about the war and the project and Crhonoblivion for a little while.

[agnominal]

Forgetting the war isn't something he thought to strive for. It's what he is, what defines him, why push that away?

The stillness of this place should be unsettling. With silent curiosity, his pale gaze flickers back towards York where he stands, leaning against the railing and surveying his own little patch of paradise.

"...you miss it."

[goddamngrenades]

"It's what I fought for." Saving humanity, doing good, trying to make it matter- that was a part of it too. But going to basic and shipping out- it was to protect places like this. Calm and quiet little towns that should never have to deal with the Covenant.

After a moment he looks over, brow quirked. "It's easy to forget if you spend too much time on the front but- this. Was what we were supposed to come back to. Or something like it."

[agnominal]

"It's not the same."

Even coming back to the same city blocks had found them changed irrevocably. People he couldn't speak to. Rooms that were strategic points rather than fond memories. Questioning the defenses of a familiar street corner.

York had been fortunate to find even a facsimile of that sort of peace, again.

[goddamngrenades]

"Nope. But it's all I got." In so many ways. "So I make due."

Birdsong but no birds, a comfortable humidity but no mosquitoes. Who knew a day would come when he'd miss those damn pests? And here he is, looking down the way, shoulders slumped, missing them. Probably worse things waiting for him in this weird space future.

[agnominal]

Empathy is not one of his strongest suits. But he thinks he understands, at least in his own way. There's a silent nod before his gaze shifts back to the light filtering through the holographic sky, that light breeze stirring over the porch.

They had to make use of what they had. No point in regretting what was no longer there.