["Greetings! I am 7401 Fractured Prism, and I have been having to occupy myself for One. Hundred. Thousand. Years."]
💡 Forerunner Monitor
💡 She/They
💡 Don't Shake the Lightbulb
["Not your fault, of course!"]
“ ain’t no frogs as big as those things, gunny, you know that.
besides, i gotta prepare a recipe for the one time we get stranded in a bunch of their bodies. “
his clasped hands suddenly turned into a stop gesture, his helmet tilting to the side.
“ hey, who won the war again? was it the brutes? ”
the man then set his arms on his chest plate, hands hooked delicately inside.
“ ain’t gotta compare top dog to last place. ”
“ so you’re telling me, ” he paused to put his hands flat together in front of his mouth.
“ that you don’t think any outer colonies ain’t gotten freaky with their food yet? ”
nodding, the elder began to reassemble his weapon, setting his cleaning tools to the side and silently tinkering once more.
silence was nice every now and then.
“well, war changes a man. thinkin’ of that “ peace and love “ hippie shit. “
of course, he would most likely never pursue it… after all, he was the walking antithesis of peace and love, eh?
“ i don’t know too much about it either, but it’s worth a shot. “
well, dutch has years on just about everyone serving so, naturally, he’d take up the old man role.
“ sounds about right. i’m thinkin’ of takin’ up buddhism, what do you think? “
his voice was as casual as someone walking their pet.
after a few more seconds of tinkering, he began to scrub the barrel, soft scratching filling the air alongside the numerous clangs of metal accompanying it.
“ …you ever pray, kid? “