“you’re a soldier, aren’t you?” gruff and direct, lips not daring stray from pressed straight line. “you don’t need me to give you a reason to fight, you do it because that’s what you are, that’s what you do. you have your own motivations, just like everyone here.”
the diamond dogs as a whole exist in the most unorthodox of ways: the impersonal, formal structure of an army and the informal affection of a family all at once. loyalty and anonymity coexisting, tangled in one. hundreds of differing ideologies fueling soldiers in unity.
it ⠀ unnerves—– ⠀ the ⠀ informality, ⠀ the ⠀ near–casual ⠀ manner ⠀ in ⠀ which ⠀ superior ⠀ now ⠀ engages ⠀ with ⠀ him. ⠀ he ⠀ gives ⠀ a ⠀ curt ⠀ nod ⠀ in ⠀ reply. ⠀ callsign ⠀ he ⠀ had ⠀ been ⠀ allowed ⠀ to ⠀ keep. ⠀ hands, ⠀ habitually,
“what would i do without you, kaz?” mused aloud, only just audible. like a confession of sorts. it shifts topic before words can be acknowledged, “oughta get you one of these, don’t you think? awfully handy.”
mouth’s corner twitches, an upward tug snake does best to stifle. palm meets prosthetic once it slides within reach upon table, lifting and giving it a once over … some minor scratches, nothing more. mental note to have a talk with d–dog later.
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⠀ ⠀ "you ⠀ mean ⠀ 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 ⠀ rocket ⠀ arm?" ⠀ unsheathing ⠀ bionic ⠀ arm ⠀ and ⠀ gesticulating ⠀ a ⠀ wave. ⠀ "you ⠀ really ⠀ should ⠀ be ⠀ more ⠀ mindful ⠀ of ⠀ your ⠀ belongings." ⠀ he ⠀ slides ⠀ it ⠀ across ⠀ the ⠀ table ⠀ as ⠀ if ⠀ it
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