[He reaches into his uniform coat and makes a face as he's feeling around for something. But then there's a click and the sleeve fills up. It's an arm. An arm that looks like it's made of semi-transparent mesh, some sort of bizarre technology, but it's an arm.]
Don't tell anyone about that. I don't want them to know. I'm not good with it yet.
[He has a leg too, but he's too drunk to make the effort of leaning down and he's still shy of asking anyone to help him. He hates people seeing where his leg just... ends. The normal prosthetic will have to do. But this way he can put his right arm around her and also use his crutch.]
[ That almost startles her enough to back away. Almost. Lara blows out a breath that's half a laugh. ]
You're full of surprises. [ She steps in close, moving her hand to his waist. She's a nearly half a foot shorter, but she stays steady under his weight. On the off chance he does fall, she can probably keep them both upright. ] I promise I won't tell anyone.
Maybe some time I can play guitar for you. [He says with tired defeat. There are so few things to look forward to. Just small ones. He's grasping at straws. No revenge. No good future. The best thing he has is David.]
I used to play a lot. [He rambles a little.] My guitar... the ingress brought it. But it's a ghost. It should be at the bottom of an ocean, eaten away by the years. But it's real and in my room.
Yeah. I should show you. [Muttered.] Not now. I'd sound bad. [And it's obviously taking a lot of focus to walk.]
I know a little about ghosts. [ Her steps are less dogged tonight, with something to focus on. She steers him carefully out of the bar and into the hallway. ] I want to hear you play. Tomorrow. Or... I don't know. Soon. When you're not absolutely pickled.
[ Anything to coax him out of wherever his mind has gone that drinking thought away seemed the best choice. ]
I used to drink. A lot more than this. Was a lot more fun, then. Maybe because I was a more fun person.
I guess I grew up.
[He doesn't like the man he turned out to be, though. He lets her steer him, obediently following and focussing on how he moves.]
Can't tell whether that's a good thing or not. [He misses being stupid and smitten but he resents that he wasted his time being that.] I play for you, you tell me another story, huh? Places you've been. Things you've done.
I owe you one clumsy walk home too. [But telling him that she liked him as he is still seemed to make him a little happier. He knew that, before he'd been taken from motherbase, most of the soldiers hadn't found him that likable of a person anymore.]
I bet he came out with an interesting take on the language. Latin isn't one of the languages I know.
Let's see if I can get you home first. [ That he's not putting his full weight on her and is willing to follow her lead helps, but if he pitches forward or back, both of them are going down. ] Which floor are you on?
[ Lara has strongly positive opinions about people who help her retrieve dead bodies. ] Not a terribly accurate one, though. I'm only passable at it, but I guess tequila inspires quite a bit of confidence.
[He chuckles at alcohol inspiring confidence. Maybe that's what he wanted. He used to have it all the time.]
You know who you remind me of? I knew a French ornithologist. [He might have been drunk enough that he had to very carefully say that word.] She was so annoyed with me. I drank cheap wine. I liked the sounds of the city. I was ridiculous when I drank. I was obnoxiously self assured in my good looks.
But she was intelligent and educated and classy. As classy as a woman who went tearing through the wilderness for the purpose of discovery could get. And most importantly, when she got drunk, she was ridiculous too.
[And she never stopped being annoyed with Miller. To be honest, wherever she ended up, he hopes that Cécile looks back upon knowing him and breathes "pest" under her breath for old times sake.]
[ She laughs softly, tipping her head back to smile up at him. ]
She sounds incredible, so I will. Thank you. Wherever did you meet a French ornithologist, though? I didn't think that was the sort of profession where one met many former mercenaries.
[ Said the archaeologist who's legal guardian was a former marine. ]
Big Boss met her first. Then sent her to our base to keep her safe. She was in a dangerous area, they were building a mobile nuclear weapon housing and launch unit.
Her ability to recognize bird calls and the fact she recorded voices help us out quite a bit.
[He figures that, by now, they can get away with pretty strange stories at each other.]
Back then it would have taken more than a nuclear disturbance to slow me down.
[That makes him smile some again, and when they're getting closer to his room he moves his hand from her shoulder to settle at her waist, so he can pull her into a hug against his side.]
I'll keep a tab. Make 'em count. [Those stories that is.]
[ The hug surprises her, for some reason, but she settles into it. It's the easiest thing to wrap her other arm around her and press her face briefly against his shoulder. He smells like booze, mostly. It shouldn't make her miss Roth, but there it is, a dull ache in her chest.
She leans back and tries for a smile, fighting back the tears. Really, she's being ridiculous. ]
I will. I don't have any as exciting as drunk French ornithologists, but I have a few.
[It's actually been a while since someone just hugged him. He had no idea how long it had been until she hugs him back, and he realizes he can't even remember. Just the occasional gentle shifting of weight by the Boss's Phantom. And even then, that's only so much.]
[After everything, he gives her a tighter hug back. Dropping his crutch. Nevermind, he'll just leave that on the floor for now. They're not too far from his barracks now. But he takes her face in his hands (one flesh with warm palm and chilly fingers, the other the same temperature of the corridor) and, spurred on by his drunkenness, gives her a scratchy kiss to her forehead.]
[ She's more than happy to be properly hugged, the clatter of his crutch something that only registers distantly. It's nice, she feels warm and rather ridiculously safe for a moment, a memory of Roth's occasional hugs tinging the current one. Miller is entierly different, but she finds she's no less fond of him.
The kiss is a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. She blushes and laughs softly, hiding her face against his shoulder for a moment again. Then the ramifications of him using both hands catches up to her. She shifts, glancing down at his crutch. ]
That's a bit of a problem.
[ Now how are they going to get that without one or both of them winding up on the floor... ]
[He lets go, and takes a couple of staggering, uneasy steps to grab the wall. Then grabs the wall to keep from falling.]
[At least that gives her a moment to pick up the crutch for him. He's not too far from his room now. At least he won't be too much more effort for her.]
You know something funny? I think I did, too. I'd forgotten what it felt like.
[It genuinely had been that long since he'd had just a hug. Just a plain old-fashioned hug.]
[He takes the crutch, and with another wobble rights himself.] Next time I drink, I'll do it when I'm less depressed. [He promises that, but he isn't promising he won't drink, either. He misses the days when doing it socially felt good. He's pretty sure he's not outgrown that.]
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[He reaches into his uniform coat and makes a face as he's feeling around for something. But then there's a click and the sleeve fills up. It's an arm. An arm that looks like it's made of semi-transparent mesh, some sort of bizarre technology, but it's an arm.]
Don't tell anyone about that. I don't want them to know. I'm not good with it yet.
[He has a leg too, but he's too drunk to make the effort of leaning down and he's still shy of asking anyone to help him. He hates people seeing where his leg just... ends. The normal prosthetic will have to do. But this way he can put his right arm around her and also use his crutch.]
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You're full of surprises. [ She steps in close, moving her hand to his waist. She's a nearly half a foot shorter, but she stays steady under his weight. On the off chance he does fall, she can probably keep them both upright. ] I promise I won't tell anyone.
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I used to play a lot. [He rambles a little.] My guitar... the ingress brought it. But it's a ghost. It should be at the bottom of an ocean, eaten away by the years. But it's real and in my room.
Yeah. I should show you. [Muttered.] Not now. I'd sound bad. [And it's obviously taking a lot of focus to walk.]
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[ Anything to coax him out of wherever his mind has gone that drinking thought away seemed the best choice. ]
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I guess I grew up.
[He doesn't like the man he turned out to be, though. He lets her steer him, obediently following and focussing on how he moves.]
Can't tell whether that's a good thing or not. [He misses being stupid and smitten but he resents that he wasted his time being that.] I play for you, you tell me another story, huh? Places you've been. Things you've done.
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Deal. Though I imagine I'll run out of stories before you run out of songs.
[ All the same, she adds after a moment. ]
I once spent an hour trying to teach Latin to a boy while I was incredibly drunk. Fun feels like a relative concept to me sometimes.
I like you as you are.
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I bet he came out with an interesting take on the language. Latin isn't one of the languages I know.
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[ Lara has strongly positive opinions about people who help her retrieve dead bodies. ] Not a terribly accurate one, though. I'm only passable at it, but I guess tequila inspires quite a bit of confidence.
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[He chuckles at alcohol inspiring confidence. Maybe that's what he wanted. He used to have it all the time.]
You know who you remind me of? I knew a French ornithologist. [He might have been drunk enough that he had to very carefully say that word.] She was so annoyed with me. I drank cheap wine. I liked the sounds of the city. I was ridiculous when I drank. I was obnoxiously self assured in my good looks.
But she was intelligent and educated and classy. As classy as a woman who went tearing through the wilderness for the purpose of discovery could get. And most importantly, when she got drunk, she was ridiculous too.
[And she never stopped being annoyed with Miller. To be honest, wherever she ended up, he hopes that Cécile looks back upon knowing him and breathes "pest" under her breath for old times sake.]
Consider it a compliment.
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She sounds incredible, so I will. Thank you. Wherever did you meet a French ornithologist, though? I didn't think that was the sort of profession where one met many former mercenaries.
[ Said the archaeologist who's legal guardian was a former marine. ]
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Her ability to recognize bird calls and the fact she recorded voices help us out quite a bit.
[He figures that, by now, they can get away with pretty strange stories at each other.]
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[ She's extrapolating, but also she rather likes the image. It's utterly mad and she's inclined to believe every word. ]
Ah... This means I owe you two stories now.
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[That makes him smile some again, and when they're getting closer to his room he moves his hand from her shoulder to settle at her waist, so he can pull her into a hug against his side.]
I'll keep a tab. Make 'em count. [Those stories that is.]
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She leans back and tries for a smile, fighting back the tears. Really, she's being ridiculous. ]
I will. I don't have any as exciting as drunk French ornithologists, but I have a few.
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[After everything, he gives her a tighter hug back. Dropping his crutch. Nevermind, he'll just leave that on the floor for now. They're not too far from his barracks now. But he takes her face in his hands (one flesh with warm palm and chilly fingers, the other the same temperature of the corridor) and, spurred on by his drunkenness, gives her a scratchy kiss to her forehead.]
I'll look forward to them.
[Then he stares at his crutch.]
[Yup. That sure is down there.]
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The kiss is a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. She blushes and laughs softly, hiding her face against his shoulder for a moment again. Then the ramifications of him using both hands catches up to her. She shifts, glancing down at his crutch. ]
That's a bit of a problem.
[ Now how are they going to get that without one or both of them winding up on the floor... ]
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[He lets go, and takes a couple of staggering, uneasy steps to grab the wall. Then grabs the wall to keep from falling.]
[At least that gives her a moment to pick up the crutch for him. He's not too far from his room now. At least he won't be too much more effort for her.]
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Here. [ She holds out the crutch. ] And... Thank you. I think I needed that.
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[It genuinely had been that long since he'd had just a hug. Just a plain old-fashioned hug.]
[He takes the crutch, and with another wobble rights himself.] Next time I drink, I'll do it when I'm less depressed. [He promises that, but he isn't promising he won't drink, either. He misses the days when doing it socially felt good. He's pretty sure he's not outgrown that.]
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[ With the walk home and the hug, really. She hasn't felt especially useful of late, but this is a nice change of pace.]
I could go with you next time, if you like. We could even out our story telling and drunken walk home tabs.