Questions? You’re Hilarious.

How does your character adapt to the challenges of battling in a harsh winter environment, and what strategies or skills do they rely on most?

🎁 PROMPT 1512

Blizzard.

Surprising as it sounds, he and Mundy communicate quite often through the sniper dot. With the Sniper’s ease of reading lips through the scope, he can coordinate attacks (or hold back if Mundy so wishes) by watching the movement made in response.

While he doesn’t favor the lack of discretion long distance communication provides, he’d be foolish to say it isn’t helpful. Comms have consistently been broken down since they arrived, frequently dropping in and out without warning. As such, they never rely on it.

The new scout begins rapidly tapping his foot on the floor, fretting with his hair.

That, and the hurt and confusion of someone he respected and looked up to flippantly saying something so scathing towards him. Like the remark didn’t even take thought to produce. That it had already existed, and only gone unsaid.

He replies flatly, managing to look down his nose at both coworkers, despite one being over an inch taller than he is. Letting out a quiet scoff in regards to the smaller one’s attempt at intimidation.

“Stop that,” his gloved fingers snap a few times in front of Scout, nose wrinkled with disdain. “you are fluffed up like a chicken.”

The room smells like coffee and regret.

He doesn’t quite settle. Forcibly lowering his posture but still stiff. Shoulders flat, elbows angled to where the coat flares slightly to the sides. Stilled where the normally restless shuffle of his feet implied pent up energy.

Resembling a dog that sizes up an opponent it can’t take, gaze flicking around for signs of an opening despite knowing the futility of picking a fight.

Be the bigger man. Repeated to himself like a mantra. Be the bigger man. Don’t start it. Let them come to you. Ma didn’t raise you like that. Make ma proud. Be the bigger man. Make ma proud. Make ma proud. Make ma proud. Make ma proud. Make ma proud. Be the bigger man—

Fist flashing out from the pockets of his winter coat, he makes a run for Spy while his back is turned.

He’ll be nicer when the problem no longer lingers like an acrid taste on the back of his tongue. Probing at his mind, constantly firing off ‘what if’ scenarios. Until then, he will not be happy.

Maybe there will be a time he will grow closer to the new mercenaries. But being on uneasy footing with mortality as a whole; he refuses to be burnt twice so quickly.

Whether Scout notices, Mundy may. The stiffness of his own shoulders, fishing for something in his pockets. A lighter, but no smoke. He simply opens it up, and lets it burn. Fixating on the flame as he thumbs over the engraving, then stows it back away.

“He ain’t the one playing chicken.”

“I am going make something useful out of my time. I suggest you do the same.” He says icily, shooting a glance back at Sniper. “That includes you, bushman. Chickening out with the excuse of recovery isn’t a good look. Just take care not to freeze.”

Are your characters generous with gifts? Do they try to get gifts for everybody or the select people they care about?

🎁 PROMPT 0612

Weapons.

#REDSmissmas2k24 MOUNTAIN BASE

PROMPT 06:

Are your characters generous with gifts? Do they try to get gifts for everybody or the select people they care about?

Spy is a mixed bag when it comes to gifts. Not that he doesn’t care, but he has a tendency to pick odds and ends for his gifts rather than lavish, large ones. Sometimes the best ones are kept simple, or practical, or cheap.

That said, there’s a myriad of reasons behind Spy’s choices of present. From gathering data based on the reactions of his teammates, confirming his own thoughts and theories, to giving something useful without overstating its importance.

The mercs will often find that the smaller gifts he gives in the form of items come in handy when they least expect it. Whether he predicted an issue based on their files, or it was a lucky guess; it’s become an uncanny habit of his to the point of his teammates overthinking what they got. An unintended side effect, though amusing to watch from afar.

Other times, he’ll import snacks and drinks from his teammates’ home countries. Paying attention to what they mention missing from home, or cravings from half a year prior. While all of his gifts show meaning, this is his most direct way of showing sentiment for his fellow mercenaries if he imports something directly.

When someone is particularly tight-lipped about their favorites, he’ll go for the more general, popular snacks and one or two wild card picks to gauge their preference for next year. Maybe get a pointer or two about where they spent most of their youth.

— " Howdy, you're invited: A Very Private Smissmas Hideout! I hope this message finds y'all in good spirits (or at least not blowin' somethin' up at the moment). I reckon it’s been a tough year, so I thought we’d take a well-deserved break and celebrate the season together.I've gone and rented out a cozy little spot far from all the noise to host a private Smissmas hideout. It’s peaceful, got plenty of space, and even a fireplace or two. Bring something warm to wear, 'cause it's gonna be chilly! Date: 1st December 2024 — 31st December 2024 Dress Code: Festive (or whatever's comfy for ya) Now, the location… I'm keepin' it under wraps to keep things extra private. Attached to this message is a set of coordinates and instructions on how to get there.Trust me, y'all don't wanna miss this. There'll be good food, laughs, and maybe even a surprise or two. And yes, the BLU team's invited too — truce zone rules apply, no funny business. P.S. If anyone’s got dietary restrictions (or strong feelings ‘bout fruitcake), let me know! "

CONFIDENTIAL DOCUMENTS:

FOR PRIVATE EYES ONLY

The new scout begins rapidly tapping his foot on the floor, fretting with his hair.

That, and the hurt and confusion of someone he respected and looked up to flippantly saying something so scathing towards him. Like the remark didn’t even take thought to produce. That it had already existed, and only gone unsaid.

He replies flatly, managing to look down his nose at both coworkers, despite one being over an inch taller than he is. Letting out a quiet scoff in regards to the smaller one’s attempt at intimidation.

“Stop that,” his gloved fingers snap a few times in front of Scout, nose wrinkled with disdain. “you are fluffed up like a chicken.”

The room smells like coffee and regret.

The new scout begins rapidly tapping his foot on the floor, fretting with his hair.

"Es ist fast soweit. Nur noch ein bisschen länger," he mutters, checking off a point on the paper while he paces the room, "everything is ready for him."

A gentle 'coo,' alerts him to the entrance of the Spy, holding a mug of coffee and a cigarette. As per usual, he snuffs it out just before he steps foot into the bay; straddling the boundaries set in place. Choosing to ignore it for now, he greets Spy with a whistle.

"I'm impressed you managed to wait this long," he says, brow raising in surprise.

"Ja, well, a good nights sleep is of importance!"

Medic swiftly raises a finger to silence a quip from Spy, knowing full well his sleep schedule is less than optimal.

"Anywho, I think it is time I see to him now. The sooner it is finished, the better. I'd like to see how he does on the field!"

"Indeed," Spy nods in return, handing the doctor his own coffee, "I'll admit I'm quite curious how he will adapt to the new field."

"Well, we will not have to wait very long!" He sang, grabbing his coat from the rack and throwing it over his shoulders. Taking a cheerful sip from the hot mug of coffee, Medic pushes past the masked man, ignoring his heavy sigh of defeat.

@asktheredssniper

"Yeah... Definitely, even if he's a bit scary," Scout nods along. Knowing that Medic could at least bring them back was definitely a relief to him too. As scary as the guy could be, he couldn't bring himself to believe that he wasn't capable of bringing someone back from the dead.

"What do you mean?" He tilts his head in response to 'Hell mate, you are a lucky one,' watching as he eyed him up and down with disbelief. Suppressing a shudder himself, he cleared his throat, deciding to answer Mundy as well.

"I think Rusty was working on it, but I heard that we've got another new Engie on the way who's a bit more familiar with the ins and outs of the thing... I uh, wouldn't worry about it too much if I were you, alright?"

Upon seeing Sniper rubbing his eyes, Scout appears to immediately mirror the action and do it too, letting out a quiet yawn.

“Hey, if you ever find it hard to sleep though, I’m up on occasion. Just like, knock or whatever and I’ll find you something to pass the time,” he gives Sniper a lopsided grin, uneasy stance melting once the subject finally fully changes to something more casual.

“Oh, speaking of which…”

Sniper can hear the faint rolling of wheels, a door shutting, and some rustling around before Spy pokes his head around the corner.

“Your things are ready, chat mouillé, I’d suggest getting some rest before you get your ear talked off.”

Spy groans and slides a hand down his face, rolling his eyes.

“I tell him not to take the one branching route to his quarters, and what does he do?”

Shaking his head, he leads Sniper down to a row of doors. It’s pretty quiet, as it’s pretty late—though he thinks he can faintly hear the distant combined laughter of two people echoing through the base. The idle buzz of power drowns most of it out, but it still manages to reach him all the same.

“This will be the final night of peace you have, enjoy it while it lasts. Medic will see to you in the morning—I presume you’ve yet to get an Übercharge surgery?”

He says this while opening the door to Sniper’s room, hanging up the keys. It’s shockingly nice, with a comfortable looking bed, a small desk space, a storage shelf with various belongings sorted along the surface, a shallow closet with uniforms… It’s probably more than Mundy received back at his old base—though it may have been because of the split between it and his camper.

Chat mouillé,

Extra blankets for the cold. I believe that they might come in handy, should you leave your window open some lovely desert night.

Behind Mundy is Spy wearing a shit-eating grin.

“Oh, and in case you were wondering, Miss Pauling filled me in on your current… Living situation,” he barely gets it out in a growl, despite keeping the smile, “so I took the opportunity to bring it back for you! Left your old home out in the cold… If you could call it one.”

With a haughty sniff, he slams the door shut with his heel and walks away. At the very least, it does look cozy… Very much so, actually. Sniper can tell there was a genuine amount effort put into his surroundings. A few things of significance from the move are placed in more prominent spots on the shelves, there’s color coding on your belongings, neatly stacked and folded or tucked away.

That still doesn’t make up for the insults, though.

@asktheredssniper

"Yeah... Definitely, even if he's a bit scary," Scout nods along. Knowing that Medic could at least bring them back was definitely a relief to him too. As scary as the guy could be, he couldn't bring himself to believe that he wasn't capable of bringing someone back from the dead.

"What do you mean?" He tilts his head in response to 'Hell mate, you are a lucky one,' watching as he eyed him up and down with disbelief. Suppressing a shudder himself, he cleared his throat, deciding to answer Mundy as well.

"I think Rusty was working on it, but I heard that we've got another new Engie on the way who's a bit more familiar with the ins and outs of the thing... I uh, wouldn't worry about it too much if I were you, alright?"

Upon seeing Sniper rubbing his eyes, Scout appears to immediately mirror the action and do it too, letting out a quiet yawn.

“Hey, if you ever find it hard to sleep though, I’m up on occasion. Just like, knock or whatever and I’ll find you something to pass the time,” he gives Sniper a lopsided grin, uneasy stance melting once the subject finally fully changes to something more casual.

“Oh, speaking of which…”

Sniper can hear the faint rolling of wheels, a door shutting, and some rustling around before Spy pokes his head around the corner.

“Your things are ready, chat mouillé, I’d suggest getting some rest before you get your ear talked off.”

Spy groans and slides a hand down his face, rolling his eyes.

“I tell him not to take the one branching route to his quarters, and what does he do?”

Shaking his head, he leads Sniper down to a row of doors. It’s pretty quiet, as it’s pretty late—though he thinks he can faintly hear the distant combined laughter of two people echoing through the base. The idle buzz of power drowns most of it out, but it still manages to reach him all the same.

“This will be the final night of peace you have, enjoy it while it lasts. Medic will see to you in the morning—I presume you’ve yet to get an Übercharge surgery?”

He says this while opening the door to Sniper’s room, hanging up the keys. It’s shockingly nice, with a comfortable looking bed, a small desk space, a storage shelf with various belongings sorted along the surface, a shallow closet with uniforms… It’s probably more than Mundy received back at his old base—though it may have been because of the split between it and his camper.

Chat mouillé,

Extra blankets for the cold. I believe that they might come in handy, should you leave your window open some lovely desert night.

Behind Mundy is Spy wearing a shit-eating grin.

“Oh, and in case you were wondering, Miss Pauling filled me in on your current… Living situation,” he barely gets it out in a growl, despite keeping the smile, “so I took the opportunity to bring it back for you! Left your old home out in the cold… If you could call it one.”

@asktheredssniper

"Yeah... Definitely, even if he's a bit scary," Scout nods along. Knowing that Medic could at least bring them back was definitely a relief to him too. As scary as the guy could be, he couldn't bring himself to believe that he wasn't capable of bringing someone back from the dead.

"What do you mean?" He tilts his head in response to 'Hell mate, you are a lucky one,' watching as he eyed him up and down with disbelief. Suppressing a shudder himself, he cleared his throat, deciding to answer Mundy as well.

"I think Rusty was working on it, but I heard that we've got another new Engie on the way who's a bit more familiar with the ins and outs of the thing... I uh, wouldn't worry about it too much if I were you, alright?"

Upon seeing Sniper rubbing his eyes, Scout appears to immediately mirror the action and do it too, letting out a quiet yawn.

“Hey, if you ever find it hard to sleep though, I’m up on occasion. Just like, knock or whatever and I’ll find you something to pass the time,” he gives Sniper a lopsided grin, uneasy stance melting once the subject finally fully changes to something more casual.

“Oh, speaking of which…”

Sniper can hear the faint rolling of wheels, a door shutting, and some rustling around before Spy pokes his head around the corner.

“Your things are ready, chat mouillé, I’d suggest getting some rest before you get your ear talked off.”

Spy groans and slides a hand down his face, rolling his eyes.

“I tell him not to take the one branching route to his quarters, and what does he do?”

Shaking his head, he leads Sniper down to a row of doors. It’s pretty quiet, as it’s pretty late—though he thinks he can faintly hear the distant combined laughter of two people echoing through the base. The idle buzz of power drowns most of it out, but it still manages to reach him all the same.

“This will be the final night of peace you have, enjoy it while it lasts. Medic will see to you in the morning—I presume you’ve yet to get an Übercharge surgery?”

He says this while opening the door to Sniper’s room, hanging up the keys. It’s shockingly nice, with a comfortable looking bed, a small desk space, a storage shelf with various belongings sorted along the surface, a shallow closet with uniforms… It’s probably more than Mundy received back at his old base—though it may have been because of the split between it and his camper.

When you took him by the scruff, then plopped him into the middle of cold and snow. On an unfamiliar landscape. Well, to say his relaxed and professional as can be demeanor changed was an understatement.

"You look like a wet cat," comes an amused voice from behind.

Perhaps it was the faint smell of smoke, or the smug aura radiating off of him; but it was easy to tell that his teammate was approaching even before the telltale 'woosh' of a decloak brings him into view.

Either way, that smirk is enough to know that he won't let you live this one down.

“And I presume you also know you were ‘tromping out here’ in the wrong direction, bushman?”

Once pointed out, the path that’d originally been hard to follow thanks to the weather freezing the man to his core became much clearer. Down on each side were steep crags rolling down into the misty air, with the sharp branches of hardy trees poking through the top of the rolling clouds of snow.

“Poor Sniper, what would he have done if Medic hadn’t sent me to stop him from freezing to death?

After allowing himself a faint chuckle, he continued down the path.

“As for these, it is considered a rite of passage. Our poor scout only recently got his… He needed somebody else to sign his contract, see.”

And faintly, beneath his breath, “Chat mouillé.”

“If he’d gotten hypothermia, it would have done our doctor good for his experiments.”

The way he says it betrays more meaning hiding just underneath, but he refuses to brush away the surface and dig deeper in that infuriating way of his.

“And, bushman, a word of advice.”

He finally turns to meet Sniper directly in the eyes.

“This place is not as it seems. Do yourself a favor and don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

The warm light is unfortunately too high above against the pipes weaving through the tall fissure to reach Sniper, but it at least gives him some hope that this mess will be over soon.

Hand up against the narrow walls, Spy traces his way along. Eventually coming to a stop at a seemingly random spot. With a swift shove of his elbow into the rock, the entire thing pushes away into a hidden passage. The concrete floor leads down into a dark stairwell, only dimly lit by a flickering fluorescent bulb.

“Nearly there, my apologies for this detour…”

He only talks once both are within the confines of what looks to be a back storage room long abandoned by the original teams. Old shelving units that are now emptied save for some cans from the twenties sparsely decorate the room. Otherwise, though, it’s been completely gutted.

“In any other circumstance, I would have been more subtle about this.”

In a swift rolling movement, Spy flicks the revolver out of his pocket and presses the barrel into Mundy’s chest.

A lone wooden door across the room seems miles out of reach right now.

“Alright bushman—if that’s who you really are. I have every file on you. Here is how this will work,” he scowls, “give me one reason to believe your royal screwup making it here was not out of character for someone such as yourself.”

By the moment they stepped into what was dressed to look like an empty, almost as if cleared out storage space, the hair on the back of his neck was on end. Especially eyeing the wooden door at the end of the stretched room. When Spy spoke his numb fingers were wrapped firmly around the hilt of his blade. When the click quickly registered in his ears his eyes widened in swift realization.

The kukri was skillfully displayed in his palm, unsheathed, ready with that clean sound of metal striking off leather held short only by the press of a crisp muzzle into the mid of his chest. Held so steadily he was sure the other could likely feel the draw and exhale of his breathing.

Never trust a Spy, what were you thinking Mundy. Always trust your instinct.

His teeth bared as he both chastised himself and glared at the man. Holding aloft his weapon and other arm in a placating manner. Now acutely aware that any wrong move could end in a world of unforgiving pain. Piss.

Piss off. “Are all you spies so bloody dramatic?!” He stated for one, before practically biting his tongue with a slow, steady huff. Collecting his ever growing agitation.

Eyeing the kukri in Sniper’s hand, he hums faintly in approval at his reaction time. He takes his time in listening to the man’s side, but that fire of suspicion doesn’t seem to be extinguished from his glare just yet.

Eventually, he cautiously drops his arm to his side, allowing Mundy space to breath.

“Then this was a waste of our time. Apologies,” he brushes off the front of his suit, “I’m afraid there’s no room for benefit of the doubt these days.”

Finally, Spy cracks the slightest hint of a good-natured grin, drawing backwards towards the wooden door and opening it.

Behind it is the holy beam of warmth that he’d been searching for all night, plaster walls and yet another stairwell, this time leading back up into the base. The heater is on, and Mundy has never appreciated it more.

That’s… fair. Which, he conveyed with a wordless and weary nod of understanding. Albeit, the caution still hadn’t relinquished from the sniper gaze either. Which was to be expected between two mercenaries still rather unfamiliar with each other.

He’d think the barest hint of a grin from the Spy is a better step in the right direction.

While, Mundy practically melts with relief as he catches the edges of warmth that wafted out the open door, almost immediately he feels like he can feel his toes again despite not entirely thawing quite yet. As he’d mindfully store away the kukri back into it’s sheath, he caught the tossed jacket with a genuine look of surprise.

Finally, for the first time in their interaction there was a subtle tug of a smile. Followed by a low chuckle as Sniper took a careful look at the coat and motioned forwards.

Behind Sniper, something rattles and clatters a bit, seeming to bump into the wall a couple of times before whirring and making its way beside the doorway. He realizes that whatever it is avoided detection by nature of being entirely metal; blending in with the empty shelves by reflecting what little light entered the room. Two dim blue lights flicker to life where it’s eyes should be, and it moves to shut the door behind Sniper—keeping the warm air in.

“I’ve begun taking a liking to that rust bucket of his, even if it’s a frankly offensive image of me,” he softly explains as he makes his way up the stairs, “taken it under my wing as an apprentice of sorts.”

Mundy stepped after the Spy, keeping the jacket folded on his arm instead of pulling it on. Content enough that the heaters would do well enough to defrost his bones.

Sitting at a short wooden table is a young man, wide-eyed and staring at Sniper with a mixture of awe and anxiety. Fidgeting with the edge of his gloves, it takes a moment for him to gather his words.

Just before Spy takes a breath to break the silence, he bursts out with a “I thought you were gonna die out there! I was getting worried! Why’d you stall? He looked normal, Spy, I saw ‘im and he looked normal.”

Spy only lets out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose and turning to leave down the hall. He doesn’t bother to answer the frankly silly question, and instead mutters something about going to get the rest of Sniper’s things ready.

Scout’s voice falters, and his hand falls behind his neck.

“Oh, okay then… Sorry for worrying I guess,” he mumbles.

The Spy-bot looks between the two of you, chirps inquisitively, then decidedly heads off in its own direction—though it hesitates in a very human-like fashion.

When you took him by the scruff, then plopped him into the middle of cold and snow. On an unfamiliar landscape. Well, to say his relaxed and professional as can be demeanor changed was an understatement.

"You look like a wet cat," comes an amused voice from behind.

Perhaps it was the faint smell of smoke, or the smug aura radiating off of him; but it was easy to tell that his teammate was approaching even before the telltale 'woosh' of a decloak brings him into view.

Either way, that smirk is enough to know that he won't let you live this one down.

“And I presume you also know you were ‘tromping out here’ in the wrong direction, bushman?”

Once pointed out, the path that’d originally been hard to follow thanks to the weather freezing the man to his core became much clearer. Down on each side were steep crags rolling down into the misty air, with the sharp branches of hardy trees poking through the top of the rolling clouds of snow.

“Poor Sniper, what would he have done if Medic hadn’t sent me to stop him from freezing to death?

After allowing himself a faint chuckle, he continued down the path.

“As for these, it is considered a rite of passage. Our poor scout only recently got his… He needed somebody else to sign his contract, see.”

And faintly, beneath his breath, “Chat mouillé.”

“If he’d gotten hypothermia, it would have done our doctor good for his experiments.”

The way he says it betrays more meaning hiding just underneath, but he refuses to brush away the surface and dig deeper in that infuriating way of his.

“And, bushman, a word of advice.”

He finally turns to meet Sniper directly in the eyes.

“This place is not as it seems. Do yourself a favor and don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

The warm light is unfortunately too high above against the pipes weaving through the tall fissure to reach Sniper, but it at least gives him some hope that this mess will be over soon.

Hand up against the narrow walls, Spy traces his way along. Eventually coming to a stop at a seemingly random spot. With a swift shove of his elbow into the rock, the entire thing pushes away into a hidden passage. The concrete floor leads down into a dark stairwell, only dimly lit by a flickering fluorescent bulb.

“Nearly there, my apologies for this detour…”

He only talks once both are within the confines of what looks to be a back storage room long abandoned by the original teams. Old shelving units that are now emptied save for some cans from the twenties sparsely decorate the room. Otherwise, though, it’s been completely gutted.

“In any other circumstance, I would have been more subtle about this.”

In a swift rolling movement, Spy flicks the revolver out of his pocket and presses the barrel into Mundy’s chest.

A lone wooden door across the room seems miles out of reach right now.

“Alright bushman—if that’s who you really are. I have every file on you. Here is how this will work,” he scowls, “give me one reason to believe your royal screwup making it here was not out of character for someone such as yourself.”

By the moment they stepped into what was dressed to look like an empty, almost as if cleared out storage space, the hair on the back of his neck was on end. Especially eyeing the wooden door at the end of the stretched room. When Spy spoke his numb fingers were wrapped firmly around the hilt of his blade. When the click quickly registered in his ears his eyes widened in swift realization.

The kukri was skillfully displayed in his palm, unsheathed, ready with that clean sound of metal striking off leather held short only by the press of a crisp muzzle into the mid of his chest. Held so steadily he was sure the other could likely feel the draw and exhale of his breathing.

Never trust a Spy, what were you thinking Mundy. Always trust your instinct.

His teeth bared as he both chastised himself and glared at the man. Holding aloft his weapon and other arm in a placating manner. Now acutely aware that any wrong move could end in a world of unforgiving pain. Piss.

Piss off. “Are all you spies so bloody dramatic?!” He stated for one, before practically biting his tongue with a slow, steady huff. Collecting his ever growing agitation.

Eyeing the kukri in Sniper’s hand, he hums faintly in approval at his reaction time. He takes his time in listening to the man’s side, but that fire of suspicion doesn’t seem to be extinguished from his glare just yet.

Eventually, he cautiously drops his arm to his side, allowing Mundy space to breath.

“Then this was a waste of our time. Apologies,” he brushes off the front of his suit, “I’m afraid there’s no room for benefit of the doubt these days.”

Finally, Spy cracks the slightest hint of a good-natured grin, drawing backwards towards the wooden door and opening it.

Behind it is the holy beam of warmth that he’d been searching for all night, plaster walls and yet another stairwell, this time leading back up into the base. The heater is on, and Mundy has never appreciated it more.

That’s… fair. Which, he conveyed with a wordless and weary nod of understanding. Albeit, the caution still hadn’t relinquished from the sniper gaze either. Which was to be expected between two mercenaries still rather unfamiliar with each other.

He’d think the barest hint of a grin from the Spy is a better step in the right direction.

While, Mundy practically melts with relief as he catches the edges of warmth that wafted out the open door, almost immediately he feels like he can feel his toes again despite not entirely thawing quite yet. As he’d mindfully store away the kukri back into it’s sheath, he caught the tossed jacket with a genuine look of surprise.

Finally, for the first time in their interaction there was a subtle tug of a smile. Followed by a low chuckle as Sniper took a careful look at the coat and motioned forwards.

Behind Sniper, something rattles and clatters a bit, seeming to bump into the wall a couple of times before whirring and making its way beside the doorway. He realizes that whatever it is avoided detection by nature of being entirely metal; blending in with the empty shelves by reflecting what little light entered the room. Two dim blue lights flicker to life where it’s eyes should be, and it moves to shut the door behind Sniper—keeping the warm air in.

“I’ve begun taking a liking to that rust bucket of his, even if it’s a frankly offensive image of me,” he softly explains as he makes his way up the stairs, “taken it under my wing as an apprentice of sorts.”