BLU Grappler

Grappler took a slow step towards Polite, almost reaching out before thinking better of it and withdrawing her his hand.

"You were gone for a while. Do you... need anything? While I'm here?"

[@blu-grappler]

“I…Don’t quite understand. But I am okay, I do not need anything, my friend. Thank you though, for the concern.”

Grappler nodded, seeming hesitant to leave.

“Okay. I was… just making sure. I—”

sHe paused before speaking again.

He put his hand on Grappler’s shoulder, giving it a pat.

sHe trailed off.

"I was more focused on other things. And-- and you being gone made me realize, maybe I should talk to people a little more? Because you... you never know when something will happen to them, and the things you wanted to tell them are... lost, kind of."

sHe looked up with a sigh, her his gaze traveling towards the gray horizon.

"...Hey."

sHe took a few hesitant steps towards him, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“ Good morning sir, I mean no harm. I'm here to report on the war. I took some interest in your weapons, I've never seen something like it. It's just-- approaching mercenaries out of the blue isn't a particularly... successful strategy, one could say."

“ Well, yes. I mostly rely on the things I can gather while there is active combat, but the horizon had been quiet for a second. I can assure you, this information travels with me only. I report alone, for work ethics. ”

"...Okay, then. If all that is true, what would you even get out of this?" she asked. "Some sense of just... knowing more than anyone else? Info you think you can use when this is all said and done and everyone involved in this war is dead?"

sHe paused for a second, another thought occurring to her him.

But if someone has suspicions of you, running away does nothing for your case. And ‘his’ weapon was already ready for a strike; he couldn't run fast enough to counter it. He swallowed down the fear. Well, if answers allowed him to see another day...

“ I have a personal grudge with Mann Co. This isn't exactly about the war, at least not how you would imagine. Have you noticed the lead poisoning of the residents of New Mexico, everywhere? Well, it doesn't stop there. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He pulls, slowly, a worn down and old map. Well, not really a map, it's more like three maps of different scales stamped together. There is a red line across them all. It's almost the size of his torso.

“ I'm investigating not only the war, but the way it's killing more than the people who signed up for it, but small towns where every waste is dumped. Small towns like mine. The war is where all the lead and remains come from. So, that's the interest I take in you. Nothing personal, sir. I know you signed up for the war, it's your job and all. Is the company I'm after. Which is also why I don't work with cops; they're in all of this. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He remains silent for a second, then kicks some dirt up.

Grappler looks between the Journalist and his map for a moment before deciding not to comment on his grudge against Mann Co., perhaps a little distracted by the Journalist’s acknowledgment of her his skills.

“Well. You’re at least right about the skill required for this sort of thing, but what exactly do you mean by ‘distinguish me from the enemy’?”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ It was clear he had no problem letting his thoughts flow, especially since it was more or less something he had wanted to tell ‘him’ for a good second. It almost seemed artistic for him in some way, the dance between her fight style and the curves and spirals that the rope drew in the air while it was in action.

"I guess it also helps that it's not the most... orthodox of weapons. It took a while to learn to use it as one, but it paid off eventually."

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He cut himself off, he was rambling and running his tongue. He hopes he didn't come off as rude on his comparations; murder and dance are quite the distinct activities. But again, the art of welding a weapon demands a control of the body that you only ever see on disciplines like, let's say, salsa.

"I don't mind when people ramble," she said, "and... it didn't come off as dismissive, either."

He would hang around ‘him’ again, if given the chance. Which, took him to another much overdue reminder; names!

“ If I may know, sir, what are you called? You seem like a good chat, I would hate to part ways and not have a name to remember you by. ”

sHe gave Journalist an inquisitive look.

(She silently hoped that was enough and that he wouldn't say anything about it.)

"Javier. That's a nice name."

sHe offered him a little more of a smile.

“ Yeah, I've been quite lucky. I'm not connected to any respawn, it's been a fit of luck that I've made it this far. I should learn to fight someday. My gun might as well be a paperweight, I...don't know how to shoot.”

Grappler thought for a second, processing what Journalist had said in both senses of the word-- first understanding the actual whispered words, and then the shock of realizing that he was in an active war zone with no idea how to shoot a gun.

"...You should at least familiarize yourself with basic hand-to-hand combat, or even just general evasive maneuvers."

“ It's well overdue, that's true. On one hand, it would take a lucky bullet to end me. But at the same time, I fear that if I become skilled in hand-to-hand, I might come off as a Spy....besides, I've never been a particularly strong person. I fear that even if I get around to learning how to defend myself, it would be a waste of time. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ As he explained himself, his hands flew in all directions to try and illustrate his point better. He's, ultimately, not a combative person. It's been a miracle so far that no one has actually shot him dead. But miracles can only do so much; this is an active war zone and there are mercenaries that shoot first and ask last. He tried to defend his case, scrambling his brain for any argument.

Grappler cringed internally at the word "yet", realizing what that implied.

“ Don't worry about the wording too much, you're right; I've been far luckier than...other people who came here with a similar objective. It's a risky position to put oneself in, after all. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He gives an awkward smile, looking at his feet. ‘He’ is right and he knows it. There will be one day where he encounters someone who isn't willing to hear his pleas or try to make out the colors of his clothing before shooting. Everyday could be that day, each one of the people he's known so far could've been the last face he saw. A question pops into his mind; what do mercenaries do with the bodies of civilian casualties? Maybe whatever the hell they do with all the other ones. He shudders a little at the thought.

Grappler did not say what she was actually thinking: that a bullet is, in fact, much faster than a rock.

“ I'll make sure to take better care of my back. I've had relatively little face-to-face encounters, gladly. There.... there was this one time, the only real fight I've gotten caught up into. A Spy saw me retreating back into the mountains, followed me all the way back! I couldn't see him, naturally. It was pure luck that I caught him. Back then I had no weapons to speak of. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He looks rather ashamed of his confession. One would think that after witnessing years upon years of unfiltered war, a fist fight wouldn't seem like a big deal. But he still avoids looking back at ‘him’.

"Wait, you bit Spy??" she managed through her his laughter. "Serves him right."

It took her him a few seconds to calm down again, but when she finally did, she took a slow, deep breath to fully compose herself before continuing.

Grappler took a slow step towards Polite, almost reaching out before thinking better of it and withdrawing her his hand.

"You were gone for a while. Do you... need anything? While I'm here?"

[@blu-grappler]

“I…Don’t quite understand. But I am okay, I do not need anything, my friend. Thank you though, for the concern.”

Grappler nodded, seeming hesitant to leave.

“Okay. I was… just making sure. I—”

sHe paused before speaking again.

"...Hey."

sHe took a few hesitant steps towards him, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“ Good morning sir, I mean no harm. I'm here to report on the war. I took some interest in your weapons, I've never seen something like it. It's just-- approaching mercenaries out of the blue isn't a particularly... successful strategy, one could say."

“ Well, yes. I mostly rely on the things I can gather while there is active combat, but the horizon had been quiet for a second. I can assure you, this information travels with me only. I report alone, for work ethics. ”

"...Okay, then. If all that is true, what would you even get out of this?" she asked. "Some sense of just... knowing more than anyone else? Info you think you can use when this is all said and done and everyone involved in this war is dead?"

sHe paused for a second, another thought occurring to her him.

But if someone has suspicions of you, running away does nothing for your case. And ‘his’ weapon was already ready for a strike; he couldn't run fast enough to counter it. He swallowed down the fear. Well, if answers allowed him to see another day...

“ I have a personal grudge with Mann Co. This isn't exactly about the war, at least not how you would imagine. Have you noticed the lead poisoning of the residents of New Mexico, everywhere? Well, it doesn't stop there. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He pulls, slowly, a worn down and old map. Well, not really a map, it's more like three maps of different scales stamped together. There is a red line across them all. It's almost the size of his torso.

“ I'm investigating not only the war, but the way it's killing more than the people who signed up for it, but small towns where every waste is dumped. Small towns like mine. The war is where all the lead and remains come from. So, that's the interest I take in you. Nothing personal, sir. I know you signed up for the war, it's your job and all. Is the company I'm after. Which is also why I don't work with cops; they're in all of this. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He remains silent for a second, then kicks some dirt up.

Grappler looks between the Journalist and his map for a moment before deciding not to comment on his grudge against Mann Co., perhaps a little distracted by the Journalist’s acknowledgment of her his skills.

“Well. You’re at least right about the skill required for this sort of thing, but what exactly do you mean by ‘distinguish me from the enemy’?”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ It was clear he had no problem letting his thoughts flow, especially since it was more or less something he had wanted to tell ‘him’ for a good second. It almost seemed artistic for him in some way, the dance between her fight style and the curves and spirals that the rope drew in the air while it was in action.

"I guess it also helps that it's not the most... orthodox of weapons. It took a while to learn to use it as one, but it paid off eventually."

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He cut himself off, he was rambling and running his tongue. He hopes he didn't come off as rude on his comparations; murder and dance are quite the distinct activities. But again, the art of welding a weapon demands a control of the body that you only ever see on disciplines like, let's say, salsa.

"I don't mind when people ramble," she said, "and... it didn't come off as dismissive, either."

He would hang around ‘him’ again, if given the chance. Which, took him to another much overdue reminder; names!

“ If I may know, sir, what are you called? You seem like a good chat, I would hate to part ways and not have a name to remember you by. ”

sHe gave Journalist an inquisitive look.

(She silently hoped that was enough and that he wouldn't say anything about it.)

"Javier. That's a nice name."

sHe offered him a little more of a smile.

“ Yeah, I've been quite lucky. I'm not connected to any respawn, it's been a fit of luck that I've made it this far. I should learn to fight someday. My gun might as well be a paperweight, I...don't know how to shoot.”

Grappler thought for a second, processing what Journalist had said in both senses of the word-- first understanding the actual whispered words, and then the shock of realizing that he was in an active war zone with no idea how to shoot a gun.

"...You should at least familiarize yourself with basic hand-to-hand combat, or even just general evasive maneuvers."

“ It's well overdue, that's true. On one hand, it would take a lucky bullet to end me. But at the same time, I fear that if I become skilled in hand-to-hand, I might come off as a Spy....besides, I've never been a particularly strong person. I fear that even if I get around to learning how to defend myself, it would be a waste of time. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ As he explained himself, his hands flew in all directions to try and illustrate his point better. He's, ultimately, not a combative person. It's been a miracle so far that no one has actually shot him dead. But miracles can only do so much; this is an active war zone and there are mercenaries that shoot first and ask last. He tried to defend his case, scrambling his brain for any argument.

Grappler cringed internally at the word "yet", realizing what that implied.

“ Don't worry about the wording too much, you're right; I've been far luckier than...other people who came here with a similar objective. It's a risky position to put oneself in, after all. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He gives an awkward smile, looking at his feet. ‘He’ is right and he knows it. There will be one day where he encounters someone who isn't willing to hear his pleas or try to make out the colors of his clothing before shooting. Everyday could be that day, each one of the people he's known so far could've been the last face he saw. A question pops into his mind; what do mercenaries do with the bodies of civilian casualties? Maybe whatever the hell they do with all the other ones. He shudders a little at the thought.

Grappler did not say what she was actually thinking: that a bullet is, in fact, much faster than a rock.

@meet-the-blu-cultist

Oh, hey.

Grappler is, naturally, a little weirded out by the fact that "Cultist" is a job title, but the change in her his expression is barely noticeable.

(Culist looks happy to see Grappler probably because he could do something...if he wanted too...)

Grappler seems annoyed. Then again, she always seems somewhat annoyed for some reason, so it's hard to tell.

"...Hey."

sHe took a few hesitant steps towards him, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“ Good morning sir, I mean no harm. I'm here to report on the war. I took some interest in your weapons, I've never seen something like it. It's just-- approaching mercenaries out of the blue isn't a particularly... successful strategy, one could say."

“ Well, yes. I mostly rely on the things I can gather while there is active combat, but the horizon had been quiet for a second. I can assure you, this information travels with me only. I report alone, for work ethics. ”

"...Okay, then. If all that is true, what would you even get out of this?" she asked. "Some sense of just... knowing more than anyone else? Info you think you can use when this is all said and done and everyone involved in this war is dead?"

sHe paused for a second, another thought occurring to her him.

But if someone has suspicions of you, running away does nothing for your case. And ‘his’ weapon was already ready for a strike; he couldn't run fast enough to counter it. He swallowed down the fear. Well, if answers allowed him to see another day...

“ I have a personal grudge with Mann Co. This isn't exactly about the war, at least not how you would imagine. Have you noticed the lead poisoning of the residents of New Mexico, everywhere? Well, it doesn't stop there. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He pulls, slowly, a worn down and old map. Well, not really a map, it's more like three maps of different scales stamped together. There is a red line across them all. It's almost the size of his torso.

“ I'm investigating not only the war, but the way it's killing more than the people who signed up for it, but small towns where every waste is dumped. Small towns like mine. The war is where all the lead and remains come from. So, that's the interest I take in you. Nothing personal, sir. I know you signed up for the war, it's your job and all. Is the company I'm after. Which is also why I don't work with cops; they're in all of this. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He remains silent for a second, then kicks some dirt up.

Grappler looks between the Journalist and his map for a moment before deciding not to comment on his grudge against Mann Co., perhaps a little distracted by the Journalist’s acknowledgment of her his skills.

“Well. You’re at least right about the skill required for this sort of thing, but what exactly do you mean by ‘distinguish me from the enemy’?”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ It was clear he had no problem letting his thoughts flow, especially since it was more or less something he had wanted to tell ‘him’ for a good second. It almost seemed artistic for him in some way, the dance between her fight style and the curves and spirals that the rope drew in the air while it was in action.

"I guess it also helps that it's not the most... orthodox of weapons. It took a while to learn to use it as one, but it paid off eventually."

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He cut himself off, he was rambling and running his tongue. He hopes he didn't come off as rude on his comparations; murder and dance are quite the distinct activities. But again, the art of welding a weapon demands a control of the body that you only ever see on disciplines like, let's say, salsa.

"I don't mind when people ramble," she said, "and... it didn't come off as dismissive, either."

He would hang around ‘him’ again, if given the chance. Which, took him to another much overdue reminder; names!

“ If I may know, sir, what are you called? You seem like a good chat, I would hate to part ways and not have a name to remember you by. ”

sHe gave Journalist an inquisitive look.

(She silently hoped that was enough and that he wouldn't say anything about it.)

"Javier. That's a nice name."

sHe offered him a little more of a smile.

“ Yeah, I've been quite lucky. I'm not connected to any respawn, it's been a fit of luck that I've made it this far. I should learn to fight someday. My gun might as well be a paperweight, I...don't know how to shoot.”

Grappler thought for a second, processing what Journalist had said in both senses of the word-- first understanding the actual whispered words, and then the shock of realizing that he was in an active war zone with no idea how to shoot a gun.

"...You should at least familiarize yourself with basic hand-to-hand combat, or even just general evasive maneuvers."

“ It's well overdue, that's true. On one hand, it would take a lucky bullet to end me. But at the same time, I fear that if I become skilled in hand-to-hand, I might come off as a Spy....besides, I've never been a particularly strong person. I fear that even if I get around to learning how to defend myself, it would be a waste of time. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ As he explained himself, his hands flew in all directions to try and illustrate his point better. He's, ultimately, not a combative person. It's been a miracle so far that no one has actually shot him dead. But miracles can only do so much; this is an active war zone and there are mercenaries that shoot first and ask last. He tried to defend his case, scrambling his brain for any argument.

Grappler cringed internally at the word "yet", realizing what that implied.

"...Hey."

sHe took a few hesitant steps towards him, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“ Good morning sir, I mean no harm. I'm here to report on the war. I took some interest in your weapons, I've never seen something like it. It's just-- approaching mercenaries out of the blue isn't a particularly... successful strategy, one could say."

“ Well, yes. I mostly rely on the things I can gather while there is active combat, but the horizon had been quiet for a second. I can assure you, this information travels with me only. I report alone, for work ethics. ”

"...Okay, then. If all that is true, what would you even get out of this?" she asked. "Some sense of just... knowing more than anyone else? Info you think you can use when this is all said and done and everyone involved in this war is dead?"

sHe paused for a second, another thought occurring to her him.

But if someone has suspicions of you, running away does nothing for your case. And ‘his’ weapon was already ready for a strike; he couldn't run fast enough to counter it. He swallowed down the fear. Well, if answers allowed him to see another day...

“ I have a personal grudge with Mann Co. This isn't exactly about the war, at least not how you would imagine. Have you noticed the lead poisoning of the residents of New Mexico, everywhere? Well, it doesn't stop there. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He pulls, slowly, a worn down and old map. Well, not really a map, it's more like three maps of different scales stamped together. There is a red line across them all. It's almost the size of his torso.

“ I'm investigating not only the war, but the way it's killing more than the people who signed up for it, but small towns where every waste is dumped. Small towns like mine. The war is where all the lead and remains come from. So, that's the interest I take in you. Nothing personal, sir. I know you signed up for the war, it's your job and all. Is the company I'm after. Which is also why I don't work with cops; they're in all of this. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He remains silent for a second, then kicks some dirt up.

Grappler looks between the Journalist and his map for a moment before deciding not to comment on his grudge against Mann Co., perhaps a little distracted by the Journalist’s acknowledgment of her his skills.

“Well. You’re at least right about the skill required for this sort of thing, but what exactly do you mean by ‘distinguish me from the enemy’?”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ It was clear he had no problem letting his thoughts flow, especially since it was more or less something he had wanted to tell ‘him’ for a good second. It almost seemed artistic for him in some way, the dance between her fight style and the curves and spirals that the rope drew in the air while it was in action.

"I guess it also helps that it's not the most... orthodox of weapons. It took a while to learn to use it as one, but it paid off eventually."

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He cut himself off, he was rambling and running his tongue. He hopes he didn't come off as rude on his comparations; murder and dance are quite the distinct activities. But again, the art of welding a weapon demands a control of the body that you only ever see on disciplines like, let's say, salsa.

"I don't mind when people ramble," she said, "and... it didn't come off as dismissive, either."

He would hang around ‘him’ again, if given the chance. Which, took him to another much overdue reminder; names!

“ If I may know, sir, what are you called? You seem like a good chat, I would hate to part ways and not have a name to remember you by. ”

sHe gave Journalist an inquisitive look.

(She silently hoped that was enough and that he wouldn't say anything about it.)

"Javier. That's a nice name."

sHe offered him a little more of a smile.

“ Yeah, I've been quite lucky. I'm not connected to any respawn, it's been a fit of luck that I've made it this far. I should learn to fight someday. My gun might as well be a paperweight, I...don't know how to shoot.”

Grappler thought for a second, processing what Journalist had said in both senses of the word-- first understanding the actual whispered words, and then the shock of realizing that he was in an active war zone with no idea how to shoot a gun.

"...You should at least familiarize yourself with basic hand-to-hand combat, or even just general evasive maneuvers."

"...Hey."

sHe took a few hesitant steps towards him, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“ Good morning sir, I mean no harm. I'm here to report on the war. I took some interest in your weapons, I've never seen something like it. It's just-- approaching mercenaries out of the blue isn't a particularly... successful strategy, one could say."

“ Well, yes. I mostly rely on the things I can gather while there is active combat, but the horizon had been quiet for a second. I can assure you, this information travels with me only. I report alone, for work ethics. ”

"...Okay, then. If all that is true, what would you even get out of this?" she asked. "Some sense of just... knowing more than anyone else? Info you think you can use when this is all said and done and everyone involved in this war is dead?"

sHe paused for a second, another thought occurring to her him.

But if someone has suspicions of you, running away does nothing for your case. And ‘his’ weapon was already ready for a strike; he couldn't run fast enough to counter it. He swallowed down the fear. Well, if answers allowed him to see another day...

“ I have a personal grudge with Mann Co. This isn't exactly about the war, at least not how you would imagine. Have you noticed the lead poisoning of the residents of New Mexico, everywhere? Well, it doesn't stop there. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He pulls, slowly, a worn down and old map. Well, not really a map, it's more like three maps of different scales stamped together. There is a red line across them all. It's almost the size of his torso.

“ I'm investigating not only the war, but the way it's killing more than the people who signed up for it, but small towns where every waste is dumped. Small towns like mine. The war is where all the lead and remains come from. So, that's the interest I take in you. Nothing personal, sir. I know you signed up for the war, it's your job and all. Is the company I'm after. Which is also why I don't work with cops; they're in all of this. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He remains silent for a second, then kicks some dirt up.

Grappler looks between the Journalist and his map for a moment before deciding not to comment on his grudge against Mann Co., perhaps a little distracted by the Journalist’s acknowledgment of her his skills.

“Well. You’re at least right about the skill required for this sort of thing, but what exactly do you mean by ‘distinguish me from the enemy’?”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ It was clear he had no problem letting his thoughts flow, especially since it was more or less something he had wanted to tell ‘him’ for a good second. It almost seemed artistic for him in some way, the dance between her fight style and the curves and spirals that the rope drew in the air while it was in action.

"I guess it also helps that it's not the most... orthodox of weapons. It took a while to learn to use it as one, but it paid off eventually."

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He cut himself off, he was rambling and running his tongue. He hopes he didn't come off as rude on his comparations; murder and dance are quite the distinct activities. But again, the art of welding a weapon demands a control of the body that you only ever see on disciplines like, let's say, salsa.

"I don't mind when people ramble," she said, "and... it didn't come off as dismissive, either."

He would hang around ‘him’ again, if given the chance. Which, took him to another much overdue reminder; names!

“ If I may know, sir, what are you called? You seem like a good chat, I would hate to part ways and not have a name to remember you by. ”

sHe gave Journalist an inquisitive look.

(She silently hoped that was enough and that he wouldn't say anything about it.)

"Javier. That's a nice name."

sHe offered him a little more of a smile.

"...Hey."

sHe took a few hesitant steps towards him, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“ Good morning sir, I mean no harm. I'm here to report on the war. I took some interest in your weapons, I've never seen something like it. It's just-- approaching mercenaries out of the blue isn't a particularly... successful strategy, one could say."

“ Well, yes. I mostly rely on the things I can gather while there is active combat, but the horizon had been quiet for a second. I can assure you, this information travels with me only. I report alone, for work ethics. ”

"...Okay, then. If all that is true, what would you even get out of this?" she asked. "Some sense of just... knowing more than anyone else? Info you think you can use when this is all said and done and everyone involved in this war is dead?"

sHe paused for a second, another thought occurring to her him.

But if someone has suspicions of you, running away does nothing for your case. And ‘his’ weapon was already ready for a strike; he couldn't run fast enough to counter it. He swallowed down the fear. Well, if answers allowed him to see another day...

“ I have a personal grudge with Mann Co. This isn't exactly about the war, at least not how you would imagine. Have you noticed the lead poisoning of the residents of New Mexico, everywhere? Well, it doesn't stop there. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He pulls, slowly, a worn down and old map. Well, not really a map, it's more like three maps of different scales stamped together. There is a red line across them all. It's almost the size of his torso.

“ I'm investigating not only the war, but the way it's killing more than the people who signed up for it, but small towns where every waste is dumped. Small towns like mine. The war is where all the lead and remains come from. So, that's the interest I take in you. Nothing personal, sir. I know you signed up for the war, it's your job and all. Is the company I'm after. Which is also why I don't work with cops; they're in all of this. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He remains silent for a second, then kicks some dirt up.

Grappler looks between the Journalist and his map for a moment before deciding not to comment on his grudge against Mann Co., perhaps a little distracted by the Journalist’s acknowledgment of her his skills.

“Well. You’re at least right about the skill required for this sort of thing, but what exactly do you mean by ‘distinguish me from the enemy’?”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ It was clear he had no problem letting his thoughts flow, especially since it was more or less something he had wanted to tell ‘him’ for a good second. It almost seemed artistic for him in some way, the dance between her fight style and the curves and spirals that the rope drew in the air while it was in action.

"I guess it also helps that it's not the most... orthodox of weapons. It took a while to learn to use it as one, but it paid off eventually."

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He cut himself off, he was rambling and running his tongue. He hopes he didn't come off as rude on his comparations; murder and dance are quite the distinct activities. But again, the art of welding a weapon demands a control of the body that you only ever see on disciplines like, let's say, salsa.

"I don't mind when people ramble," she said, "and... it didn't come off as dismissive, either."

He would hang around ‘him’ again, if given the chance. Which, took him to another much overdue reminder; names!

“ If I may know, sir, what are you called? You seem like a good chat, I would hate to part ways and not have a name to remember you by. ”

sHe gave Journalist an inquisitive look.

"...Hey."

sHe took a few hesitant steps towards him, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“ Good morning sir, I mean no harm. I'm here to report on the war. I took some interest in your weapons, I've never seen something like it. It's just-- approaching mercenaries out of the blue isn't a particularly... successful strategy, one could say."

“ Well, yes. I mostly rely on the things I can gather while there is active combat, but the horizon had been quiet for a second. I can assure you, this information travels with me only. I report alone, for work ethics. ”

"...Okay, then. If all that is true, what would you even get out of this?" she asked. "Some sense of just... knowing more than anyone else? Info you think you can use when this is all said and done and everyone involved in this war is dead?"

sHe paused for a second, another thought occurring to her him.

But if someone has suspicions of you, running away does nothing for your case. And ‘his’ weapon was already ready for a strike; he couldn't run fast enough to counter it. He swallowed down the fear. Well, if answers allowed him to see another day...

“ I have a personal grudge with Mann Co. This isn't exactly about the war, at least not how you would imagine. Have you noticed the lead poisoning of the residents of New Mexico, everywhere? Well, it doesn't stop there. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He pulls, slowly, a worn down and old map. Well, not really a map, it's more like three maps of different scales stamped together. There is a red line across them all. It's almost the size of his torso.

“ I'm investigating not only the war, but the way it's killing more than the people who signed up for it, but small towns where every waste is dumped. Small towns like mine. The war is where all the lead and remains come from. So, that's the interest I take in you. Nothing personal, sir. I know you signed up for the war, it's your job and all. Is the company I'm after. Which is also why I don't work with cops; they're in all of this. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He remains silent for a second, then kicks some dirt up.

Grappler looks between the Journalist and his map for a moment before deciding not to comment on his grudge against Mann Co., perhaps a little distracted by the Journalist’s acknowledgment of her his skills.

“Well. You’re at least right about the skill required for this sort of thing, but what exactly do you mean by ‘distinguish me from the enemy’?”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ It was clear he had no problem letting his thoughts flow, especially since it was more or less something he had wanted to tell ‘him’ for a good second. It almost seemed artistic for him in some way, the dance between her fight style and the curves and spirals that the rope drew in the air while it was in action.

"I guess it also helps that it's not the most... orthodox of weapons. It took a while to learn to use it as one, but it paid off eventually."

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He cut himself off, he was rambling and running his tongue. He hopes he didn't come off as rude on his comparations; murder and dance are quite the distinct activities. But again, the art of welding a weapon demands a control of the body that you only ever see on disciplines like, let's say, salsa.

"I don't mind when people ramble," she said, "and... it didn't come off as dismissive, either."

"...Hey."

sHe took a few hesitant steps towards him, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“ Good morning sir, I mean no harm. I'm here to report on the war. I took some interest in your weapons, I've never seen something like it. It's just-- approaching mercenaries out of the blue isn't a particularly... successful strategy, one could say."

“ Well, yes. I mostly rely on the things I can gather while there is active combat, but the horizon had been quiet for a second. I can assure you, this information travels with me only. I report alone, for work ethics. ”

"...Okay, then. If all that is true, what would you even get out of this?" she asked. "Some sense of just... knowing more than anyone else? Info you think you can use when this is all said and done and everyone involved in this war is dead?"

sHe paused for a second, another thought occurring to her him.

But if someone has suspicions of you, running away does nothing for your case. And ‘his’ weapon was already ready for a strike; he couldn't run fast enough to counter it. He swallowed down the fear. Well, if answers allowed him to see another day...

“ I have a personal grudge with Mann Co. This isn't exactly about the war, at least not how you would imagine. Have you noticed the lead poisoning of the residents of New Mexico, everywhere? Well, it doesn't stop there. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He pulls, slowly, a worn down and old map. Well, not really a map, it's more like three maps of different scales stamped together. There is a red line across them all. It's almost the size of his torso.

“ I'm investigating not only the war, but the way it's killing more than the people who signed up for it, but small towns where every waste is dumped. Small towns like mine. The war is where all the lead and remains come from. So, that's the interest I take in you. Nothing personal, sir. I know you signed up for the war, it's your job and all. Is the company I'm after. Which is also why I don't work with cops; they're in all of this. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He remains silent for a second, then kicks some dirt up.

Grappler looks between the Journalist and his map for a moment before deciding not to comment on his grudge against Mann Co., perhaps a little distracted by the Journalist’s acknowledgment of her his skills.

“Well. You’re at least right about the skill required for this sort of thing, but what exactly do you mean by ‘distinguish me from the enemy’?”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ It was clear he had no problem letting his thoughts flow, especially since it was more or less something he had wanted to tell ‘him’ for a good second. It almost seemed artistic for him in some way, the dance between her fight style and the curves and spirals that the rope drew in the air while it was in action.

"I guess it also helps that it's not the most... orthodox of weapons. It took a while to learn to use it as one, but it paid off eventually."

Grappler is... perplexed by Aero's friendliness. Isn't she RED? Doesn't she know there's a war going on? And that, as stated by their contract, they are enemies? Enemies don't smile and wave at each other.

"...Hey."

sHe took a few hesitant steps towards him, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“ Good morning sir, I mean no harm. I'm here to report on the war. I took some interest in your weapons, I've never seen something like it. It's just-- approaching mercenaries out of the blue isn't a particularly... successful strategy, one could say."

“ Well, yes. I mostly rely on the things I can gather while there is active combat, but the horizon had been quiet for a second. I can assure you, this information travels with me only. I report alone, for work ethics. ”

"...Okay, then. If all that is true, what would you even get out of this?" she asked. "Some sense of just... knowing more than anyone else? Info you think you can use when this is all said and done and everyone involved in this war is dead?"

sHe paused for a second, another thought occurring to her him.

But if someone has suspicions of you, running away does nothing for your case. And ‘his’ weapon was already ready for a strike; he couldn't run fast enough to counter it. He swallowed down the fear. Well, if answers allowed him to see another day...

“ I have a personal grudge with Mann Co. This isn't exactly about the war, at least not how you would imagine. Have you noticed the lead poisoning of the residents of New Mexico, everywhere? Well, it doesn't stop there. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He pulls, slowly, a worn down and old map. Well, not really a map, it's more like three maps of different scales stamped together. There is a red line across them all. It's almost the size of his torso.

“ I'm investigating not only the war, but the way it's killing more than the people who signed up for it, but small towns where every waste is dumped. Small towns like mine. The war is where all the lead and remains come from. So, that's the interest I take in you. Nothing personal, sir. I know you signed up for the war, it's your job and all. Is the company I'm after. Which is also why I don't work with cops; they're in all of this. ”

│. ₊˚.❝ ☎︎ ❞₊˚✧ ﾟ He remains silent for a second, then kicks some dirt up.

Grappler looks between the Journalist and his map for a moment before deciding not to comment on his grudge against Mann Co., perhaps a little distracted by the Journalist’s acknowledgment of her his skills.

“Well. You’re at least right about the skill required for this sort of thing, but what exactly do you mean by ‘distinguish me from the enemy’?”