#;;threads normal

“Ajax - !!” He says, breathless, beaming and enamored.  “H -- “ He catches his breath, “Hey!” 

It was rare, and he knows this, that he travels so far across the Island by foot. But with how antsy he was, Dusty preferred to burn the energy off now in the hopes he’d be able to fall asleep at a normal time that night after the trek over. There weren’t many places to get ice cream on the west side of the Island - so he thought it’d be a decent idea to give SoftDeez a go. Of course, things just don’t work out.  Dusty underestimated the distance -- taking a knee tiredly once he reaches the transition from grass to dirt. He sets his bag down, allowing Nem0 the freedom to trek around the surrounding sand while he catches his breath.  However, he finds him before Dusty does - a soft trill of beeps leaving the tiny robot’s speaker as he attempts to be tougher than he is, whacking the tip of a boot with his small lifts.

Those who knew Dusty knew he simply couldn’t sleep. Whether it was the ADHD, sometimes the nerves, or an obsession with any of his current projects, there was always something to keep him up into the wee hours of the night. Still, unless it was a close companion -- no one ever knocked on the door this late. Let alone tripped one of the alarms, built into one of the several smaller and much more simple robots he’d been working on (to be kin of Nem0). He cautiously peers through the mail slot in the door of his workshop -- only to see a red LED screen with an expression he dreaded seeing. A face he never wanted to see again. “No. NO. Go away -- I’m n-not doing this right now.” His blood is cold, and his voice quakes. Dusty forces himself to take deep breaths, but the fear has already set in once more. “W-we’re through - I-I’m not doing anything else f-for you ever a-again.”

He - is lost. Granted, Tilted Towers isn’t some sprawling city-scape, but he doesn’t really go into that location of the Island much. In this case, he wanted to grab a couple of books if possible, and maybe see if he could grab some sweets too. Dipping into a book stand, the helmet-less blonde peers through the selection before backing back out. He was determined to find a certain serial, but - he was losing hope. Still, he eyes a coffee shop - already perking up at the idea of a fresh cup, and by the smell and bustle alone he had a feeling he’d find what he needed for another energy boost inside. Though - he nearly collides with someone on the way in, effectively -- spraying himself with their cup of coffee. Hissing while bouncing around with a soft ow ouch oooowouch, Dusty blinks and looks to the other. “Y-yo -- I’m sorry! I’ll totally - I got this, I’ll - I can buy another cup for you.” He says, speaking rapidly.

Dusty can’t explain how much more at ease he felt in the presence of someone who finally didn’t radiate the ultimate chaotic energy. Still, his blonde hair springs up and down with a nod, facing the other with an equally generous and friendly grin. “That’s great!” Dusty returns. Adjusting his stance, he chuckles. “I’m already up at all hours of the night - plus it’s real quiet out on my corner of the Island. I think you’d like it!”

He couldn’t take the rumbling any longer - it was, quite frankly, driving him mad, and he needed to get out of the constantly shivering stacks of scrap in his Junkyard before he feared his brain would rattle out of his skull. Though, the further he traveled south and east across the Island, the more apparent the damage becomes to him. He takes his helmet off, leaning down and peering into a long crease in the earth. “Huh.... That’s - dang.” He whistles, and then yelps - the ground giving another shake, and he can hear the Island grind against itself. “Yikes.” Dusty flops back, shaking his head out after nearly falling into the crack in the ground. Should anyone find him, he’s more focused on the fault in the ground than his surroundings.

He’d only just met this guy - claiming he was on vacation before simply disappearing, only to reappear while Dusty stands questioning the news bulletins displayed on the TV’s for sale. Though what he says piques his interest, crossed arms slipping free as he places one on his hip in question. “.... They don’t?” Dusty returns. Looking up, he tilts his head. “I mean... Without ‘em, there isn’t much mystery in things.” He adds.  “I would think they’re a thing... Doesn’t that make things fun?”  Shifting his weight, he looks back at his reflection in the glass. 

Every so often, Dusty did have visitors - he always hoped they were there for something that needed a repair, or in the least they weren’t there to harm him. That day he’s in his workshop soldering more additions onto the frame of his Quad when one of the little robots goes off. It’s the gate warning, and Dusty has to slide out from under the raised cart to see what’s coming. Nem0 comes buzzing up to his side, gently tapping his foot with quiet worry. “It’s alright, buddy - we’ll just have to see who it is.”