#askmemerp

Jackson peers ahead of himself for a little while, expression blank. It doesn’t take him very long but then he shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t think I have any fears.” And it’s true. He tries to think of things, but nothing fills him with fear or even anxiety the way some things used to do when he was little. He’s grown out of those fears, but hasn’t really grown into any new ones, apparently.

“Playing hide and seek with Origon in the machine room,” is the one he eventually chooses. “And every time one of us found the other we would get to tell them to fix something. If the other person couldn’t fix it, we’d get a point. If they could, nobody got any points.” He grins then, an actual grin too. “In the end we decided the game ended once someone actually got a point, because just that one point already started to take too long to win.”

Another one of those questions that takes him some time to answer, but this time because he’s actually deep in thought. He goes by the list of all the weapons he could use in his mind, then shrugs lightly. “Probably my newest blaster. But you never know about combat, I’ll just use whatever I have on hand. If we’re on the ship I could probably just tie myself to a part of it, use my oxygenerator, open up a latch and have them get sucked into space.” It’s stated very calm, like most things in Jackson’s life. Not an ounce of emotion in the calculation of his battle plans. “But if I’d really have to fight, a blaster always works. And I’m working on this portable shield that absorbs any blast which one could carry in their pocket. I’d probably bring a combination of the two so I can keep myself and the ship from getting too much damage while firing back at them.” He’s probably going to continue talking about every possible weapon’s combination to fight with, but then he remembered the question was ‘preferred’ so he’s answered it. He shuts his mouth and gives a final nod to show that’s his answer.

Jackson looks at his hands, tilts his head a little to the side and thinks. Pretends to think, because the answer is obvious as day. A hum, a clearing of his throat. It’s the first time he says her name out loud in a year’s time. “Antario.” It tastes bitter on his tongue, he swallows hard and shakes his head, turning to look away entirely. He doesn’t want to be reminded of the way his chest feels like there’s a gaping hole inside of it. Let alone does he want to elaborate on the how or why he misses her, so he goes back to work.