#hardenedgun

       "If you don't want my advice, fine. I'm not your babysitter or your commander. But if you're gonna talk big, at least practice some trigger discipline, lieutenant. Here’s something useful for you." Holding a hand out to keep the other from firing again, Snake thrust a finger up towards the ceiling. Wedged between the panels, a soft red light flickered on and off, indicating the presence of a camera. “This is a stealth mission. Stop shooting, and stop rushing around corners. Your file said you were good. Why don’t you relax a little and prove it.”

Hal was no stranger to injuries like these. Being as uncoordinated as he was meant that he often found himself with sprained ankles and wrists. Even the occasional break. He elevated his foot a little and shut his eyes tight, brows pressed together as he fights a wave of pain. “Y-yeah, I’m-... I’m alright... I- I’ll be okay.” He nods and swallows against a throaty noise of discomfort. 

His intelligence. He looks so much like his father he’s embarrassed about it and can be defensive of his soft-hearted nature especially given that his usual company winds up being old soldiers. But he’s smart and very few people have chastised him for that like they have his kindness.

starter call.  @hardenedgun​

Hal paused mid stride and glanced at the man who’d called out. “You’ve flagged down the right person.” He chuckled. “I head this department, I’m Dr. Emmerich.” Hal pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, offering his other hand to the man in greeting. “I can spare a moment but if you’re looking for a full tour I’ll have to hand you off to an assistant. I’ve got...” He checked his watch. “Half an hour before my parts will be ready from the printer. How can I help?”

“Classic Boilermaker,” Tifa informed him pertly, holding the shot glass of whiskey hovering over the frothed glass of beer. “I won’t drop it ‘til you give the say so. But I’ll consider it on the house if find yourself wanting to regale me with a top tier war story, soldier.”