#la1cized

@la1cized asked: 6. wraps their arms around the other from behind and rests their head on the others shoulder. / reverse

Having Judith in charge of the band's main social media pages had been a surprising weight LIFTED off Vessel's shoulders. As much as they enjoyed seeing what their fans had to say, they could only juggle so much time spent online. Besides, any social platform on the internet would always be a mixed bag of people and there were those who loved to constantly post less than kind words that Vessel would rather not read and risk getting stuck in a loop of self DOUBT in their mind about their music abilities. Assholes like that didn't deserve the satisfaction of actually getting to them whether they knew that they did or not. Any message that Vessel wished to snap back with would be in the form of song, let the negative blossom into a creation they can SHARE with the world like they've done so many times already.

Another thing was blossoming in the midst of the chaos that comes with the uprise of fame though, as the more they were around Judith the more the singer began to realize the company shared seemed to go BEYOND a simple working relationship. Late nights spent brainstorming different methods they could use to further spread their message, to keep those already devoted on their toes by dropping cryptic posts and photos. All while the pair sat back snickering to themselves like two adolescents unable to hide that they were up to no good. They adored her laughter, her wit, couldn't stop themselves from stealing glances her direction when the light hit just right and made her look practically ANGELIC. Vessel had been hesitant at first to broach the subject, not wanting to abuse their position of power and make her uncomfortable to work alongside them if such emotions were not reciprocated. To their utter delight, a proposed twilight picnic date in the numerals' shared backyard had ended with Judith admitting her own feelings as well.

most females - degenerates - would no doubt face a far harsher end for such prevarication . . . were such a declaration made before a slightly less discerning legionary. do not mistake him as lenient, however. for inculta's restraint is undoubtedly deliberate - selective. and beneath it, lies an intensity wholly devoted to the will of his master.

acquired at a very young age, vulpes had been "raised" as much by doctrine as he was by the example of caesar's first legate. joshua graham. it was true that the burned man had established himself by the time of his acquisition as "brutality made manifest". taking a more active role in the training young recruits into something worthy of the legion. seeing that he was the only obvious figure young legionaries might aspire to resemble.

to vulpes, the ruse and the ensuing consequence of his work are equally satisfying. a pleasing accretion before an inevitable release, so to speak.

even now, the amusement worn in the physical inflection of his smirk is cut glass. barely there, however no less loud. turning up mockingly at the corner. "here i had thought you rather astute for a degenerate... perhaps that remains to be seen." his chin drips momentarily - a smugness subtly woven into the expression over time. concealed eyes glimmering in a manner wholly unlike joshua, who has never seemed to gain personal gratification from such brutality as he was known to dispense.

"it would seem you mistake permission for parity." he starts, coolly. "whatever standing the brotherhood of steel affords you holds no weight in the legion." his tonal quality is strikingly light and airy - eerily calm. no anger to dull what lies beneath it. he need not say what would follow. for that he allows her to persist in drawing breath was already a mercy unbefitting of both their standings. "nor does it bend for those who simply demand exceptions."

"consider this a single act of clemency, profligate. you may yet prove of use to my master in the weeks to come." he continues, a further crook forming supercilious mouth. "do not expect it a second time . . ." tail end of sentence is grittier than most silk he spins, inexplicably. for when speech picks up, it has all but faded once more. "persevere, if you must. whether you are frightened is of no consequence." another lesson he's long since learned. fearless, now a common word to describe him.

"serving the legion is a privilege you have yet to earn. and if you have any faith in your pitiful ideas - or in the men who hold them..." he allows a silence to linger, before an inevitable purr. "they will come for you soon enough."

while posture might perhaps appear rigid to some, to the vulcan it is naught but comfortable. shoulders back, hands at his sides. however, there is a notch of his jaw flexing as it tightens in mild, nagging discomfort. fascinatingly increasing the longer he remains within her distinct presence. a similar repercussion to prolonged exposure to a certain chief medical officer.

her existence here is an anomaly, and in the unanticipated absence of his commanding officers, he has little choice but to exercise a certain amount of trust in her for the time being. it is only logical, after all. for starters, she is the only humanoid on this planet who can comprehend not only the nature of their interplanetary duty, but the instruments on which they rely to fulfill it. meaning there is little risk in employing federation equipment in her presence, nor in speaking plainly in regards to their purpose here. and, might he add - with her specific expertise in the field of time travel, she can no doubt provide invaluable scientific insight.

head cants marginally. brows raising between a pair of quick blinks, while his mouth opens a few moments before he actually begins to speak. "unlikely, miss tyler." he begins, allowing himself a measured inhale, whilst guardedly crossing his arms over his chest in the meanwhile.

his features naturally return to composed neutrality, save for the intermittent arch of an angled brow, and the subtle narrowing of his eyes. one which exists in an opposite slant to the other. "though i worry that you persist in assigning undue importance to emotional recreation."

@la1cized asked : ❝ this world isn’t for people like me. ❞ / maccready

"what ? - " he scoffs. "you mean one of the good ones ?" it might sound like he's annoyed, but really ? he's not. heck, it's why he hated running with the gunners so much at the end of the day. sure, he'll trade blood for caps any day of the week . . . but needless cruelty? killing innocents? just not his style. and yeah, sure. rich coming from him. how many people did he mess up for no good reason, just because someone had told him to? for skirting their territory, or being in the wrong place at the wrong time? enough that it haunts him, that's for sure. and one day, well . . . he just couldn't take it anymore. not to mention the thought of his wife finding out, and that of duncan growing up to realize that his daddy was nothing but a monster? it was starting to eat him up inside. just as much as all of the fucked up shit he'd seen and done over the years. it'd been good for a while, even after losing his wife. but now? he was just flat desperate in pretty much every way you could imagine. and typically, whoever his target was doing freelance was some scum-sucking idiot who doesn't know his . . . butt from a damn hole in the ground. terrorizing good people, or caravans or - anyone, really. women and children. so people like that? well he isn't losing any sleep when they're left slumped in their latrine before they even knew what hit 'em. in-fact, let's just say he's clearing out the red ink in his ledger.

one of the good ones. heck, those are words he'd even had directed at himself. but, when you've done the kinds of things he had, well . . . such high praise like that doesn't seem to hold all that much weight. despite the fact that he'd done as much as he could to turn himself around. even when he was a kid, he'd always been the kind of guy to not take any crap from anyone. but at the end of the day he'd had no idea how to survive out there. other than his proficiency with his rifle, that is. and that's what had kept him alive this long. what he relied on to get by. he really doesn't know any other way.

"hah, yeah - definitely not." he concurs. "i mean, you know that for every one of us, there's about fifty gangs of raiders out there. and fifty more assho - urgh - scumbags who're only out for themselves . . ." his rifle is propped up behind them on the cabinet, tucked away in the house at the end of the cul-de-sac. hat surprisingly missing, and hanging off the butt of said rifle while he occupies a table in the fixed-up kitchen. his soft, brown hair able to shift with the breeze that circulates throughout the cracks in this two hundred year old structure.

he lights up a smoke. found a bunch on their last trek together, like a goddamn goldmine! but even without that, he knows she'd bring 'em back anyway. makes a little ritual out of it too, actually. it's cute. and honestly, he . . . well, he never thought that anyone would ever be so thoughtful towards him again.

his head tilts, and his wrist takes to hanging from an undernourished thigh. opposite elbow slung over the back of his current seat.

"and before you say it, i, uh - know what you're thinkin'. sounds pretty rich comin' from me, right? but that's the only way to survive out here. it's hard, tryin' to be a 'good guy' when every other person you meet tries to stab you in the back for six caps and half a carton a' cigarettes." he scowls, eyes shifting elsewhere for the time being 'pon the realization that he'd just said something entirely too revealing for his tastes. knees spreading slightly as he sinks a bit lower.