#v0id0ut

He was used to getting his hands dirty, so accustomed to doing everything on his own, it was second nature to take initiative. The one thing he never envisioned however, was wrangling wildlife to stow as cargo. Wrestling kangaroos seemingly became second nature- but not without its cuts and bruises. Surely it was a sight, restraining the small beast, a few scrapes to the arms and face just proof of his hard work as he’d rise up victorious. He'd adjust the straps on his bag, preparing to make space on his back for the animal as he spoke.

@v0id0ut , hunk knew him through reputation and the sort of investigating that came off the tail end of a close call and downtime to kill. competent. good enough at his job. wouldn't have been his first choice, but no one asked and he hadn't offered. tension could be saved for when it was needed and, here, his rifle slung back over his shoulder, it's a vote of confidence that that time wouldn't be now.

" you're early, " which made him extra so. a hidden grin appreciates what his tongue will not, " —guess we can go ahead and get this over with then. " in the casual, albeit careful, approach. in the nod towards a cargo van quivering in mock anticipation. no one here was excited. no one here was anything more than bored of a routine that lended itself towards longevity at the cost of enthusiasm.

             It was late, far too late for anyone else to be running around the Magellan at this hour. Yet somehow he managed to make it back, the sun already set, most tucked away in their quarters for the night to retire– then there was him, starving after a long trip home. What he didn’t expect was the scent of coffee, at first, assuming it was maybe Tarman, but rounding the corner to the kitchen, found himself surprised at the one person still wandering the halls at this hour. 

             “Hey-”  He didn’t want to interrupt whatever late night ritual he’d made for himself, but his eyes couldn’t help but linger on the man, admiring silently from the doorway before he invaded the space. Quietly, of course, eyes quickly flickering away, flipping open a few cabinets until he found what he sought. The easiest meal he could think of, a loaf of bread, which he’d quickly pull from the shelf and let flop onto the counter. The sound of the crinkling plastic would fill the space, and after a few brief moments, he’d put the bag right back, a couple pieces of bread hanging from his mouth. Not the most ideal dinner, but it would hold him over. Turning to leave, he’d take pause, emerald eyes leaving him frozen in place, his heart skipping at the reality of being noticed by the other. He wasn’t sure what was on his mind, in fact, the only thing he could manage to say came out muffled, lost within the bread between his lips.  “-You good?”

A part of him wasn’t sure what was worse- the feeling of dying, or the pain of barely living through it. His tolerance had become high over the years, the gift and curse of being a repatriate. It was not the first time he would bleed, nor the last- yet this time was different. To teeter between the land of the living and the dead, it was a dangerous game unto itself. The things he’d seen, the places he’d been, unexplainable, yet remarkable all the same. All logic and reason seemed to leave that realm- for there was no real reason he should be here. A ghost, seemingly brought back to the land of the living, plucked from another reality all together– and yet there he was. Neil. Neil Vana. Nothing more than a name was given to him, the ghost with a vengeance– or simply trying to protect. Connected, in some way, to the girl across the hall. That was their only sound reasoning, both of them having washed up from the beach alongside him. All clinging to this precious thing called life.

He’d begun to bleed through his own bandages, an internal clock, a reminder that his newfound guest needed tending to as well. Why he stood in his doorway, a subtle wince as he’d try to settle an arm against the doorframe, the tugging of bandage beneath giving discomfort to wounds that had not yet healed. The culprit for these scars sat before him, one hand cuffed to the bed- as if he wasn’t far more dangerous than that. He knew well what this man was capable of, and knew just how lucky he was to have made it out alive. The blood that pooled in the palm of the other was his own reminder of their close encounter, seeping through the bandages just like his own wounds. 

It wasn’t the most ideal situation, cuffing the hand that was wounded, and despite their previous encounter- he felt no ill will towards the other. A weapon of war, unable to find peace in never ending chaos– his father was once the same too. That connection led him closer, crossing the space without saying anything as he’d grab the medical kit that was left atop his nightstand.  Nothing more than gauze and means to clean a wound, Fragile insisting it was 'better for him to be safe, than sorry.' As if this man couldn’t kill him with just his bare hands.

It was long overdue, a chance for the two of them to share some semblance of normalcy. How often their line of work gave little time for relaxation that was, at times, desperately needed. A promise he’d made some time ago, for the two of them to take an evening to themselves to relax and unwind. Their last order had landed them at the perfect place, population 49,982- West Fort Knot. A big city meant plenty of opportunity for them to blend in and enjoy an evening out. 

The prepper shelter provided was plenty spacious for two, something he considered more higher-end, probably due to the city in which it resided in. A chance to explore civilization- something he’d not done since the void out all those years ago. A chance to try again, not just for him, but Neil as well. He deserved a chance to feel normal again. 

His hat was placed backwards, hair still damp from the shower he recently took. Cleaning up to go out, for once in casual attire, the jacket provided by Drawbridge bringing some comfort as he’d stuff his hands into his pockets- eyes roaming over his lover as he’d wait.