BLUE IS NOT HIS COLOR & there is nothing special ( well ----- on a grand scale, PERSONAL value exponential ) about the dagger strapped to thigh and now is not the time for complaints but there is a note made, mentally, to request ----- insist ------ that next time it is he who should be adorned in scarlet, he who should carry ancient blade but for now tongue is stilled, only protest the frown present upon visage. It was a fair game of rock, paper, scissors that decided this, he knows, understands ----- distaste only stems from that age old sibling rivalry & he at least takes comfort in the knowledge that it is he who was given the authority over this particular mission ( not that he believes his dear brother will listen if he decides he wishes to do things differently than is instructed ).
❛ We should be close. If we’re lucky, it won’t be too heavily guarded. ❜ He doesn’t like to consider what it would mean to be unlucky, his own safety not a concern when consideration is instead given to the well being of the one accompanying him, images of a body littered with bullet holes to flash before eyes; blink once, twice, erase the threats of a macabre imagination ( you won’t lose him, not here, not anywhere ----- there is no tomb large enough to hold a star such as he ) and there is a quick glance given to sibling.
Suddenly, he feels less bitter about little things like uniforms & weaponry.
ATTENTION IS RETURNED TO task at hand, peering around nearby corner, ears & eyes both searching for any sign of enemy movement and he fails to find a sense of comfort in the absence of such, somehow simply more uneasy. Doesn’t matter, he knows, and they can’t afford to stay here; ‘ i’m being paranoid ‘ he tells himself, muscles tense & heartbeat drumming at a pace slightly above the norm. ❛ ...Okay, let’s keep moving. ❜