CALL ME OUT, 2019 EDITION

[blitzbrained]

I've got a muselist! I've got RP drive! LET'S DO IT

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[spelleton]

[ ("I don't think that's quite how it works." But he had smiled, just a little. A crack of sentimentality in an otherwise impassive facade.) ]

[ He spends most of his time...asleep, for a given value of the word. Maybe he dreams; he doesn't remember. He remembers nothing until the Drift pulls him back, to do what he stepped up to do, had died doing. Is, apparently, still determined to do.

He's tired. His soul - his heart - itches, trapped in a tangled metal cage.

He sounds exhausted, not clipped and professional as he usually does. ]

"There's nowhere else to be."

"You don't usually go as far as the cockpit."

[nor_iron_bars]

[So, he was aware of her, enough to notice her repairs, the little notes she'd left for him in the code. She wasn't sure, talking to someone who couldn't reply- there wasn't any way to be sure she wasn't just tossing those notes into the void, whether he'd ever see them at all.]

[But she'd kept leaving them, anyway.]

[There's a kind of untensing, relaxing back into the feel of being in the Drift after so long away. Like riding a bike- you never forget how to do it, muscle memory coming back to you.]

"Don't get to go out and party like I used to, these days."

[Brief snippets of memory- a fight like a dance, twisting and weaving, whirling around to bring the hammer down.]

"But I got time for a visit, so why not?"

[Her mental presence moves closer in a way that echoes a more physical memory- the two of them in one of the break rooms, weary after a mission, him sitting on the couch and her casually flopping down against him to sprawl out as she pleased, her head against his shoulder.]

[They can probably both guess she's not necessarily supposed to be here. They almost certainly both know she doesn't care.]