[ people like alessandra strong are meant for war.
juno? hell, juno's never seen one up close and personal before, not on this scale, not with this many casualties (and there's not a damn thing you can do about most of them, that terrible terrible voice inside of him says with every fired off shot, every deadly mark he makes with the theia aiding him, making his muscles thrum with induced electricity it feels.) but he tries, he's trying with at least one person.
it's blind adrenaline that has him hauling up the nearest person over his shoulders. his blaster's got two shots left and he's not wasting them, not when this person is still alive, heavy but breathing shallowly. it's what he dedicates his time to doing as people retreat to the temple, an attempted evac effort that feels like it stretches on forever until someone taps juno out, telling him to go back inside, to get cleaned up. he doesn't realize it, but his hands are slick with blood, his muscles are burning, and dahliad is a frightening shade of pink-red at his side. she's not meant for war either, but she stays as close as she dares.
so in walks juno steel, covered in blood streaked to the elbows, looking wholly worn out, and hauling a very gore-covered peacock in his arms (she doesn't need help walking, but that's not going to stop him) when he notices a silhouette at one of the consoles, tall and dark and eerily familiar enough to make him stop.
he calls out indignantly anyways. fuck it. ]
Hey, you.
[ pleasant. he doesn't care. everyone's out there hauling ass or treating the wounded or doing something else. ]
You know how to work that thing?
[ says the guy who only knows how to play solitaire on a computer. ]
temple / makes something up bye
juno? hell, juno's never seen one up close and personal before, not on this scale, not with this many casualties (and there's not a damn thing you can do about most of them, that terrible terrible voice inside of him says with every fired off shot, every deadly mark he makes with the theia aiding him, making his muscles thrum with induced electricity it feels.) but he tries, he's trying with at least one person.
it's blind adrenaline that has him hauling up the nearest person over his shoulders. his blaster's got two shots left and he's not wasting them, not when this person is still alive, heavy but breathing shallowly. it's what he dedicates his time to doing as people retreat to the temple, an attempted evac effort that feels like it stretches on forever until someone taps juno out, telling him to go back inside, to get cleaned up. he doesn't realize it, but his hands are slick with blood, his muscles are burning, and dahliad is a frightening shade of pink-red at his side. she's not meant for war either, but she stays as close as she dares.
so in walks juno steel, covered in blood streaked to the elbows, looking wholly worn out, and hauling a very gore-covered peacock in his arms (she doesn't need help walking, but that's not going to stop him) when he notices a silhouette at one of the consoles, tall and dark and eerily familiar enough to make him stop.
he calls out indignantly anyways. fuck it. ]
Hey, you.
[ pleasant. he doesn't care. everyone's out there hauling ass or treating the wounded or doing something else. ]
You know how to work that thing?
[ says the guy who only knows how to play solitaire on a computer. ]