necklace-of-teeth:

oldboyjensrps:

necklace-of-teeth:

oldboyjensrps:

necklace-of-teeth:

oldboyjensrps:

@necklace-of-teeth

RED Base- Badlands NM

Circa 1967

—

The Messenger had survived the briefing by the grace of either God or the Administrator. Probably the Administrator. She had a way with words and unsubtle paycut threats that Messenger was 98% sure had saved her from some sort of mercurial death. Heh. Wait shit was that why the word was mercenary? Because of mercury- wait no mercury was the messenger god, she was thinking Mars and focus. Rubbing the rope burn on her wrists from being tied to the chair, Messenger kind of looked around awkwardly at the mercs still in the rec room. 

“I uh, well… that was all I had but, uh, I’ll be back with… y’know, mail and directives and stuff. Um… well thanks for not killing me this time! I uh mean, any time. In general. Thanks.” she double finger gunned and backed out of the room, and into the hallway.

She didn’t stop moving until she had managed to find her way outside to where her scooter was waiting, certain that spy or someone would be following her. The moment her feet hit the red dust again, Messenger slid to sitting, leaning against the wall of the base. She pressed her hands to her chest to try and force her heart to stop having a fit.

“Breathe, idiot, we still have to get back,” she mumbled and wiped the sweat from her forehead, “hoo that went better than it could have though.”

He had stood in the back of the room, watching and listening as the meeting when on. He almost felt a bit sorry for the woman they’d introduced and had tied to a chair.

When it was over he stepped outside, and hearing a bit of mumbled turned to find her slumped against the wall. “You alright there, Sheila?” He asked, glancing down at her.

“HUAOGH!” 

Messenger startled with a sort of, holler (? if you can call it that?) and dove sideways into a roll and duck before her brain processed Sniper’s words or tone. There was a long pause before she looked up, face now streaked with dirt. She gave him a very awkward smile.

“Oh. Hi, yes I am…goooood.”

Her face was red with embarrassment by the time she finished her words. 

“Are you, also, well? I mean, not to say you don’t look good! you do- I mean healthy wise, you look alive and uh…”

Okay, time to shut up.

She stood with a grunt, smacking dirt off her shorts, “Sorry, yeah I’m fine. Just…” 

Admitting terror probably not the best idea.She gestures vaguely instead.

He watched with a mixture of amusement and confusion as she dove for the dirt.

“Scared?” He finished, crouching down. “Ah no need to be so scared. I ain’t gonna hurtcha.”

She looked him dead in the eye then double finger gunned. It’s like jazz hands but more zesty. I would have said dabbed, because she’s just that terrible, but it’s 1967.

“Ey bingo bongo, that’s the it. Please don’t take it personally; being scared’s just my default state always,” she sort of half grins at him because she can’t help it, “In my defense though, you are a highly skilled assassin. And, y’know, the last four TV carriers died horribly, but like,” she shrugged, “that’s just how the pork rolls.”

“None taken.” He chuckled. “I suppose most folks might be a bit wary around an assassin.”

“Well, there’s a bit of a difference in shootin something that probably can’t be called human anymore, and a live person like yourself. The tv carriers don’t exactly seem to notice when ya kill em. Least not the ones I’ve shot.”

“Normal people probably would, if they exist out here.”

She raised an eyebrow at those comments. “Oh? I mean, most people don’t notice they’re killed when they’re dead. They get a little preoccupied. I mean, I only ever met one but… well I guess people are kinda different when you’re staring down a scope at them. I mean, I know they do for me but that’s because one time I was eating a hot dog and some of the mustard got on the lens and I forgot to clean it right away so now there’s a residue that never really disappeared completely.”