“Oh heck hi! I did not expect to see you here. I guess I have some time between my next goose chase- what’s up? Got any questions I maybe have an answer to? Or uh, we could just chat an’ eat jerky- got a family size bag just in case.”
A gang of hooligan
Some rp icons/expression practice of The Messenger using @janeofart ‘s expression meme and a few faces of my own attempt at devising. I tried inking one of them in a moving car and that did not work.
Being introduced to the mercs has been the most stress inducing, closest to the cold embrace of death experience Messenger had had in at least a few months. One on one stealth delivery was bad enough, but being tied to a chair with all nine ridiculously murdery men staring her down while the Administrator lectured them on the financial costs property damage (property being sort of a combo of the tv and it’s carrier) would have for them was doubleunfun.
Ultimately though, it was a relief to finally have clearance to enter the base and make direct deliveries. Mostly on account of Scout. With the volume of letters he got from home one would think he would have a permanent address or like a fucking PO box. Of course not. Of course she had to figure out how to track a guy jogging through the desert and try to hit him with a mail pack from up on a Mesa or behind a building or some shit: a feat she’d only successfully pulled off once. But now, with base access, she could finally do the unthinkable: deliver mail directly into his hands thank FUcK.
At least… that’s how it was supposed to go. Awkwardly standing in the base hallway with a growing sense of dread, Messenger cupped her hands around her mouth and tried hollering again.
“Scout! Mail call! Mail for The Scout! You’ve got mail! The mail is for you, the Scout!”
Please Jesus, God, and Buddha: let him actually be here.
Jensen Blogs 