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Description
Keeping quiet wasn’t hard, even for Pint.

Not that there was much to discuss.

That wasn’t an issue. Really, after what he had been through in the past 48 hours, Pint tried NOT to think about what had occurred.

He wasn’t hungry. Well, not that it was worth mentioning, but his last meal was the tough chunk of bread and glass of water he had been given at the tavern back in Sh’jor Secundos, which had been, in fact, 48 hours ago. And he hadn't even eaten or drank that… he'd just pretended to nibble and sip.

And that had been only to drive suspicious eyes away, Rundas had explained. Just a normal boy picking away at a meager ration provided by his owner. A ruse he had to play while his escort gathered information from the locals.

It hadn't worked.

Maybe if he had tried to act ‘natural’ when the raid of Solr snow troopers barged into the tavern and demanded everyone in show their IDs, maybe, maybe the shit wouldn't have hit the fan. (IF by natural you mean doing anything but locking eyes with the obvious leader of the group, who you immediately recognize as THAT one guy, and even though he is THAT guy, just sitting there like an idiot and wait until he spots you.) Well, yeah. He could have acted natural, and then he wouldn’t have much to discuss right now.

But even then, even if he did have something funny or exciting to talk about…
Even if perchance his finicky memory just decided to erase the events from the last 48 hours…
Even if he didn’t remember how badly he fucked up there, and how horrible it had turned out for him and Rundas from that point on…

He would rather just keep his mouth shut and just sit there. Yep, right there, with his hands stuck into their sleeves and feet dangling a foot or two from the floor.

It didn’t bother him that he had been sitting there for the past two hours, on the most uncomfortable seat Rundas could afford to get their two asses on aboard the cargo train. It didn’t bother him to feel the minus 15 Celsius on his skin, nor the pungent smell of dried Axe Auroch meat stockpiled messily a few yards from him. It didn’t bother him either to know that he was dressed in a slave boy’s tunic, and that he was forced to play one. Well, maybe that part did bother him a bit, but it had worked so far and gotten both of them here. (Minus the part where he royally messed up back there with THAT guy, of course.) Though seriously, considering how he felt about this place…it really didn’t bother him.

He would just block out all unpleasant sensations and let the rest sink in. Hell, even if he wanted he could imagine that he was basking in a beach, smelling peppermint candies and other sweets, and he would feel, taste, smell and see it with all the glory a human could hope to get with his feeble sensory capacities, and beyond if he wished to. But he didn’t bother to block out the nauseous smell and the freezing torrent of air from the ship’s coolers. It didn’t feel right to do so, and not because it was like cheating, going against Roxanne’s orders.

“Remember, and just keep remembering,” she had told him. “Don’t shy away from remembering what it feels to be cold, tired, sore and hungry.”

He looked to his left, and watched the still figure of his partner, squatting instead of sitting comfortably due to the smallness of the seat. He wore more clothes than Pint, which he clutched and wrapped tightly around himself, somehow working them around the makeshift sling he wore over his left arm…arms. Ah, yes, the sling.

“It’ll remind you of how vulnerable we really are,” Roxanne chimed and she would pull playfully at his crop of curly hair.

Except... he didn't feel those things himself. They instead manifested in his beetlehawk partner, obvious even though his armored visage as he struggled to keep exhaustion from dragging his posture down. How ironic, for one as prideful as Rundas to become a symbol of their poor condition.

Pint drove his eyes away, and shook off those thoughts.

He caught himself swinging his feet rhythmically a few minutes later, and deviated his eyes to Rundas’s bare toes…or talons, depending from which angle one looked. They're so odd, like staring at the feet of some spider-monkey and insect cross, Pint observed as he examined what appeared to be his calves—wait, no, those were ankles. He blinked. Some freakishly long toes. And then it suddenly struck him. How his etao buddy had seemingly ‘sprouted’ hands from nowhere and began wrestling out those Solr troopers like something out of a Chuck Lee movie. With all the uncensored bits to boot.

Then, another thought replaced all others.

Kangaroos.

Man. He must have evolved from them, or something like that—if what the Firmament stated to be true, about all life coming from Earth. Or was it from Mars?

No, really. Kangaroos. He’s got them legs. And toes.
He’s even got their smug, ugly temperament, and the habit of kicking anything he doesn’t like.

Pint ran that last part through his head again, his mouth twisted to repress the bitter words that formulated on his tongue.

He ought to kick me.

------

HEY IT'S THAT SAME LOL PAIR FROM [link]

I wrote this listening to Spirited Away's Sixth Station OST. Funny, they're also supposed to be a train...well, a stellar cargo ship. That works like a train. I guess.

I seem to enjoy posting more of these two rather than my other more weaponized and action-pumped guys from my PSION story. I guess they've got their appeal...a weird, obnoxious child with weird arm thing + boring dead serious ninja bh.

YUP.

And, fyi, it is the aftermath from [link]

Sorta. But I'll leave it at that.

Big thanks for for coaching me on my terribad english owe you big one man

ALSO. WILL I EVER STOP POSTING SO MUCH PSION BH SHIT? MAYBE

Description
Keeping quiet wasn’t hard, even for Pint.

Not that there was much to discuss.

That wasn’t an issue. Really, after what he had been through in the past 48 hours, Pint tried NOT to think about what had occurred.

He wasn’t hungry. Well, not that it was worth mentioning, but his last meal was the tough chunk of bread and glass of water he had been given at the tavern back in Sh’jor Secundos, which had been, in fact, 48 hours ago. And he hadn't even eaten or drank that… he'd just pretended to nibble and sip.

And that had been only to drive suspicious eyes away, Rundas had explained. Just a normal boy picking away at a meager ration provided by his owner. A ruse he had to play while his escort gathered information from the locals.

It hadn't worked.

Maybe if he had tried to act ‘natural’ when the raid of Solr snow troopers barged into the tavern and demanded everyone in show their IDs, maybe, maybe the shit wouldn't have hit the fan. (IF by natural you mean doing anything but locking eyes with the obvious leader of the group, who you immediately recognize as THAT one guy, and even though he is THAT guy, just sitting there like an idiot and wait until he spots you.) Well, yeah. He could have acted natural, and then he wouldn’t have much to discuss right now.

But even then, even if he did have something funny or exciting to talk about…
Even if perchance his finicky memory just decided to erase the events from the last 48 hours…
Even if he didn’t remember how badly he fucked up there, and how horrible it had turned out for him and Rundas from that point on…

He would rather just keep his mouth shut and just sit there. Yep, right there, with his hands stuck into their sleeves and feet dangling a foot or two from the floor.

It didn’t bother him that he had been sitting there for the past two hours, on the most uncomfortable seat Rundas could afford to get their two asses on aboard the cargo train. It didn’t bother him to feel the minus 15 Celsius on his skin, nor the pungent smell of dried Axe Auroch meat stockpiled messily a few yards from him. It didn’t bother him either to know that he was dressed in a slave boy’s tunic, and that he was forced to play one. Well, maybe that part did bother him a bit, but it had worked so far and gotten both of them here. (Minus the part where he royally messed up back there with THAT guy, of course.) Though seriously, considering how he felt about this place…it really didn’t bother him.

He would just block out all unpleasant sensations and let the rest sink in. Hell, even if he wanted he could imagine that he was basking in a beach, smelling peppermint candies and other sweets, and he would feel, taste, smell and see it with all the glory a human could hope to get with his feeble sensory capacities, and beyond if he wished to. But he didn’t bother to block out the nauseous smell and the freezing torrent of air from the ship’s coolers. It didn’t feel right to do so, and not because it was like cheating, going against Roxanne’s orders.

“Remember, and just keep remembering,” she had told him. “Don’t shy away from remembering what it feels to be cold, tired, sore and hungry.”

He looked to his left, and watched the still figure of his partner, squatting instead of sitting comfortably due to the smallness of the seat. He wore more clothes than Pint, which he clutched and wrapped tightly around himself, somehow working them around the makeshift sling he wore over his left arm…arms. Ah, yes, the sling.

“It’ll remind you of how vulnerable we really are,” Roxanne chimed and she would pull playfully at his crop of curly hair.

Except... he didn't feel those things himself. They instead manifested in his beetlehawk partner, obvious even though his armored visage as he struggled to keep exhaustion from dragging his posture down. How ironic, for one as prideful as Rundas to become a symbol of their poor condition.

Pint drove his eyes away, and shook off those thoughts.

He caught himself swinging his feet rhythmically a few minutes later, and deviated his eyes to Rundas’s bare toes…or talons, depending from which angle one looked. They're so odd, like staring at the feet of some spider-monkey and insect cross, Pint observed as he examined what appeared to be his calves—wait, no, those were ankles. He blinked. Some freakishly long toes. And then it suddenly struck him. How his etao buddy had seemingly ‘sprouted’ hands from nowhere and began wrestling out those Solr troopers like something out of a Chuck Lee movie. With all the uncensored bits to boot.

Then, another thought replaced all others.

Kangaroos.

Man. He must have evolved from them, or something like that—if what the Firmament stated to be true, about all life coming from Earth. Or was it from Mars?

No, really. Kangaroos. He’s got them legs. And toes.
He’s even got their smug, ugly temperament, and the habit of kicking anything he doesn’t like.

Pint ran that last part through his head again, his mouth twisted to repress the bitter words that formulated on his tongue.

He ought to kick me.

------

HEY IT'S THAT SAME LOL PAIR FROM [link]

I wrote this listening to Spirited Away's Sixth Station OST. Funny, they're also supposed to be a train...well, a stellar cargo ship. That works like a train. I guess.

I seem to enjoy posting more of these two rather than my other more weaponized and action-pumped guys from my PSION story. I guess they've got their appeal...a weird, obnoxious child with weird arm thing + boring dead serious ninja bh.

YUP.

And, fyi, it is the aftermath from [link]

Sorta. But I'll leave it at that.

Big thanks for for coaching me on my terribad english owe you big one man

ALSO. WILL I EVER STOP POSTING SO MUCH PSION BH SHIT? MAYBE