Some of the people in the Junkyard could remember a life before that hell, and the Brutes had a bit of an advantage there, it was actively encouraged to try to remember. But Drake's life had been long, and the fragments he had were scattered and disconnected, and nothing quite fit with this wilderness that was before him. He knew the words, but no images went with it.
The sun is warm and welcoming, not hateful black. The sky blue, not acid yellow.
Were he not better in control of himself, he'd probably weep. If Nirvana ever existed, this had to be closer to it than even the real world.
As it is, he stays right where he is for the time being, watching and listening and working on coming to terms with something so utterly FOREIGN as leaves, but then there's barking below, a bright sound that instantly draws attention, but the little shape doesn't look threatening, isn't ACTING like a threat, so he just watches it chase the bird with interest. Those aren't demons, he's pretty sure. 'Wildlife' is the word he wants but can't think of. The.. puppy? Was probably harmless, but the adult version that follows could probably be a threat if it wanted to be, it was a more impressive creature.
Drake has a gun, and given that thing's lack of armor he's sure that's enough protection, but he doesn't pick it up. They belonged here, he was just visiting. If he stayed still, maybe he'd just be ignored, even if he is wearing military-esque fatigues and armor with bold splashes of blue all over it.
The scent on the wind isn't exactly a pleasant one. It has the tang of reptile, the musk of a venomous coiled thing in the leaves more than what one would expect of an armed gun-toting man. But said man isn't doing anything much just yet, this is all much too fascinating. Slowly, he reaches into one of his many pockets and withdraws a small device, removing his sunglasses and clipping it into place over his eyes instead, a small cord threaded back to somewhere in his hair with a faint click.
a lot of text, a lot of doin' nothin'
The sun is warm and welcoming, not hateful black. The sky blue, not acid yellow.
Were he not better in control of himself, he'd probably weep. If Nirvana ever existed, this had to be closer to it than even the real world.
As it is, he stays right where he is for the time being, watching and listening and working on coming to terms with something so utterly FOREIGN as leaves, but then there's barking below, a bright sound that instantly draws attention, but the little shape doesn't look threatening, isn't ACTING like a threat, so he just watches it chase the bird with interest. Those aren't demons, he's pretty sure. 'Wildlife' is the word he wants but can't think of. The.. puppy? Was probably harmless, but the adult version that follows could probably be a threat if it wanted to be, it was a more impressive creature.
Drake has a gun, and given that thing's lack of armor he's sure that's enough protection, but he doesn't pick it up. They belonged here, he was just visiting. If he stayed still, maybe he'd just be ignored, even if he is wearing military-esque fatigues and armor with bold splashes of blue all over it.
The scent on the wind isn't exactly a pleasant one. It has the tang of reptile, the musk of a venomous coiled thing in the leaves more than what one would expect of an armed gun-toting man. But said man isn't doing anything much just yet, this is all much too fascinating. Slowly, he reaches into one of his many pockets and withdraws a small device, removing his sunglasses and clipping it into place over his eyes instead, a small cord threaded back to somewhere in his hair with a faint click.
He needs pictures of all this.