Another Doyleton trip, another day wasted wandering around that empty little town like he knew what he was doing. As tempting as it had been to try and buy something useful (read: dangerous) with his spending money, Depth Charge had decided with great reluctance that holding back was probably a safer bet for now- who knew if those military knuckleheads would even let him keep a nice, heavy wrench or something? This way he at least had his money saved for next week, when he could come back and get something twice as good.
If there was a next week at all.
But, as bad an influence as talking to Kaworu had been, he didn't have much time for getting overly existential and angsty about the whole deal; as it turned out, the Scarecrow was a far more potent source of concern for him.
At first, as he slumped into his chair and saluted a lazy greeting at his roommate, he hadn't noticed anything wrong aside from the anxious pacing. Then he spotted them- the bandages snaking around the Scarecrow's hand and arm, tightly bound and as fresh as his own were now that they'd returned to the Institute. Talk about a spark attack.
Depth Charge froze for just under a nanoklik, trying to work out how he could have been injured- was something broken? Cuts? Burns? Worse?- but then, where was the point in thinking about it when you could just ask? "What happened to your arm, Scarecrow?" He'd ended up sounding a lot more serious than he'd intended, more concerned than he should have been for an arm injury, but then who was to say there weren't more bandages he couldn't see?
Re: M42
If there was a next week at all.
But, as bad an influence as talking to Kaworu had been, he didn't have much time for getting overly existential and angsty about the whole deal; as it turned out, the Scarecrow was a far more potent source of concern for him.
At first, as he slumped into his chair and saluted a lazy greeting at his roommate, he hadn't noticed anything wrong aside from the anxious pacing. Then he spotted them- the bandages snaking around the Scarecrow's hand and arm, tightly bound and as fresh as his own were now that they'd returned to the Institute. Talk about a spark attack.
Depth Charge froze for just under a nanoklik, trying to work out how he could have been injured- was something broken? Cuts? Burns? Worse?- but then, where was the point in thinking about it when you could just ask? "What happened to your arm, Scarecrow?" He'd ended up sounding a lot more serious than he'd intended, more concerned than he should have been for an arm injury, but then who was to say there weren't more bandages he couldn't see?