Thadrinn
Mitth'adrin'nvtae
The smirk on his lips froze, the quip teetering on the edge of his tongue evaporating into a foul-tasting smog that clung at his teeth and made him want to gag, and reality seemed to shatter around Thadrinn as the Captain's words reached his ears. Red eyes stared blankly out the features of a man paused in his attempts to lie to the world with masks of sarcasm, happiness, and a general disregard for most things, fixated upon the flag that Vector had just torn down from the wall, and, yet, totally unseeing as a sense of all-encompassing darkness settled within the sniper's mind.
Despite the rogueish appearance he wore, that fooled so many people, Thadrinn was all about control; or, rather, about controlling his world. He had mourned, he had grieved, and he had sworn to ensure that the broken remnants of Duuvhal Squad would not break any more, that he would stain and corrupt his already foul soul all the more to ensure that what was left of his allies - of his family - did not suffer any more. However, Deztoti's words of Wraith's survival was the metaphorical hammer against the metaphorical glass that formed his world, sending shards of what he had control, what he had believed in, scattering to the wind. A brother he had thought dead was alive. Stuck, in need of extraction and most likely suffering, but alive all the same. Akin to his name, as if fate was pulling some cruel trick, he had returned from the dead, returned to them. However, even as joy pierced his heart, the icy cold grip of despair sat heavily within his stomach. What he knew to be true - that he, Vector, and Blackout were the only survivors - was wrong, and so his control over himself was failing.
It was not the joy that rendered Thadrinn unmoving, his words stuck and his throat burning with emotions that he refused to acknowledge, as Tryenu tore out of the room with a curse leaving the Lieutenant Commander in place, but, instead, it was the insidious thought that if Wraith was alive, if he had returned from the dead, then so too could the rest of their family. He couldn't allow himself to think that, couldn't allow the focus he had utilised to move forward from his despair and take up the self-appointed mission of ensuring that Tryenu and Dezoti would not self-destruct go to waste. And, yet, he was thinking that, in the back of his mind, considering the fact that all of them, Scramble most of all, might also reach out to them and be brought home. And with those thoughts, came the realisation that he would have to battle his own grief once more, that it was a foolish hope that more than Wraith should return to them, that he would lose control of himself and his emotions once more.
It was the sound of Vector almost tearing his door from its hinges that brought Thadrinn back to focus, a shuddering breath falling from partially parted lips and pain weighed heavily on his face - the frozen smirk finally melting. With his focus also came his determination and the remembrance of his promise to safeguard his brother and sister, and, so, he fought down the welling dispair and joy, becoming as cold as the snow tundras of Csilla. He had a job to do, a duty of care to perform, before he could allow himself to fall to pieces, before he could lock himself away behind false smiles and sealed doors and collapse in on himself. The scars on his soul had been torn open once more, but he had to ensure that neither Tryenu nor Dezoti were bleeding too badly first.
Moving quickly and silently, Thadrinn headed into his own quarters, his armour already laid out meticulously and ready for use as he ensured it was as soon as he had awoken. Moving quickly, taking the time to only toss aside his leather jacket before beginning to pull on the armour, Thadrinn prepared himself for rescuing Wraith from the trouble he had found himself in, sealing himself away behind his helmet, forcing himself into the role of Knives instead of Thadrinn, before beginning to strap his weapon to his person. His backup belt of twelve knives was affixed to the waist of his armour, pistols strapped to his thighs and rifles were slung over his shoulders. It was only when he went to grab his sniper rifle that he paused momentarily in his movement, his hand hesitating in the air, clenching and unclenching before he forced himself to move.
Rather than moving out towards the living area as he could hear Vector doing, Knives instead turned towards the Captain's quarters, silently slipping in and shutting the door behind him, closing them off from the nozut and Vector. For a few moments, he simply stood within the threshold of the room silently, not moving an inch, staring at Blackout from behind the emotionless features of a Commando's helmet, watching her bustle about and prepare herself for the coming mission. Soon though, the press of their upcoming deployment forced him to break his silence.
"Sure you shouldn't take that stick out your arse first, Captain? You know, ensure that you'll be able to act without any hindrance?" The unspoken question of 'Are you okay? Will you be fine on this mission?' danced unspoken within his words yet hung obviously within the tone of his voice, their unique and dysfunctional method of communicating. "I mean, sudden shocks and all aren't good for the soul, aye? As you well know. Best not having one mid-combat." 'You haven't had time to process this, to find your ground.' "But, hey, at least this way your spine can be sure to stay straight, right? Shoulders back, chest out, like a bloody scarecrow, and all of that." 'You didn't fail us, especially if you can bring one of us that was lost back.'
Casting a quick glance over his shoulder at the closed door, even as his mind drifted to the two people he knew to be on the other side of it, Knives' voice dropped even quieter with his next words. "Ready for a new and hopefully good fight? Or, do you want a moment to actually remove said stick?" ''Ready to face this new world of ours? Hopefully a happy one. Or, do you want me to keep them distracted for a few moments so you can centre yourself?'
Despite the rogueish appearance he wore, that fooled so many people, Thadrinn was all about control; or, rather, about controlling his world. He had mourned, he had grieved, and he had sworn to ensure that the broken remnants of Duuvhal Squad would not break any more, that he would stain and corrupt his already foul soul all the more to ensure that what was left of his allies - of his family - did not suffer any more. However, Deztoti's words of Wraith's survival was the metaphorical hammer against the metaphorical glass that formed his world, sending shards of what he had control, what he had believed in, scattering to the wind. A brother he had thought dead was alive. Stuck, in need of extraction and most likely suffering, but alive all the same. Akin to his name, as if fate was pulling some cruel trick, he had returned from the dead, returned to them. However, even as joy pierced his heart, the icy cold grip of despair sat heavily within his stomach. What he knew to be true - that he, Vector, and Blackout were the only survivors - was wrong, and so his control over himself was failing.
It was not the joy that rendered Thadrinn unmoving, his words stuck and his throat burning with emotions that he refused to acknowledge, as Tryenu tore out of the room with a curse leaving the Lieutenant Commander in place, but, instead, it was the insidious thought that if Wraith was alive, if he had returned from the dead, then so too could the rest of their family. He couldn't allow himself to think that, couldn't allow the focus he had utilised to move forward from his despair and take up the self-appointed mission of ensuring that Tryenu and Dezoti would not self-destruct go to waste. And, yet, he was thinking that, in the back of his mind, considering the fact that all of them, Scramble most of all, might also reach out to them and be brought home. And with those thoughts, came the realisation that he would have to battle his own grief once more, that it was a foolish hope that more than Wraith should return to them, that he would lose control of himself and his emotions once more.
It was the sound of Vector almost tearing his door from its hinges that brought Thadrinn back to focus, a shuddering breath falling from partially parted lips and pain weighed heavily on his face - the frozen smirk finally melting. With his focus also came his determination and the remembrance of his promise to safeguard his brother and sister, and, so, he fought down the welling dispair and joy, becoming as cold as the snow tundras of Csilla. He had a job to do, a duty of care to perform, before he could allow himself to fall to pieces, before he could lock himself away behind false smiles and sealed doors and collapse in on himself. The scars on his soul had been torn open once more, but he had to ensure that neither Tryenu nor Dezoti were bleeding too badly first.
Moving quickly and silently, Thadrinn headed into his own quarters, his armour already laid out meticulously and ready for use as he ensured it was as soon as he had awoken. Moving quickly, taking the time to only toss aside his leather jacket before beginning to pull on the armour, Thadrinn prepared himself for rescuing Wraith from the trouble he had found himself in, sealing himself away behind his helmet, forcing himself into the role of Knives instead of Thadrinn, before beginning to strap his weapon to his person. His backup belt of twelve knives was affixed to the waist of his armour, pistols strapped to his thighs and rifles were slung over his shoulders. It was only when he went to grab his sniper rifle that he paused momentarily in his movement, his hand hesitating in the air, clenching and unclenching before he forced himself to move.
Rather than moving out towards the living area as he could hear Vector doing, Knives instead turned towards the Captain's quarters, silently slipping in and shutting the door behind him, closing them off from the nozut and Vector. For a few moments, he simply stood within the threshold of the room silently, not moving an inch, staring at Blackout from behind the emotionless features of a Commando's helmet, watching her bustle about and prepare herself for the coming mission. Soon though, the press of their upcoming deployment forced him to break his silence.
"Sure you shouldn't take that stick out your arse first, Captain? You know, ensure that you'll be able to act without any hindrance?" The unspoken question of 'Are you okay? Will you be fine on this mission?' danced unspoken within his words yet hung obviously within the tone of his voice, their unique and dysfunctional method of communicating. "I mean, sudden shocks and all aren't good for the soul, aye? As you well know. Best not having one mid-combat." 'You haven't had time to process this, to find your ground.' "But, hey, at least this way your spine can be sure to stay straight, right? Shoulders back, chest out, like a bloody scarecrow, and all of that." 'You didn't fail us, especially if you can bring one of us that was lost back.'
Casting a quick glance over his shoulder at the closed door, even as his mind drifted to the two people he knew to be on the other side of it, Knives' voice dropped even quieter with his next words. "Ready for a new and hopefully good fight? Or, do you want a moment to actually remove said stick?" ''Ready to face this new world of ours? Hopefully a happy one. Or, do you want me to keep them distracted for a few moments so you can centre yourself?'
[member="Dezoti"] | [member="Tryenu"] | [member="Kee"] | [member="Helion'Nuruodo"]
