there's always a point, somewhere between beginning and end, where the comm goes off and timothy sits in his silence thinking too much about too many things. wonders how far self-sabotage will get him and when ( not if ) jack would catch on. start asking the questions he always asked. what's wrong pumpkin, panties in a twist ? a shudder, a gag, and mismatched eyes drop down to his echo.
too soon. making contact with her now wouldn't work. the contract was still open but his nerves were raw. boots coated in moondust haven't felt right in days. couldn't carry him from one end of this broken highway to the next without putting a new ache in his back to match the one clamped at his nape. proverbial hand keeping the bad dog down — what a mess.
three minutes isn't a bad record.
static hits him first, a crackle he no longer flinches at. not for the whir of a booting mechanic or that first hum of a voice that both does and very much doesn't sound like himself. " hey there handsome, " there's that gag again.
" the signal out here ? shitty, " especially with his thumb on the disconnect. something he'd only get away with once. maybe twice if he wanted to press already expired and pathetic luck, " lost you there for a second. " and what he wouldn't have given for it to be a second longer than that. let it bleed into nightfall. come up with an excuse that the scavs were breathing down his neck. argue he couldn't talk right now. like that one ever worked. " thought i'd be shooting smelly bandits all by my lonesome this time. " never alone, he thinks, the band on his wrist tingling where it connects into skin ; that forever bond. for another twenty-plus few years anyway.
" not seeing the place you were talking about by the way — what'a'ya think the chances are it fell into a pit and i can get off of this turd early ? " @riphalos
