sorry i have brainrot about this au now
i can't make the rules
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[bonecrusher seats himself in the kitchen, wearing rocketjumper's old hat.]
[patchwork is working away at a device infront of bonecrusher. hearing him pull up a stool, patchwork places a torch down onto a tooltable and whips his welding mask off, meeting bonecrusher's gaze. his own eyes seem to be a little... greener than usual.]
PW: okay, i know you're probably mad about the noise out here - and i apologize, but i could not for the life of me stop thinking about time travel.
BC: one question: why is it... so. irresponsible looking?
PW: well... uhm... d'ehhhh... i cannot answer that. i've also been thinking about rayguns.
BC: good for you or someshit.
[patchwork analyzes bonecrusher's frame.]
PW: ...you had a dream about rocketjumper, didn't you?
BC: why do you need to know?
PW: [handwave.] haven't heard you talk all that much. want to know what's been dinging around in that noggin o' yours.
BC: just use the memoryglass. not that hard. [/s] besides, only reason i'd want to talk is if, by some magical bullshit, everyone pops back into existence.
PW: i hear ya. i miss hearing their little stories when i repaired 'em. wish i could go... go find some of their corpses. that'd be nice. at least bring them back as zombies.
BC: that'd be doing them a disservice. i'm already a cannibal, patch, you don't need more cannibals running around all willy-nilly.
PW: ahuh... y'know, you've been... really cynical recently. ever-
BC: oh, yeah, i wonder why?! everyone else is DEAD! is that not obvious enough of a connection, doc?!? i miss carressing someone in bed, gaming with airstrike, performing operations with the boys! why else would i be fucking cynical!?!
PW: ...
BC: look, whatever. not an issue. i'm gonna go bash my head against the mirror again. sorry for the antagonism.
[bonecrusher leaves the kitchen.]
[patchwork frowns a little, thinking of his old business back in iacon. he misses the constant flow of injured people he could share his brainrot with. he looks off to the left of the machine, spying footmuncher's apparition leaning on it.]
[it blinks, turning from watching bonecrusher leave to look at patchwork.]
[it mouths: "...sorry, doc.", before fading away as if it were never there.]
[patchwork's composure almost breaks, a couple of tears running down his cheeks.]
[patchwork rests his hands on the machine, praying to whatever god will listen that he'll figure out time travelling.]