#freq141-12

[cnebcss]

@freq141-12

"I do not want to talk about the dogs."

Wolf's voice is ice in the Arctic - beyond cold, but not above melting in the stress of this unique situation.

(She couldn't just let them all die.)

"Just feed them quietly, and go. You are pushing your luck already."

Scraps would have to do for now. If not that, then perhaps Emmerich himself would suffice. That was the impression she wanted to make, at least.

[cosmophobicpi]

"I wouldn't be able to function without some combination of energy drinks and coffee."

"Energy drinks and coffee...? And here I thought my habits were slowly killing me."

[through-worlds-and-time]

@freq141-12 — continued from here!

—

This isn't the first time they've spent a long night pouring over information. Intel-gathering made up the majority of the work done under Philanthropy, which was something handled mostly exclusively by his partner. But he knows there isn't going to be another mission for some time — even if it'd only been a month since Solid Snake supposedly met his end on that tanker, there's still too much heat on them to risk exposing themselves just yet.

As far as the public's concerned, Hal Emmerich is still alive and very much a wanted man.

And he's also right in that Snake isn't stupid. Anyone with a keen eye could see that something's wrong, between the concerning lack of sleep and the sheer workload his partner's been burying himself under, but only he can recognize it for what it is; a pattern.

He's been in a similar place before, back in Alaska. Trying to drown out the nightmares, the memories, all of it beneath as much alcohol as his liver could tolerate. It wasn't until the huskies came into the picture was he able to pull himself out of that hole, the dog-sledding business helping to keep his mind and hands occupied.

But he knows what Hal's doing here isn't healthy, and he knows that he's going to have to make him come up for air.

He's not the only one being haunted by bad dreams lately.

He remembers fading in and out of consciousness. Balancing on the knife's edge between life and death. Hands hauling him out of the river, pounding on his ribs until he's coughing and sucking in ragged lungfuls of air. He remembers feeling the aching pain in his body, from cuts and bruises and cracked ribs, and thinking little of it.

All of it seemed so unimportant compared to the expression locked on Hal's face. Frantic relief. Raw, unbridled terror. Like in that moment he was living out his worst nightmare.

He never wants to see him look so scared like that again.

"Yeah, and you working yourself to death isn't going to make them take a break anytime soon," David sighs, though there's no irritation in his tone. His hand comes to rest on Hal's shoulder, giving it a firm but gentle squeeze.

"When was the last time you slept?"

He already knows the answer's going to be too long ago.

[morisenatha]

🎵

For every 🎵 I get I’ll post a song I associate with my muse!

Light My Love - Greta Van Fleet

'Your mind is a stream of colors Extending beyond our sky'