He’d been alone too long, and now he was lost. The memory and bite of isolation was still so very fresh in this frame, despite being completely separate from his core. His family had been away - Charlemagne was off on Mars, fighting “dog-faced bastards,” and Hatshepsut was off elsewhere as well. Rasputin had gone back to his bunker to check things; his mechanics and seals and his perimeters. Halfdan was alone.
So, foolishly, he’d tried to over compensate, joining the crowds in the Tower.
It was swarming; guardians scrambling and stirring like muck in a flood pressing him this way and that. Any company, he believed, would have been helpful, but this was out of hand. Halfdan had realized his mistake shortly, but not soon enough; trapped in a horde of hunters and titans and warlocks, it took Halfdan far too long to retreat back into solitude, and the familiar pressure and warmth of overstimulated processors and surges down to hydraulic fingers quickly settled in this frame to a point nearly beyond discomfort. He felt too tight, wound like a string. The EXO had become overly grateful when the shipyard announced the arrival of his brothers ship - Rasputin had returned.
It had taken far too long, again, to press and wade through the crowds, despite his rush. His head buzzed with strange, mechanical anxiety, and he counted his steps until they led him into a slightly the more secluded hallways that led to habitat quarters. Pausing a moment, as if he could manage to catch a breath he didn’t have, someone rammed his shoulder, calling out an apology as he went. This was his limit, Halfdan was quickly realizing, as a restless surge tingled in this circuitry and made him want to run. It was hot and humid in the tower and he couldn’t take it, so he did run.
At a stop at Rasputin’s door, he suddenly felt very foolish as the hissing of coolant attempted to smooth his hydraulics. His brother had been busy all week in his bunker, and here Halfdan was to play annoying little brother. It didn’t stop him though as he buzzed the door a few times in rapid succession; “Rassie?” At the very slightest of the opening of the door, Halfdan pushed himself inside rather impatiently, pressing his forehead into the shoulder of his brother, pressing his face into the fur of his hood. A moment of silence stretches from the younger as - just for a moment - he ignores everything else, a warm safety flooding his programs and allowing him to finally relax enough to offline his optics, “the tower is very very busy today.” His brother might have said something, but he feels as if he’s surrounded by cotton and too overwhelmed, and like a child, he grips the sleeve of Rasputin’s coat.
