" great, well. that makes me feel a whole less nervous. "
the magicians sentence starters.
“ okay, whoa, whoa, whoa, you don’t have to say it like that. “ well, isn’t that just reassuring? half way through a match, wattson being down and bleeding out on the floor somewhere near the wetlands, d.o.c only glowing faintly and with bullet holes punched through its hull ( seriously? was someone shooting at d.o.c really necessary? ), and mirage’s hands are shaking slightly. granted, if someone pointed it out, mirage would’ve completely brushed it off but he’s nervous, sue him. can you blame him for shaking lightly during a death match?
“ i mean, we can take ‘em, right? thirteen squads left, our teammate down, no ammo, crappy supplies... ” mirage whistles. “ man, it really sounds like we got the short end of the stick. but between you and me? we’re legends! we’ve got this in the box - bag? i think bag’s right. “ if you asked him, he pretty much counted as two teammates between him and his handsome decoy. but that’s just mirage’s opinion.
