#starfugitive

[foradecision]

     “hey, kid — where’s your other half?” / @starfugitive​.

[fortunebought]

     “— you’d better have one hell of an explanation, kid.” / @starfugitive.

[foradecision]

     he comes bearing gifts: a cold steel SRK combat knife, cleaned and whetted, wearable holster included — and a blue and green slinky, only moderately crooked and only in two places. 

     “credit’s all yours, kid. tell him you found it when you were foraging in the supply room or somethin’. and, uh — gimme a heads up before you try the slinky, huh? wouldn’t wanna miss her maiden voyage.”

     a beat to hand both items over, and then the feigned realization that he’d left something out.

     “oh — shit, i almost forgot. this one’s for you.” the walkman’s scuffed, but it’s intact. “she’s seen better days, but spike’s a goddamn tech wizard with this stuff. he’ll get her running. sorry i couldn’t find any headphones — you get mine back from omar, though, and they’re all yours.”  /  @starfugitive​.

[foradecision]

starfugitive sent :    ‘ this is our new normal, isn't it? feels weird to think about before. do you miss it? ’

     here’s the thing about ‘normal’: it’s subjective. crane could argue, for his entire adult life, that ‘normal’ went a little off script for him when compared to most. border wars between pakistan and uzbekistan. live - fire and biological warfare in fallujah. ops in libya, syria, somalia, kuwait, north korea, and the DRC, to name a few; he’s seen active combat in war torn countries and the ruthlessness of human depravity since long before the viral outbreak. 

     maybe he’s just good at adjusting. 

     but even surrounded by civilians, sometimes it’s easy to lose perspective. 

     peter is a good kid, and that’s just it: he’s a kid. a teenager with decades upon decades in front of him, a million things he hasn’t yet done, places he hasn’t seen. he’s a kid without training. a kid in the middle of a warzone who’s talking as if he doesn’t think he’ll ever get out of it again. 

     “you sound like you’re ready to make this place home, kid.”

     that doesn’t sit right, somehow. in a certain light, that looks too much like resignation. and resignation, in his experience — accepting fate and washing your hands of free will — is tantamount to giving up.

     “i’m gonna level with you, alright? man to man.” he’s not spinning fantasy worlds to a toddler. peter is 17. only a year younger than crane when he joined the marines. still a kid, but old enough to bypass the sugarcoated placations. “two things, actually — first and foremost, don’t get too comfortable with all this. i know it’s pretty hard to believe, especially when shit just keeps flyin’ in every direction, but we’re not gonna be stuck here forever. you know zere, right — ? guy camped out in that trailer, across from us?” 

     peter nods. earnest. 

     “he’s workin’ his ass off,” crane says. “him and another doc, over in old town — doctor camden. they’re gonna find a way to beat this thing, and then we’re all gonna get the hell outta here. trust me — once we’re on the other side of this, it’s gonna be a hell of a lot weirder to talk about than anything we did before.” 

     he pauses for the words to settle. leans forward a little, elbows on his knees, holding the kid’s gaze to keep talking. 

     “secondly,” he almost smiles, “don’t gimme any of that ‘normal’ bullshit. normal’s overrated. usually boring, totally unfulfilling. you’re better than that. so do me a favor and don’t ever settle, huh? not here or anywhere else.”

     offering a fist, he wonders when that habit stuck; rahim gets the blame, or the credit, for that one. peter bumps it with his own. 

     “nice. go find your other half. and hey, if you run into omar, tell him i want my headphones back — and that i’m gonna turn his ass into a fuckin’ pair of boots if i ever catch him near my shit again.”