What was even remotely going on?
Something between confusion and irritation flitted through the blackthumb’s senses as he watched the other man act the prime example of a fool. It had been the shouts that had roused him from where he’d been working late on his own car, implementing a few new modifications to test out during the next skirmish, and had caused him to trail after the other War Boy.
It was Widget’s growl that brought one returning to his own throat, a low rumble that was more instinctive and born from frustration than hostile itself, and he paced several light-footed steps to his immediate right. A semi-circle almost… but still not in threat. Not towards the other War Boy. “No.” He hadn’t seen anything, still couldn’t see anything, but perhaps the other man had. However this change in trajectory placed him close enough that even he couldn’t miss the beats of sweat that dotted across the other’s skin, the trailed paths through the taller man’s clay.
“What do you see?” Not so much of a demand this time, the words mulled and far lower than before even as gray-green flicked and darted across the sands that stretched on before them both. His arms almost idly crossed, ignorant of the desert night’s chill itself as the six grease-stained fingers of his left hand smeared the clay that lightened his arm as he tapped them against it in a staccato rhythm. Was it a threat? Danger to the Citadel? Surely if it were any of those things the other War Boy would’ve sounded an alarm. Not… this.
He barely even noticed the returning rumble, pacing like a caged lion as he stared into the desert. Rook’s half circle made him turn his head sharply, seeing if their trajectories of pacing would cause them to bump together. Thankfully, they didn’t. Rook’s response made another growl loose in his throat but even to his own ears it sounded thin and reedy. Nervous.
There was safety in numbers but standing here with the other War Boy at his side just made him feel more agitated rather than relieved. He couldn’t rightfully say and the more Rook stood next to him reminding him of what real, genuine and solid existence felt like the more Widget realized his mind ( and perhaps the desert ) was playing tricks on him. “He saw...”
What had he seen? Some far off apparition beckoning him to come further into the sand. It was like waking from a bad dream in the middle of the night and feeling terrified but upon reflection in the daylight hours you wondered what you had been afraid of. Widget stopped his pacing and stood with his back to Rook, skeptically glaring off into the dunes.
“Mmh.” He grunted, feeling a streak of embarrassment that the other War Boy had witnessed him succumbing to his own weakness. His body still felt like a live wire, the sweat beading and rolling over his skin. He could feel a distinct drop traveling to the base of his spine, absorbed into the black waistband of his pants before it could dip any lower. “Someone in the sand... not important.”