“ whatever it is you’re struggling with, i want to help and it’s not going to make me look at you any different. ”
delivery no. 677355812308582400
accepting.
from: unknown.
𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚒𝚏 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝. as if it could be that simple. and what could he say, with not a word ‘pon his tongue to speak. to explain the thousands of things he carried on with him throughout his days. all those decisions resting on his shoulders, how could he be asked to carry it all -- he had never aimed to grip upon the powers that be as a means to usurp it. no no no, politics was not for courier 6. but the fate of the mojave had been thrust upon him anyhow. and how cruel fate can be to give a man out of time, back from the grave, so much to carry. as if he wasn’t over capacity itself at his own scrabbling's of self. not enough notepads in the world, no amount of signing could fully encapsulate his feelings about it all. his gaze doesn’t meet ellis’ own, far off but different this time. albeit true that his mask hid his face, his focus, it was clear when he was somewhere else so to speak.
𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏, past the barrage of that harsh wind of his mind. whipping like the sand-soaked storms of this cruel wasteland, always taking parts of him with it that he swore he’d never get back. fitting that the spirit of this land was just as worn and ragged as it, a level of beauty beyond the brutality found common place within it. more than meets the eye. the radio of his pip boy rings out clear, the brass of “ strahlende tropete ” singing to him as they sit there and watch the world pass them by. twinge in his brows would be visible, if not for that mask. a voice comes calmly, like a thought from another life : don’t be scared, it’s just the end of the world.
𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚞𝚙 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎? to loosen his grip? and what was to become of him should he stop that careful shielding of every fragile thing he sees in his wasteland? ( o’ atlas lay the world in more capable hands if just for a moment. you are shielding but you are suffocating, and not all who come under your visage need to be protected from all you bear upon those shoulders. ) careful thought is put into the way he composes his note, scribbling gently along the pages and giving pause when need be to think it over. surprisingly though, a short amount of time to take to explain all that’s wrong. until his note his handed over :
❝ I tried to give people a choice, back where I came from. instead, I watched a place I love destroy itself. I think I broke it, I think it’s my fault. ❞
