( Sunny and bright, perhaps, from all the sulfur— but if she recalls correctly, that was the one with hundreds of active volcanoes. When the bartender brings them their drinks and she gathers hers up, he's clinking glasses and she's smiling, seeming to work the toast around on her lips before answering with her own, ensuring she makes eye contact: )
Prost! I'm glad to hear you're doing all right, at least. And that they haven't tried to chase you down to the surface yet. Have you had any company?
[ he's holding his judgment. if only because there doesn't seem anyone left to judge. his gun's at his side, as ever, just in case. ]
The people here... don't want to leave because of what's down there.
[ he points vaguely, angie will know what he means. the pods. of course he gets stuck with a bunch of sentimental earthers. nevermind that he goes down there to talk to his own earthers every day. ]
I can understand that; it was a difficult choice for everyone who's left, I believe, but I know that there is little I can do with them. And staying with an essentially comatose friend who can't hear you speaking to them through the pods isn't beneficial for them, either.
The best we can do is grow acclimated to the world below and ensure there's a place for them and we have as much knowledge to share as possible.
( Which isn't meant to be a lecture; it was her personal reason for eventually heading down to assist in Nadril, the frozen landscape to the Northwest, and for wandering Olympia where all walks of life gathered. For exploring Wyver and its humid jungle-like canopies, risking the dragons just to visit a friend.
She takes another sip, seeming to savor it this time with a flutter of her lashes to the burn in her throat, looking at all the different-colored glass bottles reflected on the wall. )
What would you tell them, if someone were to wake up and ask?
( About the planet. Their options. What it's like. )
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1.08 mercy
no subject
( Sunny and bright, perhaps, from all the sulfur— but if she recalls correctly, that was the one with hundreds of active volcanoes. When the bartender brings them their drinks and she gathers hers up, he's clinking glasses and she's smiling, seeming to work the toast around on her lips before answering with her own, ensuring she makes eye contact: )
Prost! I'm glad to hear you're doing all right, at least. And that they haven't tried to chase you down to the surface yet. Have you had any company?
no subject
[ he's holding his judgment. if only because there doesn't seem anyone left to judge. his gun's at his side, as ever, just in case. ]
The people here... don't want to leave because of what's down there.
[ he points vaguely, angie will know what he means. the pods. of course he gets stuck with a bunch of sentimental earthers. nevermind that he goes down there to talk to his own earthers every day. ]
no subject
The best we can do is grow acclimated to the world below and ensure there's a place for them and we have as much knowledge to share as possible.
( Which isn't meant to be a lecture; it was her personal reason for eventually heading down to assist in Nadril, the frozen landscape to the Northwest, and for wandering Olympia where all walks of life gathered. For exploring Wyver and its humid jungle-like canopies, risking the dragons just to visit a friend.
She takes another sip, seeming to savor it this time with a flutter of her lashes to the burn in her throat, looking at all the different-colored glass bottles reflected on the wall. )
What would you tell them, if someone were to wake up and ask?
( About the planet. Their options. What it's like. )