[ Irritation, mounting disbelief—the petty emotions he'd cast aside in favor of preparing for the event—they gather like static, a shock waiting to happen. ] (More of a skimmer, huh.) [ You dumb fucking kid barely beneath the surface, there for Shiro to pick up on and prove himself a liar. A self-imposed handicap the very worst kind, brick-wall indifference to what's going on around you inimical to Rust's nature.
If Shiro's hands are raised, Rust's are washed clean—of him, his determined opacity. That it could prove a liability to the mission is a consideration for later.
He takes a cue from Siva'co and checks over his equipment, making minute, perhaps unnecessary adjustments, relaxing into the details. He replays the proposed plan—the first rider in Shiro's monochromes, the second Rust himself, in washed out yellow and orange. The end of it's left hanging, a silent question: are they all agreed?
No reason they can't do this. It's not exactly a feat of intellect.
After Siva'co contends with Shiro's question—Rust not too invested in the answer, Siva'co being a soldier rather than an oracle—he poses another. ] (We can exchange memories.) [ The statement tinged wry, the only acknowledgment that what he'd done before was less an exchange than a clawing attempt at extraction. ] (What about—) [ Muscle memory, he thinks, then lets words fall away, focuses on the familiar feel of knotting a rope, the surety of his hands. Knowledge that left calluses. ]
sorry if I infomodded knowing his last name, voltron is a mystery 2 me!
If Shiro's hands are raised, Rust's are washed clean—of him, his determined opacity. That it could prove a liability to the mission is a consideration for later.
He takes a cue from Siva'co and checks over his equipment, making minute, perhaps unnecessary adjustments, relaxing into the details. He replays the proposed plan—the first rider in Shiro's monochromes, the second Rust himself, in washed out yellow and orange. The end of it's left hanging, a silent question: are they all agreed?
No reason they can't do this. It's not exactly a feat of intellect.
After Siva'co contends with Shiro's question—Rust not too invested in the answer, Siva'co being a soldier rather than an oracle—he poses another. ] ( We can exchange memories. ) [ The statement tinged wry, the only acknowledgment that what he'd done before was less an exchange than a clawing attempt at extraction. ] ( What about— ) [ Muscle memory, he thinks, then lets words fall away, focuses on the familiar feel of knotting a rope, the surety of his hands. Knowledge that left calluses. ]