Hmm, [ a thoughtful sound hummed in the back of his throat, Mika considers what the other man has said — living off the land, huh? Coming from somewhere like Mars, with its bloodred soil, the dry winds, the unforgiving glare of the sun — coming from the kind of life that he's lived, making himself into a weapon, sharp-edged and keen, for the sake of survival, the idea of this place as McGillis describe is at once immediately foreign.
Foreign, but not necessarily disagreeable. Strange but there's a kind of appeal in it, the kind of life that Mika can't even possibly imagine.
Almost reflexively, Mika's eyes seek out for Orga; his thoughts turn to him, wondering, asking always. Is this something he could take for himself, for them? Is this where he should be?
Where he should be, is where Orga is.
Mika must look serene, as calm as anything on the outside; but there's a newfound edge in the gaze, a brilliance cutting through the blue depths of it. ]
I have to get back to where Orga is.
[ he stands his ground, hand in his pocket, the other confined to the sling, but he looks like he has the whole world underneath him in the way he speaks. A complete, unwavering confidence in his ability to get himself there. ]
no subject
Foreign, but not necessarily disagreeable. Strange but there's a kind of appeal in it, the kind of life that Mika can't even possibly imagine.
Almost reflexively, Mika's eyes seek out for Orga; his thoughts turn to him, wondering, asking always. Is this something he could take for himself, for them? Is this where he should be?
Where he should be, is where Orga is.
Mika must look serene, as calm as anything on the outside; but there's a newfound edge in the gaze, a brilliance cutting through the blue depths of it. ]
I have to get back to where Orga is.
[ he stands his ground, hand in his pocket, the other confined to the sling, but he looks like he has the whole world underneath him in the way he speaks. A complete, unwavering confidence in his ability to get himself there. ]
What do I have to do?