Drift (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
weapabilities) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
exsiliumlogs2013-05-19 12:36 am
weapabilities) wrote in exsiliumlogs2013-05-19 12:36 am
Entry tags:
Every morning, I put it on. [OPEN]
Date & Time: At some point this week
Location: An empty lot on the edges of the city.
Characters: Drift and YOU
Summary: Drift works out some stress and frustration with his swords.
Warnings: None, just giant robot angst.
It hadn't been much of a task to drag the old rotted logs out into the empty lot he visited when he needed to work out some extra energy. Just like usual, though this time he has something to work with. His blades bite into the soft wood again and again, chipping off bits and chunks.
It's no moving target, but it will do.
One of the short swords sticks into the wood again and he jerks it free, taking a moment to vent the heated air from his frame.
He'd really messed up this time. Not only had he come back pretty emotionally compromised, he'd snapped at some of his friends. Not to mention completely unloading on others. His mouth draws a tight line across his faceplate and he swings with more effort, seamlessly sliding the log at a diagonal angle, watching it fall away.
The mech moves to set another one in it's place and repeat the process.
This place is just about all he has left right now. He cannot afford to be driving off the people who give him the time of day. On the other hand, they have to know the truth about him. He'd received varying ranges of understanding, as well as varying ranges of tolerance for his nasty attitude.
Wing and Collette were right.
He just can't stand around and feel poorly for himself forever. He's going to have to make more of an effort here, and back in his own universe, should he end up there again.
Exile is nothing new. Struggle isn't either, and he had a long established relationship with death and loss. So what. Just another step.
Location: An empty lot on the edges of the city.
Characters: Drift and YOU
Summary: Drift works out some stress and frustration with his swords.
Warnings: None, just giant robot angst.
It hadn't been much of a task to drag the old rotted logs out into the empty lot he visited when he needed to work out some extra energy. Just like usual, though this time he has something to work with. His blades bite into the soft wood again and again, chipping off bits and chunks.
It's no moving target, but it will do.
One of the short swords sticks into the wood again and he jerks it free, taking a moment to vent the heated air from his frame.
He'd really messed up this time. Not only had he come back pretty emotionally compromised, he'd snapped at some of his friends. Not to mention completely unloading on others. His mouth draws a tight line across his faceplate and he swings with more effort, seamlessly sliding the log at a diagonal angle, watching it fall away.
The mech moves to set another one in it's place and repeat the process.
This place is just about all he has left right now. He cannot afford to be driving off the people who give him the time of day. On the other hand, they have to know the truth about him. He'd received varying ranges of understanding, as well as varying ranges of tolerance for his nasty attitude.
Wing and Collette were right.
He just can't stand around and feel poorly for himself forever. He's going to have to make more of an effort here, and back in his own universe, should he end up there again.
Exile is nothing new. Struggle isn't either, and he had a long established relationship with death and loss. So what. Just another step.