ylw-soldier

[ylw-soldier]

Dumpster on wh— Сволочь!

*He bristled at the name-calling, hands by his sides in fists. Though, this wasn't the time for defensiveness. Right. That could come later, when he had a rocket launcher to hand. The Soldier steeled himself and took a deep breath, only to jerk up again at Gio's lingering touch.*

I... Right, that's the plan. We'll head on over to good ol' Francesca and— wait, did you say I was driving? *He pointed to himself bewilderedly, and shifted the keys that were now in his grip between his fingers; the keys to Stella were back safely in his pocket.

After a moment to process the information just given, he grinned, perhaps a tad bit too eagerly for Gio's liking.*

Oh, of course I won't crash her! I bet she's infinitely lovelier and more tolerable than you, anyway, and I know better than to disrespect a lady. *Venya walked over to the driver's side; he hesitated for a second — a silent request for permission — before opening the door and shuffling in. Oh! How pleasant! He didn't have to shift the seat back this time! That was likely the one thing that irritated him about Stella, and even then, it was actually Sawyer's fault for being... vertically challenged.*

Come on in, love. I mean, I know it's your car, but... you know. *He wiped his (gloved) hands on his trousers, and placed his hands on the steering wheel — ten and two, as he'd learnt all those years ago.*

Y'know, we've only crashed Stella once. If that makes you feel a bit safer. It wasn't even a really bad crash either, she just got a little dent. (And it was Mitchell anyway, so...)

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm trustworthy behind a wheel. Does that soothe you a little bit? *He leaned over, a teasing lilt in his voice.* Does the prettyboy feel comforted now he knows the Scary Car Man isn't going to commit vehicular manslaughter with his dear Francesca today?

Venya slipped into the GRN base once again, this time opting for a different route. Instead of heading straight for Gio’s usual studio, he wandered toward the base itself, mingling with the other GRNs. As he passed by the garage, a familiar tune drifted through the air...seemed like the old radio host had finally put on something worth listening to.

Curious, he peeked inside and spotted Gio, looking thoroughly worn out, slightly damp, and completely in his element. The Spy had just finished polishing up his pride and joy...a 1966 Ford Mustang convertible, sleek and pristine. Compared to Stella? It's a goddamn masterpiece...In gio's eyes anyways

With a pleased sigh, Gio wiped his hands off on a rag, taking a step back to admire his work. His balaclava hung loose around his shoulders, his hands resting on his hips as he flashed the kind of grin that could sell snake oil to a saint.

"Finally! what a beaut! Looks good as new, eh, bambina?"

He let out a rich, satisfied chuckle, shaking his head as he gave the car’s hood a loving pat.

"Ah, but what a tragedy you had me lookin' like some grease monkey out here! Tch don't trust those pesky engineers working with such a beauty like you...Such a shame I had to get my hands dirty..."

He lets out another chuckle and a small smile "But bah! Who cares! look at you now~!! a proper star, just like me~"

@the-silentsnake

*There was something inherently... fascinating about finding the Spy like this. Seeing him actually getting his hands dirty and doing manual labour was sort of like seeing a 19th century aristocrat at the grocery store: In Venya's mind, at least, it just didn't happen.

That weren't to say it wasn't a welcome sight — hell, if he could watch people fix vehicles all day and get paid for it, he would. (Perhaps that's why he was so drawn to a certain somebody.)

He leaned casually against the garage's doorframe and adjusted the collar of the flannel shirt he'd found for the occasion.*

Hey there. Looking g— I mean. Uh. You've been busy, huh? Do you not get out much? Is that why you've been prettying up your car now of all times?

*He walked over, hands in pockets, and admired Gio's handiwork.*

Hmm... Not bad. I wasn't aware you were capable of any physical work, so... Pleasant surprise. She looks wonderful, by the way. I can tell you put effort into it.

[ylw-soldier]

⚠️~ YLW Soldier (TF2 OC) Stimboard—

🚖~ For— @ylw-soldier

⚠️~ With— Astronomy, Cars and Food related stims

Art by @/ylw-soldier, do not repost or use without permission

🚖~ Credits—

🚖/⚠️/🚖

⚠️/🚖/⚠️

🚖/⚠️/🚖

[ylw-soldier]

Mmm-hmm, I'll hold you to that. You underestimate Mitch's love for cars, though. They're just machines, after all, and that's what he's best at. All I'm saying is that he'd be a pretty competent "raccoon with a toolbox".

*He raised an eyebrow at Gio's dramatics, and huffed half-fondly to himself at the blatant Slander he had to say about his pride and joy. That wasn't the camera collection. Or the signs. Or maybe Stella trumped both of them. You never know.*

Look, what is the purpose of a car if not to get dirtied? It's bound to happen anyway, you know, so you might as well have fun with it. Like going out on the town, looking around, going on long drives to nowhere. Things like that.

*He'd faltered and noticed the hand splayed over the other's mouth, and while he thought it was funny as all hell, he also didn't want to torture Gio that badly. So, he turned around.*

Sort out your mask business and we'll get ready to go. I did say you got to choose where we went, so if anything I'm treating you by entertaining your obnoxious richboy interests.

*Venya thought it insightful to occupy himself with inspecting the ceiling while he waited. It sure was... ceiling-ish. There was a crack in one of the corners, but to the untrained eye it would be near imperceptible. He supposed that having an eye for detail just did that to you, though. Made you notice things. The likes.*

You know, I was going to guess you'd want to take your car, anyway. Even if you'd just cleaned her. Knowing you, you wouldn't want to touch Stell with a ten foot pole! *He laughed.* I don't take offense, though. She is an old one.

Venya slipped into the GRN base once again, this time opting for a different route. Instead of heading straight for Gio’s usual studio, he wandered toward the base itself, mingling with the other GRNs. As he passed by the garage, a familiar tune drifted through the air...seemed like the old radio host had finally put on something worth listening to.

Curious, he peeked inside and spotted Gio, looking thoroughly worn out, slightly damp, and completely in his element. The Spy had just finished polishing up his pride and joy...a 1966 Ford Mustang convertible, sleek and pristine. Compared to Stella? It's a goddamn masterpiece...In gio's eyes anyways

With a pleased sigh, Gio wiped his hands off on a rag, taking a step back to admire his work. His balaclava hung loose around his shoulders, his hands resting on his hips as he flashed the kind of grin that could sell snake oil to a saint.

"Finally! what a beaut! Looks good as new, eh, bambina?"

He let out a rich, satisfied chuckle, shaking his head as he gave the car’s hood a loving pat.

"Ah, but what a tragedy you had me lookin' like some grease monkey out here! Tch don't trust those pesky engineers working with such a beauty like you...Such a shame I had to get my hands dirty..."

He lets out another chuckle and a small smile "But bah! Who cares! look at you now~!! a proper star, just like me~"

@the-silentsnake

*There was something inherently... fascinating about finding the Spy like this. Seeing him actually getting his hands dirty and doing manual labour was sort of like seeing a 19th century aristocrat at the grocery store: In Venya's mind, at least, it just didn't happen.

That weren't to say it wasn't a welcome sight — hell, if he could watch people fix vehicles all day and get paid for it, he would. (Perhaps that's why he was so drawn to a certain somebody.)

He leaned casually against the garage's doorframe and adjusted the collar of the flannel shirt he'd found for the occasion.*

Hey there. Looking g— I mean. Uh. You've been busy, huh? Do you not get out much? Is that why you've been prettying up your car now of all times?

*He walked over, hands in pockets, and admired Gio's handiwork.*

Hmm... Not bad. I wasn't aware you were capable of any physical work, so... Pleasant surprise. She looks wonderful, by the way. I can tell you put effort into it.

[ylw-soldier]

*He chuckled to himself half-awkwardly as Gio fumbled his way through an answer, averting his eyes so as to give him at least a tiny bit of reprieve.*

Sorry about that. I was just mesmerised by you...r work. (I swear to God, the Mitchellisms come with the clothes, don't they?) Look, if I knew you were busy as you are right now, I wouldn't have come over. Easy as.

*It was still wonderful, he thought, that he had this opportunity anyway. To the Soldier, Gio's car was nothing short of beautiful — he couldn't imagine the lengths the man must have gone to to get her. Though, of course, it was lovely to see the man himself, even if a little more exposed than usual. And it was funny to imagine the GRN Engineers fucking up his efforts. This also.*

You know, maybe you should consider pestering S— our Engie about your car. He's competent, by what I've seen of your sky-high standards. And I think he does a damn good job. I mean, without him I don't think Stell would've held up nearly as long as she has.

... Just a suggestion though. You don't have to take it. It's just I doubt you always have the time to take care of your pretty little car and I worry.

*He said this with that stupid toothy grin, as he always did and may well always will do. It was as if he was taunting Gio with the prospect of being upstaged in the art of car maintenance, if only just to piss him off. He sure hoped it pissed him off, at least. Seeing the other frustrated was amusing to him, perhaps more than he'd like to admit.

Venya really wished he had a camera on him right now. One of those small numbers that he had quite a few of, so he could save whatever moments and reactions he got today for himself. It sure wasn't helping that Gio was looking like he was cut straight out of a vintage car magazine at that moment, either.

He fished a set of keys out of his pocket, idly twirling them as if as a distraction to himself. Or, maybe to redirect him back to the point.*

Oh, right. What I want? Simple. I asked you to take me out, didn't I? And you've gotten the car all done up, so it'd be really easy right now to just... y'know, drive around town for a bit. Do a bit of whatever men of your kind love doing so much. The likes.

It just depends on if you want to go. If you don't, I can just go back to the base, busy myself up a bit. Your call, love.

Venya slipped into the GRN base once again, this time opting for a different route. Instead of heading straight for Gio’s usual studio, he wandered toward the base itself, mingling with the other GRNs. As he passed by the garage, a familiar tune drifted through the air...seemed like the old radio host had finally put on something worth listening to.

Curious, he peeked inside and spotted Gio, looking thoroughly worn out, slightly damp, and completely in his element. The Spy had just finished polishing up his pride and joy...a 1966 Ford Mustang convertible, sleek and pristine. Compared to Stella? It's a goddamn masterpiece...In gio's eyes anyways

With a pleased sigh, Gio wiped his hands off on a rag, taking a step back to admire his work. His balaclava hung loose around his shoulders, his hands resting on his hips as he flashed the kind of grin that could sell snake oil to a saint.

"Finally! what a beaut! Looks good as new, eh, bambina?"

He let out a rich, satisfied chuckle, shaking his head as he gave the car’s hood a loving pat.

"Ah, but what a tragedy you had me lookin' like some grease monkey out here! Tch don't trust those pesky engineers working with such a beauty like you...Such a shame I had to get my hands dirty..."

He lets out another chuckle and a small smile "But bah! Who cares! look at you now~!! a proper star, just like me~"

@the-silentsnake

*There was something inherently... fascinating about finding the Spy like this. Seeing him actually getting his hands dirty and doing manual labour was sort of like seeing a 19th century aristocrat at the grocery store: In Venya's mind, at least, it just didn't happen.

That weren't to say it wasn't a welcome sight — hell, if he could watch people fix vehicles all day and get paid for it, he would. (Perhaps that's why he was so drawn to a certain somebody.)

He leaned casually against the garage's doorframe and adjusted the collar of the flannel shirt he'd found for the occasion.*

Hey there. Looking g— I mean. Uh. You've been busy, huh? Do you not get out much? Is that why you've been prettying up your car now of all times?

*He walked over, hands in pockets, and admired Gio's handiwork.*

Hmm... Not bad. I wasn't aware you were capable of any physical work, so... Pleasant surprise. She looks wonderful, by the way. I can tell you put effort into it.

[ylw-soldier]

Venya slipped into the GRN base once again, this time opting for a different route. Instead of heading straight for Gio’s usual studio, he wandered toward the base itself, mingling with the other GRNs. As he passed by the garage, a familiar tune drifted through the air...seemed like the old radio host had finally put on something worth listening to.

Curious, he peeked inside and spotted Gio, looking thoroughly worn out, slightly damp, and completely in his element. The Spy had just finished polishing up his pride and joy...a 1966 Ford Mustang convertible, sleek and pristine. Compared to Stella? It's a goddamn masterpiece...In gio's eyes anyways

With a pleased sigh, Gio wiped his hands off on a rag, taking a step back to admire his work. His balaclava hung loose around his shoulders, his hands resting on his hips as he flashed the kind of grin that could sell snake oil to a saint.

"Finally! what a beaut! Looks good as new, eh, bambina?"

He let out a rich, satisfied chuckle, shaking his head as he gave the car’s hood a loving pat.

"Ah, but what a tragedy you had me lookin' like some grease monkey out here! Tch don't trust those pesky engineers working with such a beauty like you...Such a shame I had to get my hands dirty..."

He lets out another chuckle and a small smile "But bah! Who cares! look at you now~!! a proper star, just like me~"

@the-silentsnake

*There was something inherently... fascinating about finding the Spy like this. Seeing him actually getting his hands dirty and doing manual labour was sort of like seeing a 19th century aristocrat at the grocery store: In Venya's mind, at least, it just didn't happen.

That weren't to say it wasn't a welcome sight — hell, if he could watch people fix vehicles all day and get paid for it, he would. (Perhaps that's why he was so drawn to a certain somebody.)

He leaned casually against the garage's doorframe and adjusted the collar of the flannel shirt he'd found for the occasion.*

Hey there. Looking g— I mean. Uh. You've been busy, huh? Do you not get out much? Is that why you've been prettying up your car now of all times?

*He walked over, hands in pockets, and admired Gio's handiwork.*

Hmm... Not bad. I wasn't aware you were capable of any physical work, so... Pleasant surprise. She looks wonderful, by the way. I can tell you put effort into it.

[ylw-soldier]

Excuse you, do you know how hard it is to come by a good traffic light these days? I mean, ад, I went to Canada for one of those—!

Actually, scratch that — love, do you know how long it is to go to Canada from here? It's a pretty long while. Like... Absurdly long. Factor in the fact that I took Stella and not a plane, and— говно. Just— imagine the gas prices for a second. You'll get it.

So I suppose it is generosity. Because I love being nice to you almost as much as I like blowing your pretentious little head to bits. Though... you can pay it back. If your ego lets you, at least.

... Take me out. Your choice where, just as long as you feel you've, you know, payed me back enough. And then we're even. Deal?

I don't think we can snapshot, stop sign, symphony our way out of this one.

.... Supernova it is! See you all at the heat death of the universe, haha!

[ylw-soldier]

*A note on... square paper (where'd that come from?), in that same neat little scribble as another note from a few months ago; and a cardboard box the size of around four or five hardback novels stacked on top of each other. The latter is meticulously wrapped in green tissue paper.

Giovanni has played these games before, one would think; it was merely a matter of figuring out how and why this man kept sneaking into his office. And inspecting this gift, of course.*

"моя любовь,

Hello there! I thought I would give you a break from the strange presents of mine that apparently you've been making brilliant usage of. (That was sarcasm. I'm aware it's hard to convey in writing.)

Anyways, in this box is a 35mm film camera. I think the model's a Nikon F-401? I got it a while ago, so I don't remember exactly — I've been saving it up to give to somebody special, I guess. So it's yours to keep!

It's not the best model out there, of course, but from what I've heard it's alright for non-professional photography. Perhaps it can make a home with all the rest of your studio equipment. (Or maybe not, which is okay. I won't be too hurt.)

Happy Valentines Day."

His eyes skimmed over the note, lips curling in an unimpressed scoff.

"Tch...'Someone special'?"

He muttered, rolling his eyes as he sank back in his chair.

"Dio mio, che sdolcinato..."

With a lazy flick of his wrist, he popped open the box. And there it was...A camera. Just like the letter said.

His fingers drummed against the desk before he finally reached in, lifting it up with a practiced ease. His sharp gaze swept over every inch, searching for a dent, a scratch...a single imperfection. God forbid...If this was some cheap knockoff, someone was getting a very strongly worded letter...Or fresh new stabwound...

But… no. This was the real deal. High-end. Beautiful. Expensive.

A breathy chuckle slipped past his lips.

"Well, well…isn't this something"

He turned it over in his hands, feeling the weight of it, the craftsmanship of such a model. He isn't the type to fawn over cameras as a certain person would but...he appreciates the thought behind such a gift

"Gotta say, at least He's got good taste...though, if he knew me that well, he'd know I prefer diamonds."

He smirked, leaning back, tapping a gloved finger against the lens with a slow shake of his head.

"Ah, but I suppose I can make an exception... Just this once..."

[ylw-soldier]

Apparently someone around the base has been? Mandating these? Will this do, I wonder...

[ylw-soldier]

Pfff— I've been doing as alright as a man having a crisis can be.

Thanks for using your sweet, sweet Italian words to comfort me, by the way [!] I'm sure they mean something wonderful and not at all bitchy. Because you love being nice to me all the time.

I don't think we can snapshot, stop sign, symphony our way out of this one.

.... Supernova it is! See you all at the heat death of the universe, haha!

[ylw-soldier]

I don't think we can snapshot, stop sign, symphony our way out of this one.

.... Supernova it is! See you all at the heat death of the universe, haha!

[ylw-soldier]

*He snickered at the other's confusion — it was often that people would question his attachment to the vehicle to the point of naming her, but he would say he was accustomed to it by now.*

Her name's Stella! I named her that since to the average person stars are yellow and she's... also yellow. Of course, stars aren't actually yellow in real life, but I feel you can take artistic liberties sometimes. She's lasted me a while, so she's just a little bit rusty, but for the most part? Quick as a comet. (Well — maybe not. But she is to me.)

*The Soldier rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a photograph — a person Bjorn wouldn't recognise, though vaguely familiar from the goggles on their head, and the car in question. They seem ecstatic to be there, smile as bright as the yellow vehicle itself.*

There she is — back when we first got her. I don't exactly remember where we got Stell though... oh, wait, no — it was a man in a bar in Houston. I remember now. Something about... legacies or something. It was a while ago, so my memory is a bit screwed up, haha.

I have a traffic cone in my hands right now. You don't seem like the type of person to have any use for a traffic cone, but I'm offering it anyway out of courtesy.

Do you want it?

— @ylw-soldier

the taller man stood silent for a moment, his eyes glancing towards the traffic cone in the Soldier's arms. His brow furrowed slightly, clearly uncertain if he was truly the one being addressed. After a pause, he gulped and glanced around again, hoping perhaps the question was meant for someone else. Slowly, he raised a large hand and pointed at himself, confusion and bewilderment seen on his face.

"ah...Bjorn? You mean...me?" he tilted his head slightly "You sure? Bjorn is not...uh, expert in...cone business?" clearly...more confused

He paused again, rubbing the back of his neck as his kind smile began to grow, his expression softening with a nervous chuckle. "But...Bjorn can try help, ja! Always happy to think of idea...of what to do with cone that is...so What...uh, what do we do with cone soldier? Is it...for battle? Ah, maybe helmet? No?" he joked slightly "You can give to...Your friend on green! ja? I do not know who they are but...very nice man I hope!...nice man...or woman- hm..."

[ylw-soldier]

*The Soldier couldn't help but smile to himself as the man talked about his children; it must have been nice, having people rely on you, look forward to when you're around. That might've been the case for him at one point in time, but for the Heavy it seemed to be more... permanent, in a sense.*

Ah, I bet the team thinks that too. That we're like a family. It's nice, kind of, having that... reliance and — I don't know, "team bonding"? — that we do.

*He averted his eyes for a second, as if not particularly keen on the concern that his teammate apparently had for him. After a moment, however, it was hands in pockets and a quiet surrender. He might as well. It wasn't supposed to do any harm.*

It's... It's been alright. If anything has been up, I've been dealing with it, anyway, so... Oh, and I've had more time to take the car out, too, which is nice. You should see her. She's lovely, and she somehow hasn't let me down before. She sure keeps my spirits high, at least.

*He laughed fondly — those times spent outside of the base if not only to have that time to himself were, to be completely honest, the highlight of his week. I suppose there was something to be said here about... the bond between man and his car? Though that sounds more than a tad peculiar, so perhaps not.*

I have a traffic cone in my hands right now. You don't seem like the type of person to have any use for a traffic cone, but I'm offering it anyway out of courtesy.

Do you want it?

— @ylw-soldier

the taller man stood silent for a moment, his eyes glancing towards the traffic cone in the Soldier's arms. His brow furrowed slightly, clearly uncertain if he was truly the one being addressed. After a pause, he gulped and glanced around again, hoping perhaps the question was meant for someone else. Slowly, he raised a large hand and pointed at himself, confusion and bewilderment seen on his face.

"ah...Bjorn? You mean...me?" he tilted his head slightly "You sure? Bjorn is not...uh, expert in...cone business?" clearly...more confused

He paused again, rubbing the back of his neck as his kind smile began to grow, his expression softening with a nervous chuckle. "But...Bjorn can try help, ja! Always happy to think of idea...of what to do with cone that is...so What...uh, what do we do with cone soldier? Is it...for battle? Ah, maybe helmet? No?" he joked slightly "You can give to...Your friend on green! ja? I do not know who they are but...very nice man I hope!...nice man...or woman- hm..."

[ylw-soldier]

*His posture eased a little bit, now that the topic had shifted away from his escapades and towards the Heavy's own life. He didn't have the emotional capacity to unpack everything at that moment, so it was a reprieve of sorts.*

A letter? Wow, I didn't know they were capable of sending those in to us!

*He couldn't help but think the other's joy somewhat infectious, smiling a touch in return. Venya prompted him further; it was surprising to him that he could hold up a conversation for this long, so he was keen to exploit it.*

How are they, anyway? I'm curious — talk at me.

I have a traffic cone in my hands right now. You don't seem like the type of person to have any use for a traffic cone, but I'm offering it anyway out of courtesy.

Do you want it?

— @ylw-soldier

the taller man stood silent for a moment, his eyes glancing towards the traffic cone in the Soldier's arms. His brow furrowed slightly, clearly uncertain if he was truly the one being addressed. After a pause, he gulped and glanced around again, hoping perhaps the question was meant for someone else. Slowly, he raised a large hand and pointed at himself, confusion and bewilderment seen on his face.

"ah...Bjorn? You mean...me?" he tilted his head slightly "You sure? Bjorn is not...uh, expert in...cone business?" clearly...more confused

He paused again, rubbing the back of his neck as his kind smile began to grow, his expression softening with a nervous chuckle. "But...Bjorn can try help, ja! Always happy to think of idea...of what to do with cone that is...so What...uh, what do we do with cone soldier? Is it...for battle? Ah, maybe helmet? No?" he joked slightly "You can give to...Your friend on green! ja? I do not know who they are but...very nice man I hope!...nice man...or woman- hm..."

[ylw-soldier]

Anytime. In fact, let me know if you want anything else — there's more where that came from.

*He placed the traffic cone on the floor in front of him, as if urging the Heavy to take it. The weight on his feet shifted from heels, to tip-toes, to heels again; a habit he'd picked up from an old friend, though incidentally.

The Soldier bristled a bit at the notion of having been "found out", in a sense. This quickly subsided to make way for crossed arms and a raised eyebrow.*

You... saw someone with me. And they were green. Right, okay. Well, no harm done; you probably didn't see much, so... *A pause, to recollect his thoughts.*

You have too much faith in them. I mean, ад, they're an absolute bastard of a guy. But a friend? ...Maybe, on the good days. It depends on whether he— they want to piss me off or not, really. Though I guess maybe it's for the better they stay around me anyway. Birds of a feather or something.

... So has anything interesting happened to you?

I have a traffic cone in my hands right now. You don't seem like the type of person to have any use for a traffic cone, but I'm offering it anyway out of courtesy.

Do you want it?

— @ylw-soldier

the taller man stood silent for a moment, his eyes glancing towards the traffic cone in the Soldier's arms. His brow furrowed slightly, clearly uncertain if he was truly the one being addressed. After a pause, he gulped and glanced around again, hoping perhaps the question was meant for someone else. Slowly, he raised a large hand and pointed at himself, confusion and bewilderment seen on his face.

"ah...Bjorn? You mean...me?" he tilted his head slightly "You sure? Bjorn is not...uh, expert in...cone business?" clearly...more confused

He paused again, rubbing the back of his neck as his kind smile began to grow, his expression softening with a nervous chuckle. "But...Bjorn can try help, ja! Always happy to think of idea...of what to do with cone that is...so What...uh, what do we do with cone soldier? Is it...for battle? Ah, maybe helmet? No?" he joked slightly "You can give to...Your friend on green! ja? I do not know who they are but...very nice man I hope!...nice man...or woman- hm..."

[ylw-soldier]

*He shifted his grip on the traffic cone a little bit so that it was more comfortably settled in his arms as the other talked, a knife-toothed grin spreading across his face at Bjorn's confusion.*

Well, I was thinking you might want to have it sit around and look pretty. There's no harm in that, I assume. I was going to ask the others, too, but they seem to be busy or unwilling-to-own-a-traffic-cone right now. If you want to use it for battle though, go ahead! It'll be really funny.

*At the mention of GRN, he neglected to comment or even notice. That is, for but a moment, as he soon did a double take to register the words spoken.*

Friend on—? I don't actually know where you got that from. Though, I guess if you're not as... judgy about it as you could be, that's good. It just means I have to... talk to... whoever told you.

...But I think they're busy too. Probably off working on "personal projects" or something, so I haven't asked them. Besides, they've probably had enough random gifts from me to be sick of it for the rest of their life so there isn't a point.

*He laughed, a sharp sound like a sudden impact, though with a tinge of melancholy, much like the initial pain of bumping into a doorframe and the lingering ache afterwards.*

I have a traffic cone in my hands right now. You don't seem like the type of person to have any use for a traffic cone, but I'm offering it anyway out of courtesy.

Do you want it?

— @ylw-soldier

the taller man stood silent for a moment, his eyes glancing towards the traffic cone in the Soldier's arms. His brow furrowed slightly, clearly uncertain if he was truly the one being addressed. After a pause, he gulped and glanced around again, hoping perhaps the question was meant for someone else. Slowly, he raised a large hand and pointed at himself, confusion and bewilderment seen on his face.

"ah...Bjorn? You mean...me?" he tilted his head slightly "You sure? Bjorn is not...uh, expert in...cone business?" clearly...more confused

He paused again, rubbing the back of his neck as his kind smile began to grow, his expression softening with a nervous chuckle. "But...Bjorn can try help, ja! Always happy to think of idea...of what to do with cone that is...so What...uh, what do we do with cone soldier? Is it...for battle? Ah, maybe helmet? No?" he joked slightly "You can give to...Your friend on green! ja? I do not know who they are but...very nice man I hope!...nice man...or woman- hm..."

[ylw-soldier]

I've decided and it's Clyde. Happy now?

— @engineer-on-ylw

Finally!

Took you long enough, Mitch. Good job.

[ylw-soldier]

apologies

___

"Hello?"

[......]

"Yeah, I've just been… I'm doing a lot better now. Got some new film, started some projects, met someone… 

You should see Sawyer. Ever since he got the job he's been inventing like crazy."

[......]

"He's been doing… something about teleporters, I think. Or multiversal travel or something like that, I can't remember the specifics.

He's doing great, basically."

[......]

"So why did you call?"

[......]

"—and why do you still have my number?"

[......]

"Ha–ha, classic Kiers! You want to apologise. Really?"

[......]

"Alright then, let's hear it. You're around, let's see… yeah, I don't remember how long it's been. Better make it good, though."

[......]

"… There you go. That was all I needed. Honesty. That's what you could've done back then too. Better late than never though, eh?"

[......]

"Absolutely not. 

Though… you still have my number. Whenever you need to talk, feel free."

[......]

"Pfff— if you say so. 

You know, it's getting late, and you'll probably need good sleep to broadcast tomorrow. So, goodnight, I guess.

And I forgive you."