trans_9 | ((Bendy timed to before podpop)) Relaxing

Sparhawk is not normally one for brooding. His only real fit of brooding occured after his wife was kidnapped, and even then it mostly consisted of Sparhawk thinking of ways to track down those responsible, and what he would do with them when he caught up to them.

He dislikes feeling helpless. At least when he first arrived here, there were people to meet, and he had to get his bearings. And then the brain slugs came, and the Taxxoms, and there was no time to think in the heat of battle.

But now, afterwards, the reality of where he is, is sinking in. He has found good companions on board this ship, but it is still an alien place. And so far, there is no way of getting home. To be sure, Sparhawk, more than most, understands about being chosen for a purpose, and not being consulted. He had not asked to be Anakha, but that was the way that things worked out. That was the reason that he volunteered to try and find a way off this ship. Others should have the choice whether or not to be Chosen. But he would stay.

He's not voiced this thought to the rest of the crew as yet, there was no need. No doubt most would think him mad to want to stay, but he is a Knight. Being mad is what they're good at. He can almost hear the voice of Kalten in his mind.

But he still gets homesick to an extent. And so the broken nosed knight has retreated to the Sensoriums.

A large thatched cottage stands at the far end of a muddy yard. the smell of fresh baked bread fills the air. A large barn rises up behind the house, and fields stretch into the distance. Its late evening, the clear and cloudless sky that peculiar shde of blue that can only be found at this time.

Sparhawk sits on a log to one side of the yard, Stacey provided whetstone in his hand, carefully working on his sword. His rhythmic movement is still not quite as smooth as it could be, although Brainiac 5 did a good job of healing his shoulder. Along with a few choice words about waiting so long, but Sparhawk let that wash over him. There were more important things to worry about.

So he's taking this time to relax, while he can.

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The brothers, who have been keeping quiet and together for a while, are lured to the cottage by the smell of food and the familiar, Earthlike quality of the scenery.

Earthlike. That wasn't a phrase Connor had ever really planned on using. God needed them on Earth, he always assumed, but it seemed their mission could span beyond their planet. It made the (taller, older, more mature, better-looking) twin uneasy. But their job was not to question, not at this time. They would have to be content in serving whatever purpose the Lord saw fit. And, of course, pestering others.

Connor nudged Murphy with his shoulder, jerking his head at Sparhawk. "He isn't goin' t'run out of bullets, now is he?"

Murphy rolled his eyes and elbowed Connor, grinning. "Aye, so put yer fuckin' manners on an' shut up. This one I don't think we want to offend, an' that seems to be happenin' every time you open your fuckin' mouth."

The actually more mature, older, better-looking twin remembered well Sparhawk's actions when they'd attacked him and the others, and was eying the older man with respect. While his younger, taller, less responsible brother might choose to ignore what had happened, Murphy couldn't quite shake the feeling that they needed to apologize.

The sound of voices when he had not asked for any in this simulation, draws Sparhawk's attention. He leaves off his attentions to his blade and looks up.

He recognises the MacManus brothers, mostly from their attempt to kill members of the crew. Considering though that his own friends nearly tried to kill him once (if you don't count Kalten's cooking), he sees no need not to be polite. Friendly can wait till he can see if they are going to try something again (and his shoulder aches at the thought).

"Welcome to Elenia, neighbours," he greets.

Connor, to his credit, looks slightly guilty after his brother tells him off. He glances at Sparhawk's shoulder and scratches his head, looking rueful. "Sorry 'bout earlier, aye? We're jus' wanderin' about, now."

"We weren't precisely in control of our actions," Murphy offers, nodding earnestly along with what Connor says, "but we're better now."

Sparhawk studies the two men for a moment, before rising, his face splitting into a smile. “If forgiveness is needed, then you have it. Though I don't blame you since you weren't in control.”

He taps his shoulder lightly. “Though I should have known better than to tackle you with your crossbow thing. Overtrained, that's the problem.”

"Thanks, mate."

"Crossbow..? Oh. Aye. The guns." Connor grinned. "'Spose it's close enough to a crossbow."

Sparhawk files the word away in his head for future reference. He's learning something on this bizarre ship everyday.

"It was the closest word that I could think of. They seemed different from the ones that my companions used during the Taxxom attack. Are there truly that many variations?"

It's a new weapon. Prepare to have your ear bent until Sparhawk knows more. After all, you never know when someone might try to kill you with one (again).

Murphy leaned against Connor slightly.

"Those weren't strictly guns, per se. Dracon beams, like guns but alien and evil."

"Evil, certainly," Sparhawk remarks. "I doubt even that full armour could stand up to those weapons. Crossbows are dangerous enough for Knights of the Church."

((Bendy timed to before podpop)) Relaxing

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