[(He is glad to know that Sasuke is the exception and not the norm.)
They really had given pretty crappy introductions, hadn't they? Mind you if that dumb bahari hadn't been sneaking into their room to steal stuff they could have had a chance to meet properly. Not half asleep and peeved to the max.
He lets her in first, thankful that the rover isn't too big of a mess. There's not a lot going on, though. Peter's is the only bunk that looks recently inhabited. Caroline is apparently in stasis, Cortana is just plain gone, and that other prison-looking guy just disappeared one day. Peter's the only one there, really, and his is the only space with any amount of life to it. Rumpled sheets, a half open duffel at the foot with extra shirts and a nanite gun. There's three photographs tacked to the wall beside his bed: a middle aged woman reclining on a couch with a wine glass in hand and a business blazer, a blonde girl in punk chic hanging off the wrong end of a pier with a devious smile, and a bright eyed redhead pulling a pin-up style smile as Peter kisses her cheek.
Aside from that, the place as a whole feels downright hollow.
He makes for the kitchenette immediately, sets some water to boil and digs for cups.]
Treehouses? You don't think that's kind of tempting fate, here? [He shoots her a grin.] Isn't there some giant bug thing that crawls over the trees at night?
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They really had given pretty crappy introductions, hadn't they? Mind you if that dumb bahari hadn't been sneaking into their room to steal stuff they could have had a chance to meet properly. Not half asleep and peeved to the max.
He lets her in first, thankful that the rover isn't too big of a mess. There's not a lot going on, though. Peter's is the only bunk that looks recently inhabited. Caroline is apparently in stasis, Cortana is just plain gone, and that other prison-looking guy just disappeared one day. Peter's the only one there, really, and his is the only space with any amount of life to it. Rumpled sheets, a half open duffel at the foot with extra shirts and a nanite gun. There's three photographs tacked to the wall beside his bed: a middle aged woman reclining on a couch with a wine glass in hand and a business blazer, a blonde girl in punk chic hanging off the wrong end of a pier with a devious smile, and a bright eyed redhead pulling a pin-up style smile as Peter kisses her cheek.
Aside from that, the place as a whole feels downright hollow.
He makes for the kitchenette immediately, sets some water to boil and digs for cups.]
Treehouses? You don't think that's kind of tempting fate, here? [He shoots her a grin.] Isn't there some giant bug thing that crawls over the trees at night?