"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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Sister Grimm
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I am a great biotic wind that will sweep all before me like a... a great wind! A great biotic wind!
[ *  * ]
Micheal kind of expected the boy to give him a ‘what the hell are you talking about’ stare, and he wasn’t disappointed. Micheal and his rapid-fire gamer talk tended to have that affect on most normal people. And that was in a normal situation, not a life or death struggle on Isla Sorna. It would just, you know, put people off elsewhere. A weird kid starts rattling off all sorts of video game references, quick enough that it’s impossible to get in a word edgewise. How do you respond to that? Sure, it was a coping mechanism, but this new guy didn’t know that. He probably thought Micheal had snapped or something and waiting for his turn to attack. Common sense said to maybe give it a rest, but once he started, it was hard to taper off.

The gamer had to bite his tongue as the boy started speaking. Snap reaction was to make a comment about reloading a save point and trying again, but that probably wouldn’t help anything. Instead, Micheal shifted uneasily as the boy spilled his proverbial guts to the two kids he’d just met. Despite the fact he’d been there first, Micheal sort of felt like an intruder, like he was hearing something he wasn’t supposed to be hearing. It was just that he’d never met this guy before, let alone talked to him, and he was baring his soul right there. It just felt, well, awkward.

So, he just stood there, folding his hands behind his back as the boy continued on. What else could he do? Any condolences or sympathies he might offer would fell forced and fake, and he couldn’t exactly offer a similar to situation he was involved in that might be used to bond with the boy. Compared to these two, he felt almost thankful. They’d both clearly seen some action and it definitely showed. Meanwhile, he’d had a rock thrown at him. Noooot really the same. Mr. Stick was talking about letting someone die, and Glori-, while not telling her life story, had been kicking around long enough to feel the futility of it all.

Which raised the question: Why wasn’t he feeling it like they were? Maybe because it didn’t really seem real to him yet. A few people shouting, a girl with a lead pipe, nothing too wild. Change the environment; it would be a normal day. Okay, maybe not normal, but not that far off. The point being, his stay on the island had been positively uneventful. No big fight, no tearful confession to a dying friend, nothing like that. Yeah, he wasn’t ecstatic to be here, and he’d love to be home in front of his computer. That didn’t mean he’d break down in front of strangers. You know Mike, tough guy to the end.

Movement from Glori- brought his attention to the gun in her hand, one that had probably been there the whole time and had escaped his notice. “Oh, hold on there!” Micheal stepped back with a quickness, putting space between Glori- and the boy. “Yikes, I must have failed a spot check bad right there.” For a moment, he thought of drawing his Wolverine claws, but that idea kind of died with the gun and its ability to kill him from more then a foot away.

“Okay now, we’re all spooked and various states of emotion turmoil. Let’s just relax and put our guns down. Maybe have a nice party chat, get to know each other and then embark on a personal quest to wrong some right that was done before we all met up. Or just talk. Unless we all have awesome Speech/Charisma scores, no one here seems like a psycho. I’m all for forming a party and sticking together, but I’m not down with fragging people. As long as we aren’t going around to gank people, safety in numbers is an awesome thing. “
"There are, it has been said, two types of people in the world. There are those who, when presented with a glass that is exactly half full, say: this glass is half full. And then there are those who say: this glass is half empty. The world belongs, however, to those who can look at the glass and say: What's up with this glass? Excuse me? Excuse me? This is my glass? I don't think so. My glass was full! And it was a bigger glass" -Terry Pratchett, The Truth

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I Swear I Won't Shoot · The Beach: North