[Nights out on the town in full combat gear. Honestly– same.
He offers his silent acknowledgement by flicking his shades on – doing pretty much nothing at all to help the whole gruffness thing – and watches Jill's descent from behind the reflective lenses, waiting for her momentum to slow before hopping down after her, limb enhancements absorbing the shock of the landing. Still more to go, but he trails after her towards the next drop, letting her set the pace. Time's not yet a factor here– but precision is.
A quiet snort.] Is it really because of how I act, or is it just that I'm the new guy?
[The question's pointedly wry – at least he's self-aware (if still unwilling to crack a smile about it or anything.) Little of column A and a little of column B, he has to imagine. No one gets into this line of work and lasts without being able to put aside differences for the sake of the mission– but he's done this song and dance before. It's the second time he's been inserted onto a team he's got no business being on and, while the Collective's hackers were able to spoof enough on his records to ensure him the position, some truths are plain: somehow the BSAA's ended up with an Aug with a long history of loner tendencies, authority issues, and a knack for always being present where shit's about to go down.
It'd been the same story with TF29, and at his first meeting with his new squad, he'd recognized the tense atmosphere in the room, felt the familiar furtive glances stolen his way. Sensed the unspoken questions. All things considered, he can't blame them for being spooked by– well, the spook. First time anybody's said as much straight to his face, though. He'd been content to ignore his team's obvious misgivings about him – knowing they'd be mostly dispelled once he proved himself on the first op – but hadn't expected it to be brought up in the first five minutes of this mission here.
(It's gonna have to be team building excercises now, isn't it?)
He shakes his head.] I'm not really great at icebreakers.
[Comes off less as an excuse and more like... Well. Honesty. Not that it's a stretch to believe that Mr. Dark Trenchcoat and Sunglasses-At-Night sucks at positive first impressions.
Seeing where Jill's looking – down at that long drop to the rocky base of the treeline – he taps her shoulder to grab her attention, signalling his pack with his other hand. The standard field equipment's mostly fluff as far as he's concerned (and he would've been glad to have left it behind entirely) but he can think of a decent use for a length of rope right about now.]
Don't want you thinking you can't rely on me, though.
[And if nothing else, a guy with mil-spec cybernetic arms can be relied on to not let his partner's rope slip from his grasp. Just sayin'.]
you'll get robocop and you'll like it
He offers his silent acknowledgement by flicking his shades on – doing pretty much nothing at all to help the whole gruffness thing – and watches Jill's descent from behind the reflective lenses, waiting for her momentum to slow before hopping down after her, limb enhancements absorbing the shock of the landing. Still more to go, but he trails after her towards the next drop, letting her set the pace. Time's not yet a factor here– but precision is.
A quiet snort.] Is it really because of how I act, or is it just that I'm the new guy?
[The question's pointedly wry – at least he's self-aware (if still unwilling to crack a smile about it or anything.) Little of column A and a little of column B, he has to imagine. No one gets into this line of work and lasts without being able to put aside differences for the sake of the mission– but he's done this song and dance before. It's the second time he's been inserted onto a team he's got no business being on and, while the Collective's hackers were able to spoof enough on his records to ensure him the position, some truths are plain: somehow the BSAA's ended up with an Aug with a long history of loner tendencies, authority issues, and a knack for always being present where shit's about to go down.
It'd been the same story with TF29, and at his first meeting with his new squad, he'd recognized the tense atmosphere in the room, felt the familiar furtive glances stolen his way. Sensed the unspoken questions. All things considered, he can't blame them for being spooked by– well, the spook. First time anybody's said as much straight to his face, though. He'd been content to ignore his team's obvious misgivings about him – knowing they'd be mostly dispelled once he proved himself on the first op – but hadn't expected it to be brought up in the first five minutes of this mission here.
(It's gonna have to be team building excercises now, isn't it?)
He shakes his head.] I'm not really great at icebreakers.
[Comes off less as an excuse and more like... Well. Honesty. Not that it's a stretch to believe that Mr. Dark Trenchcoat and Sunglasses-At-Night sucks at positive first impressions.
Seeing where Jill's looking – down at that long drop to the rocky base of the treeline – he taps her shoulder to grab her attention, signalling his pack with his other hand. The standard field equipment's mostly fluff as far as he's concerned (and he would've been glad to have left it behind entirely) but he can think of a decent use for a length of rope right about now.]
Don't want you thinking you can't rely on me, though.
[And if nothing else, a guy with mil-spec cybernetic arms can be relied on to not let his partner's rope slip from his grasp. Just sayin'.]