[ In some distant future, Venom will most likely face a lifetime of scrutiny and disapproval from a certain other elf for making his son hold a firearm and— god forbid— contemplate using it on a semi-regular basis, but that's then and this is now. Life is difficult when your patron-turned-combat-buddy-turned-comrade-turned-(something) used to live in circumstances so far removed from your current predicament.
(Then again, Venom isn't one to talk.)
So he focuses on the present, and the perhaps not-so-distant future. ]
You'll get plenty of those on the field. [ An unforgiving Afghan evening, huddled in a bunker under starlight that's undisturbed by artificial illumination. In those hours, 'Venom Snake' becomes irrelevant: the white noise of his radio and the distant sound of wild animals are the only things that require his attention.
But he also knows that Legolas isn't talking about being dead to the world, so he narrows his eyes in vague softness before hefting his gun and facing his targets with quiet gravitas. ]
no subject
(Then again, Venom isn't one to talk.)
So he focuses on the present, and the perhaps not-so-distant future. ]
You'll get plenty of those on the field. [ An unforgiving Afghan evening, huddled in a bunker under starlight that's undisturbed by artificial illumination. In those hours, 'Venom Snake' becomes irrelevant: the white noise of his radio and the distant sound of wild animals are the only things that require his attention.
But he also knows that Legolas isn't talking about being dead to the world, so he narrows his eyes in vague softness before hefting his gun and facing his targets with quiet gravitas. ]
Fine. An evening on base.