tosbox | just need to try.

["We're really all that made it?"

The question echoes through Grif's head, bouncing around the walls of his skull. No matter how much food he stuffs into his body, the ringing of those words continues, filling him up with something much worse than plaque in his arteries. Even if the others are alive, he's not sure how long that will last, or how long they will last. The uncertainty of their fate - of everyone's fate - has never sat particularly well with Grif-- it rolls around in his stomach like cold leftovers. But not seeing them, losing all contact, is a severed link he's not prepared for.

Top that off the the responsibility of leading and Grif feels like he's going to be sick.

Their quarters are small and hardly private, but at least they're separated by team color, and that adds some familiarity to this whole mess. They're supposed to meet the new recruits tomorrow; Kimball let them off for the rest of the day so they can recover. Not that Grif can see that happening any time soon.

He barely makes it to his cot before he rubs a hand over the front of his helmet.]

Simmons, I swear to christ, this better be a dream. Make that a nightmare, goddammit, so wake me up already!

Threaded | Flat

[ Simmons has always wanted to be a leader; to him, he's a natural for the job. Charismatic, intelligent, handsome, he was ready for the job!

... But not like this. Right now, all he wanted was Sarge to come back; bringing Donut and Lopez back too would be an added bonus. Or they could leave Lopez. That would be okay. ]

You're telling me to wake you up? This must really be a dream after all.

[ At least they have each other. He's not really sure how useful or better that makes him feel, so he starts tidying up his already tidy side of the room—when anxious, clean! ]

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