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He owes his loyalties to the UNSC and to them alone, and by extension to the Spartans. So hearing them constantly mocked on the network was something of a blow to him. Nothing troubling, though – the sting of a hand getting slapped at most, if that. Except when they were called Armor Monkeys; that comment could just as easily be leveled at him, who didn’t take off so much as a glove unless there was a pressing reason to.
He doesn’t mind the man, all told. Might be kind of an asshole, but Romeo had been too and the Rookie had dealt with him just fine. Of course, there wasn’t a Dutch here to get Virgil off anyone’s asses. So Rookie decided to take it upon himself to do just that. Bring him down a few pegs, show him he wasn’t such hot shit after all. If nothing else, maybe it would keep the Nobles from killing the man. Or it would be interesting to see Virgil cool it from up-close.
Finding that throat-thing had just been an accident. Really.
… so was the fact that Rookie was down to the grey-black underarmor of his suit with the composite armor strewn around the room, and a certain shark man was prodding at the neural interface port on the back of his neck, still connected (for now) to his helmet. There was no dignity in those tiny startled noises he was making. How could he have known that Virgil would be this belligerent about the throat-thing... and the fact that Rook had laughed that hard about it? And who knew that prodding there would put such delicious shocks through his neural net?
“Better… not be videos of this on the network later,” the Rookie threatened. Virgil sniggered at him, working the underarmor open.
“You know I wouldn’t, Rook,” he promised.
Just in case Virgil was lying, Rookie had a back-up plan already laid out that would embarrass the sailor more than the Helljumper. Because this was an accident. Totally an accident.
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He owes his loyalties to the UNSC and to them alone, and by extension to the Spartans. So hearing them constantly mocked on the network was something of a blow to him. Nothing troubling, though – the sting of a hand getting slapped at most, if that. Except when they were called Armor Monkeys; that comment could just as easily be leveled at him, who didn’t take off so much as a glove unless there was a pressing reason to.
He doesn’t mind the man, all told. Might be kind of an asshole, but Romeo had been too and the Rookie had dealt with him just fine. Of course, there wasn’t a Dutch here to get Virgil off anyone’s asses. So Rookie decided to take it upon himself to do just that. Bring him down a few pegs, show him he wasn’t such hot shit after all. If nothing else, maybe it would keep the Nobles from killing the man. Or it would be interesting to see Virgil cool it from up-close.
Finding that throat-thing had just been an accident. Really.
… so was the fact that Rookie was down to the grey-black underarmor of his suit with the composite armor strewn around the room, and a certain shark man was prodding at the neural interface port on the back of his neck, still connected (for now) to his helmet. There was no dignity in those tiny startled noises he was making. How could he have known that Virgil would be this belligerent about the throat-thing... and the fact that Rook had laughed that hard about it? And who knew that prodding there would put such delicious shocks through his neural net?
“Better… not be videos of this on the network later,” the Rookie threatened. Virgil sniggered at him, working the underarmor open.
“You know I wouldn’t, Rook,” he promised.
Just in case Virgil was lying, Rookie had a back-up plan already laid out that would embarrass the sailor more than the Helljumper.
Because this was an accident. Totally an accident.