[ The thought rings in his mind drearily, suddenly, like a bell tolling from the top of an old steeple. Might make him jump if not for the steeliness of his own nerves, and the way that he feels particularly open, receptive, to the contact. What finally swings into vision is a creature that wouldn't look altogether that unfamiliar in his world, what with the number of limbs, the rent flesh, and the skull-like face. Most of the deer back home come with extra legs to begin with and frankly, skin is sort of wishful thinking in an irradiated hellscape, so while his hand shifts to the handle of his gun on instinct, he doesn't draw it.
Yeah, it's not even remotely what he was expecting, but then, Len tries not to have expectations anymore. Usually the deer back home don't talk back, even mentally, so he'll chalk this one up to another "fucked-up world" thing. ]
I can tell.
[ It's a response just as dry, seeing as the only humor they have at their disposal is the kind where they get to make themselves feel like shit just to feel better. Alcohol would help. ]
Your... [ Voice? ] ...thought sounds familiar. We met before?
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Yeah, it's not even remotely what he was expecting, but then, Len tries not to have expectations anymore. Usually the deer back home don't talk back, even mentally, so he'll chalk this one up to another "fucked-up world" thing. ]
I can tell.
[ It's a response just as dry, seeing as the only humor they have at their disposal is the kind where they get to make themselves feel like shit just to feel better. Alcohol would help. ]
Your... [ Voice? ] ...thought sounds familiar. We met before?