"You could just stand up, take a bow, call it done, and sit back down again."
Deacon didn't notice the mental intrusion. There really was a great deal of idle curiosity there in his mind. His job back home was to gather information on anything and anyone and report back to HQ. There was no one to report to on Moira, but the habits of decades didn't go away easily. He was always interested in people, in their stories. You never knew when even the gossip of an unassuming scavver might hold useful intel. So he'd always talked to everybody, and listened.
But underneath that are old, old memories of shooting up on a dirty mattress in a leaky shack, because he felt powerless and angry in an unfair and dangerous world and the drug made him feel powerful while the high lasted and made it easier for him to put violent action to the anger and give it expression.
cw: drug use
Deacon didn't notice the mental intrusion. There really was a great deal of idle curiosity there in his mind. His job back home was to gather information on anything and anyone and report back to HQ. There was no one to report to on Moira, but the habits of decades didn't go away easily. He was always interested in people, in their stories. You never knew when even the gossip of an unassuming scavver might hold useful intel. So he'd always talked to everybody, and listened.
But underneath that are old, old memories of shooting up on a dirty mattress in a leaky shack, because he felt powerless and angry in an unfair and dangerous world and the drug made him feel powerful while the high lasted and made it easier for him to put violent action to the anger and give it expression.