Snipin's a Good Jo--
god damnit why did I put so much detail I have to embed carefully and naturally.
I SHOULD HAVE STARTED WITH A FANTASY INSTEAD OF A SCI-FI AAAAAAAA
I've been feeling that I haven't been writing up to par but I'm finally getting into the swing and I'm filling things out and adding to them as I go along. I really wish I had a writing class this semester like Scifi/Fantasy last semester, it REALLY made me improve my writing >:
Dez likes minor characters better than main charactersssss I really kinda need to improve on this though
Wesley Nunzio Redacre was a kid who had somehow wound up born to two Metas parents. Basically every Metas knew that finding a woman of any metal except Silver was and was lucky enough to have the blended abilities of a Pewter mother and an Iron father. He had the blended looks as well, his hair was five patchy shades of mouse-brown and coffee-brown on top, a mix of colors reminiscent of a domesticated cat. Past the tops of his ears down it was dark auburn including his sideburns and the small scruff of a beard he always kept on his chin. His usual nickname was Wes, but Luke and Leon could get away with calling him Half-n-Half like that stuff people used to put in coffee. Anyone else was better off calling him Wes. He had all the weight and density and keen eye sight of a Pewter, and all the powerhouse capabilities of an Iron.
"He's hard to miss, that kid. Kinda chubby, five-foot-nine, with three hundred pounds of muscle that'd break the knuckles of anyone stupid enough to punch him. You'd think boys here'd be afraid of what he could do to their face with a fist. Nah, they just don't want him to open his mouth or get his handson any projectile weapons. He's got a mean verbal left hook if you know what I mean." Leon had explained to a visitor once. "Wes is honest though. Maybe too honest.No reservations about stepping on toes anyway."
It was Leon that raised Wes, and the mark he had left as surrogate father was clear. From his scruffy goatee to his expressions and movements to his strong work ethic and nearly constant scolding,Wesley was an echo of Leon. A big brother among his generation of Cadets.
A very, very big brother. His roundness had provoked a bit of ridicule in the past, but that rarely ever lasted long.
Unless it was Jack.
Jack, who never really knew when to stop, absolutely thrived on banter and it just so happened that this was not one of the days Wes was willing to put up with nonsense. He had work to do and Jack was making unwanted commentary on the last training session.
"Yeah, I mean, I've never seen something so wide move so fast."
Wes reminded Jack he was a sniper by tossing the saucepan he had been washing with all the skill of a seasoned marksman. The clang was satisfying, and he turned back to his job, picking up another dish to scrub. He didn't feel that his opinion could be expressed any better than he just had.
It wasn't two minutes before Drake Thomas himself stepped into the kitchen and over Jack and the saucepan and reminded Wesley to clean up his messes with a cheerfully mundane air. A painfully mundane air. As if Jack cussing on the floor was a frequent happening.
Kip, a Gold and a newer Cadet who had been quietly cleaning the stove nearby, was more than willing to bet that it was frequent.
I SHOULD HAVE STARTED WITH A FANTASY INSTEAD OF A SCI-FI AAAAAAAA
I've been feeling that I haven't been writing up to par but I'm finally getting into the swing and I'm filling things out and adding to them as I go along. I really wish I had a writing class this semester like Scifi/Fantasy last semester, it REALLY made me improve my writing >:
Dez likes minor characters better than main charactersssss I really kinda need to improve on this though
Wesley Nunzio Redacre was a kid who had somehow wound up born to two Metas parents. Basically every Metas knew that finding a woman of any metal except Silver was and was lucky enough to have the blended abilities of a Pewter mother and an Iron father. He had the blended looks as well, his hair was five patchy shades of mouse-brown and coffee-brown on top, a mix of colors reminiscent of a domesticated cat. Past the tops of his ears down it was dark auburn including his sideburns and the small scruff of a beard he always kept on his chin. His usual nickname was Wes, but Luke and Leon could get away with calling him Half-n-Half like that stuff people used to put in coffee. Anyone else was better off calling him Wes. He had all the weight and density and keen eye sight of a Pewter, and all the powerhouse capabilities of an Iron.
"He's hard to miss, that kid. Kinda chubby, five-foot-nine, with three hundred pounds of muscle that'd break the knuckles of anyone stupid enough to punch him. You'd think boys here'd be afraid of what he could do to their face with a fist. Nah, they just don't want him to open his mouth or get his handson any projectile weapons. He's got a mean verbal left hook if you know what I mean." Leon had explained to a visitor once. "Wes is honest though. Maybe too honest.No reservations about stepping on toes anyway."
It was Leon that raised Wes, and the mark he had left as surrogate father was clear. From his scruffy goatee to his expressions and movements to his strong work ethic and nearly constant scolding,Wesley was an echo of Leon. A big brother among his generation of Cadets.
A very, very big brother. His roundness had provoked a bit of ridicule in the past, but that rarely ever lasted long.
Unless it was Jack.
Jack, who never really knew when to stop, absolutely thrived on banter and it just so happened that this was not one of the days Wes was willing to put up with nonsense. He had work to do and Jack was making unwanted commentary on the last training session.
"Yeah, I mean, I've never seen something so wide move so fast."
Wes reminded Jack he was a sniper by tossing the saucepan he had been washing with all the skill of a seasoned marksman. The clang was satisfying, and he turned back to his job, picking up another dish to scrub. He didn't feel that his opinion could be expressed any better than he just had.
It wasn't two minutes before Drake Thomas himself stepped into the kitchen and over Jack and the saucepan and reminded Wesley to clean up his messes with a cheerfully mundane air. A painfully mundane air. As if Jack cussing on the floor was a frequent happening.
Kip, a Gold and a newer Cadet who had been quietly cleaning the stove nearby, was more than willing to bet that it was frequent.