you know that thing you do with your face....
One thing that Pyro seriously hated about these army boys was their tendency to take everything so literal. Or that stick-up-the-ass routine that was definitely sucking the life out of things. Four months. Four sticking, sucky months and not once had he seen anyone actually loosen up.
He'd contemplated throwing himself from a window until he'd found out that the windows didn't even open that far. Probably used to the attempts to put themselves out of this misery before. Whatever had happened in Russia, well, that whole thing that fucked up whatever it was that was going on or whatever landed Pyro right there in Lincoln City, Washington, on a base that was still being built with army boys that stood ramrod straight all the time.
So there he was, finally getting back to 'base' or whatever they called these big ass compounds that took up a small county on a state map, tired, sore, fucking itching from the self restraint on his own god-damned powers and not at all smug or satisfied with having actually completed whatever 'test' this was.
'It's my job to make you good at your job.' Pyro really couldn't figure out how Mr Call-me-Captain-or-else was going to do anything for him at all. But he hadn't argued. Much. 'That attitude will only get you so far, kid.' And maybe that annoyed Pyro more about Sykes -so fucking straight laced.
Whatever it was that put him there, Pyro seemed to have to pass some kind of test in order to not be just thrown to the lions of the prison service or whatever -although he couldn't see how this was much different from prison. Either way, he'd been told 'This is it, you screw this up, you're as good as gone. Knuckle down and follow the orders, you've still got a chance.'
St John wanted to see the self-help book this guy was getting this shit from.
He'd contemplated throwing himself from a window until he'd found out that the windows didn't even open that far. Probably used to the attempts to put themselves out of this misery before. Whatever had happened in Russia, well, that whole thing that fucked up whatever it was that was going on or whatever landed Pyro right there in Lincoln City, Washington, on a base that was still being built with army boys that stood ramrod straight all the time.
So there he was, finally getting back to 'base' or whatever they called these big ass compounds that took up a small county on a state map, tired, sore, fucking itching from the self restraint on his own god-damned powers and not at all smug or satisfied with having actually completed whatever 'test' this was.
'It's my job to make you good at your job.' Pyro really couldn't figure out how Mr Call-me-Captain-or-else was going to do anything for him at all. But he hadn't argued. Much. 'That attitude will only get you so far, kid.' And maybe that annoyed Pyro more about Sykes -so fucking straight laced.
Whatever it was that put him there, Pyro seemed to have to pass some kind of test in order to not be just thrown to the lions of the prison service or whatever -although he couldn't see how this was much different from prison. Either way, he'd been told 'This is it, you screw this up, you're as good as gone. Knuckle down and follow the orders, you've still got a chance.'
St John wanted to see the self-help book this guy was getting this shit from.