Innies? Innies were killed and I wasn’t invited?

Is it too late for soup-posting?

They meet back up together, the front of his armor flickering a pinkish orange in tandem with the flickering fire in front of them. TEAMCOMM’s channel opened, and he stated their next step. The Banished outpost was a squat little building, but still in the middle of an open space, lined outwardly—

𝑺𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒏 𝑭𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝑯𝒆𝒍𝒍 —————————————— ° 𝑳𝒆𝒘𝒅 𝑬𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅 — 𝑺𝑭𝑾 ° 𝑴𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒔 ° 𝑩𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒙𝒖𝒂𝒍 — 𝑺𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒄𝒉 ° #HaloRP – #BSRP —————————————— 𝑹𝑬𝑻𝑾𝑬𝑬𝑻 \ 𝑳𝑰𝑲𝑬

Distinct lack of goonerbait accounts and bots.

HA.

Out in the wilds, with @anironsiren.bsky.social as he pops open a few chicken noodle MREs.

Sighs as he cuts his thumb on his own knife. // hath made the same mistake. But with an apple slicer that is duller than the knives I have.

Allosaurus, probably. Spartans are trained to be like wolves but the large theropods are much cooler in comparison, he thinks. Plus it fits the IIIs. Challenging and taking down pretty much any prey no matter the size, not the largest or strongest of their ilk, but coordinated hunters.

Probably not. Last dose of my smoothers was about 12 hours ago, though.

Makes sense.

Now he’s curious.

Shuffling away.

The muse and the writer hate the holiday.

Rather

🤨

Cloaked and tampering with multiple Banished Skewers. Some will backfire. Others’ll be duds.

// Gave into my intrusive thoughts to make my Mgalekgolo OC.

His light turned green. And in tandem they leapt onto their prey. His execution of his enemy was to climb onto his back, straddle the shoulders, and slit from ear to ear. His pistol rounded the edge of his flailing quarry’s helmet and whispered four shots into the two Unggoy and singular Kig-Yar. —

Stabilize the economy.

Draws a :3 on his helmet.

— The past was 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 • a pattern of elation ; a 𝚌𝚊𝚌𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚢 of possibilities • An 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 chase What more was 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚?

Biggest red flags: - Kig-Yar - innie sympathizer - trying to pry him out of his shell - hates his interests - too many looks at his shoulder stump Biggest Green flags - appreciates the stump for what it is - cracks a joke at it - is willing to work with a III, much less a Gamma.

He would be feral. But successful.

Old Hickory vibes coming from this guy.

Light. Have to be.

He was a big fan of red before he lost the arm. And this was before he lost the arm. #ThrowbackThursday

Clearly not made for Gammas. No checkbox for “ripping limbs off indiscriminately.”

“Together,” he agrees, slinking down the hill. His armor turned more monotone as the Spartan slinked out into the open between the trees and the encampment. He paused, before continuing to between the barricades, becoming a muted red and then a flickering orange as he got into position—

The orb fails, but even so it’s a deadly radius. The Spartan dives, the blast washing over him. He grips a pineapple. A less elegant shape, but feigning his scramble with a toss as it skitters across the ground like the grounders he’d roll as a kid. Behind the shield. A puff in the dust.

The El-Tee.

// Prompt replies. Taking a hit. Applying my RP confidence IRL

Indeed.

Dead parents AND dead Homeworld.

Biteproof armor and strength that rivals a zombie at its peak even without it. He’s Hell’s Janitor. But if your definition of Zombie is the Flood then he’s probably going to set himself to self-destruct anyway.

A Jiralhanae standing in a scorched orphanage. Blood dripping from his tusks. The nun’s face bent in pain and shock.

Coast Guard, or Park Ranger.

He gooned for six hours. Shameful.

“Oh…I feel foolish then. Not often you hear 21st century stuff.”

A bunch of mischief. Might even start the undead panic.

“Sir…? Are you concussed?”

Even. For the most part. But on a hair trigger.

Only in your ear.

Was gonna say. Thought you’d like a little noise on my part.

Hmm?

“It depends on the stipulations.”

“I would like to say 0. But it more often hovers at 3.”