And this is the reason he usually avoids Club Penance. They're always doing something weird.
He'd tried to skip out. Not because he cares what anyone else is doing or because he's ashamed of his own body, but because it's just not really his style. It doesn't surprise him, though, that they still put him in an intricate harness (at least the amount of straps kind of matches his aesthetic) and a thong. At least they're red and black. See, he would have just gone to go get drunk somewhere else, except he hears a familiar voice, that voice that had echoed in his head when he first landed on Pandora and guided them to the vault, the voice that lied and manipulated and-- He hears the name Angel, and he has to turn back around to find its source, to confirm that he's not imagining things.
It's not difficult to find her. Sure enough, she's right there, blue markings glowing in that same way Lilith and Maya do when they're excited or happy. Angel.
Seeing her isn't really a surprise. With all that she's done, she would be in hell and, after all, she's dead. Surprise isn't what he feels, but ... definitely shock. He hadn't been in the core with the other Vault Hunters, but he knows what happened, saw it. The memory of Jack's retaliation is ever present in his mind as it replays Roland collapsing in front of Jack, in the hollowness that loss carved in his chest to fill with grief and anger and guilt and why did he not go too, why was he not there to help, to put a bullet in Jack's head before--
And she is both perpetrator and victim. A liar and a murderer, but one of Lilith and Maya's own, a daughter caught in Jack's claws before she could ever hope to tell right from wrong, used and manipulated to suit his needs, tortured until the only way out was death. He wishes he could feel more angry, but mostly it's just ... nothing. Both her and Jack are dead. What does it matter anymore?
With his goggles gone thanks to the club, the yellow hawk eyes that have replaced his human ones might be startling, especially coupled with the intense way he eyes her as he approaches. Like he could read her secrets if he watches close enough. He slides smoothly enough into the seat opposite her, sweeps his gaze across the collection of half-full and empty glasses in front of her, then looks back up.
Follow me down
He'd tried to skip out. Not because he cares what anyone else is doing or because he's ashamed of his own body, but because it's just not really his style. It doesn't surprise him, though, that they still put him in an intricate harness (at least the amount of straps kind of matches his aesthetic) and a thong. At least they're red and black. See, he would have just gone to go get drunk somewhere else, except he hears a familiar voice, that voice that had echoed in his head when he first landed on Pandora and guided them to the vault, the voice that lied and manipulated and-- He hears the name Angel, and he has to turn back around to find its source, to confirm that he's not imagining things.
It's not difficult to find her. Sure enough, she's right there, blue markings glowing in that same way Lilith and Maya do when they're excited or happy. Angel.
Seeing her isn't really a surprise. With all that she's done, she would be in hell and, after all, she's dead. Surprise isn't what he feels, but ... definitely shock. He hadn't been in the core with the other Vault Hunters, but he knows what happened, saw it. The memory of Jack's retaliation is ever present in his mind as it replays Roland collapsing in front of Jack, in the hollowness that loss carved in his chest to fill with grief and anger and guilt and why did he not go too, why was he not there to help, to put a bullet in Jack's head before--
And she is both perpetrator and victim. A liar and a murderer, but one of Lilith and Maya's own, a daughter caught in Jack's claws before she could ever hope to tell right from wrong, used and manipulated to suit his needs, tortured until the only way out was death. He wishes he could feel more angry, but mostly it's just ... nothing. Both her and Jack are dead. What does it matter anymore?
With his goggles gone thanks to the club, the yellow hawk eyes that have replaced his human ones might be startling, especially coupled with the intense way he eyes her as he approaches. Like he could read her secrets if he watches close enough. He slides smoothly enough into the seat opposite her, sweeps his gaze across the collection of half-full and empty glasses in front of her, then looks back up.
"This supposed to be your rebellious teen phase?"