[ It was all over, and even after making it across that finish line - John still didn't have an answer for Cortana. Which one of them was the machine would be a question that hung in the air. Echoing back and forth without anyone to confer with; without the voice in his head that saw every corner of his mind for the last five years. A psyche with a party of one suddenly felt unbearable lonely. There were maybe a thousand questions left hanging after seeing Halsey again after so many years, and yet he couldn't focus.
As if spurred by the thought both Halsey and Cortana would find his current state lacking in some way, John pulled himself back up. Even though brought up to full height he felt dwarfed by Halsey closing the distance between them; hand against his breastplate. Too much like a goodbye than a gesture of concern. He doesn't like it even as her hand lingers with the thought of removing it nowhere in his thoughts. Almost as if he wants to be a gangly fourteen year old again, letting Halsey help him put on his first helmet because he couldn't control his own strength to do it himself.
His helmet.
John feels washed out; the strength in him gone like he stood with his legs buried in a strong ocean current for hours where the constantly still hadn't left him muscles. Arms mechanical, he races his head and with a hiss of the hermetically sealed helmet coming off his shoulders he almost winces at the sudden sensation of a dead breeze across his pale face furrowed with lines. ]
no subject
As if spurred by the thought both Halsey and Cortana would find his current state lacking in some way, John pulled himself back up. Even though brought up to full height he felt dwarfed by Halsey closing the distance between them; hand against his breastplate. Too much like a goodbye than a gesture of concern. He doesn't like it even as her hand lingers with the thought of removing it nowhere in his thoughts. Almost as if he wants to be a gangly fourteen year old again, letting Halsey help him put on his first helmet because he couldn't control his own strength to do it himself.
His helmet.
John feels washed out; the strength in him gone like he stood with his legs buried in a strong ocean current for hours where the constantly still hadn't left him muscles. Arms mechanical, he races his head and with a hiss of the hermetically sealed helmet coming off his shoulders he almost winces at the sudden sensation of a dead breeze across his pale face furrowed with lines. ]
She stayed behind.