http://toariversodeep.livejournal.com/ (
toariversodeep.livejournal.com) wrote in
insertmeathere2009-11-05 08:54 pm
(no subject)
You find yourself in a place.
This place, in fact, is somehow, inexplicably, a reflection of your own mind.
There are a few doors scattered around. They don't belong—they are styled to belong to other places. Stepping through the doors lets you visit the places like this that belong to the people you know.
What do you do?
This place, in fact, is somehow, inexplicably, a reflection of your own mind.
There are a few doors scattered around. They don't belong—they are styled to belong to other places. Stepping through the doors lets you visit the places like this that belong to the people you know.
What do you do?

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Little John is about as friendly as Big John, Samus.
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Oh hey, Samus. Have another Spartan. Sam's done hanging back in the woods.
"And it's paintball."
John looks at him, Sam looks back, John lets it stand and just nods curtly.
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"Paintball, hmm. We never got to do that in my training exercises. I distinctly remember hordes of robots and energy guns. No paint." Ah, nostalgia.
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That's John again. He folds his arms. He's looking forward to when Chief shows up and they can get back to the game. He wanted to win!
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Her downtime was spent doing space pirate observations. Totally not bitter about that, nope.
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The young Spartans all step back a little bit as he comes in.
"Samus," he says.
"She's trespassing, sir," his younger self reports.
"Noted."