Of course it’s real. It’s a shorthand for the same shit that applies to real life. Do something, do better at it.
[He is, of course, immediately flung into thinking about Waver. His last conversation with the guy had been during the fight, Waver on the ground, pleading with him. Travis gets a little chill just thinking about it.]
[ He's distantly surprised—but then he'd spoken to everyone but Travis about it. He recalls Waver as wispy and uncertain, prone to second-guessing himself.
Even so he hadn't asked for pity, had thought first of the inmates. ] This job demands a lot from you. It's hard to do well. He seemed like a perfectionist.
Killing’s in your whole body. An instinct. You still gotta train it though.
But nah, he didn’t. Not after, anyway. He started out with moxie but I saw it in his eyes when he realized it was for real. Guy like that wanted to be a teacher, not a prison guard.
[ There are a few stops and starts before he assembles a reply. ] Yeah, well. You treat someone a certain way, they tend to respond in kind. I think you know what I mean. [ He's seen him playing the jackass on the network enough. ]
I'm sorry I had to ban you. For your sake, I mean. Ports are the only chance you get to meet people not wrapped up in warden-inmate bullshit. You touch down somewhere and the world works differently. There's a new set of priorities. [ Or an old one: maybe Travis would have gleefully signed on with the first pack of bounty hunters to cross his path. ]
I want a pic of the coolest sword you can find. That's cultural exchange, right?
[An apology sits strange –– the guy's not wrong. Travis could just vanish into a place like this. He figures there isn't a genre he isn't prepared for; any place could have him on a bender. Ah well.]
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😎
[He studies the bounties for a good ten minutes. He’d do all of them, one after the other.]
You should work your way up from the bottom. Lowest reward first. You get more experience that way, less likely to get your shit wrecked early.
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Do you think about Waver?
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[He is, of course, immediately flung into thinking about Waver. His last conversation with the guy had been during the fight, Waver on the ground, pleading with him. Travis gets a little chill just thinking about it.]
Sometimes. I think I scared him off this place.
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[ He's distantly surprised—but then he'd spoken to everyone but Travis about it. He recalls Waver as wispy and uncertain, prone to second-guessing himself.
Even so he hadn't asked for pity, had thought first of the inmates. ] This job demands a lot from you. It's hard to do well. He seemed like a perfectionist.
Did he say something?
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But nah, he didn’t. Not after, anyway. He started out with moxie but I saw it in his eyes when he realized it was for real. Guy like that wanted to be a teacher, not a prison guard.
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He should've talked to you. I'm not defending what you did. It's indefensible. But he failed you.
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No, I don’t.
It’s fine, though. He didn’t owe me anything. You get beaten like that, you don’t have to give two shits about the guy who did it.
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But a teacher would've talked to you.
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[That’s par for the course, though, and lots of people love to feel smart. He doesn’t much care.]
Teacher, therapist, doctor, whatever, he’s gone anyway. I’ll take it up with the wardens who stick around but look the other way when I walk by.
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Got any requests for pictures?
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[An apology sits strange –– the guy's not wrong. Travis could just vanish into a place like this. He figures there isn't a genre he isn't prepared for; any place could have him on a bender. Ah well.]
Thanks, bud.