milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Atton is outside, training.

He has a dozen or so floating targets, like dartboards, zipping around him very quickly and firing stun bolts down at him from tiny holes at the sides. It's very obvious that he cobbled them together from various machines.

He's blindfolded, and he's alternating between throwing knives at them with one hand and shooting them with another, while dodging the stun bolts. Judging by the bright, chirpy green flashes and the heavy blaster scoring and multiple knife marks on and immediately around the bullseye, he's doing quite well.

He may be grinning from ear to ear, because it's reassuring to know that he's not helpless without the Force.

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"It is better than worrying."

"I think you'll worry even if you are drunk, right?"

"Oh, shut up."

Atton draws a finger across his lips, as if zipping them.

"I didn't mean." She gestures.

"What were you doing, before?"

Atton mimes throwing stuff and doing a little dance.

She blinks.

Atton sighs dramatically. Also, silently.

"You are strange."

Atton points to himself, then at his brain, then at Medusa, before doing a little dance around.

There is only one response worth taking.

Medusa drinks.

Atton looks indignant at this.

But what is he going to do about it?

He's not sure. Possibly just look sulky.

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