The crossing between universes back in Diagad had been incredibly rough. Generic one way, but the other? Just a barrage on his mind. He might have even refused to be rescued by certain people because of it, just because he didn't want them to see that part of him.
But he told Tobirama everything, spilled his secrets for the sake of fairness, and it's lucky that he did because he can count on him to save him.
Yondu's led a mostly unpleasant life, too, so when they start back the sounds of violence are abrasive. ⦕You’re the one what kilt those men by leading ‘em down the wrong path.⦖ ⦕Don't use any of our soldiers. Use those. We don't want to waste them.⦖ ⦕He wasn't cheap.⦖
There are whistles and clicks and grunts that have the undertones of words, casual conversation that the SCA can translate even out of the fog. There are visuals of alien greenery, temperate forests and large wooden cabins set close to caves. There are stretches of beautiful stars and nebulas, purple and pink splashed by stellar explosions across depths of black. There is blue blood splashing out of an enemy's chest as he stabs them, spilling over a hand that's just almost the same color, and he's regarded with contempt by purple eyes.
It might make it easier to handle, as far as intrusive thoughts that have no place in his head, in that it's pretty alien. Some of it is, anyway.
Sometimes it's a blond boy reaching tools under a vehicle that Yondu's fixing. Or sometimes it's basking in the brilliance of a singer on stage, or sharing a drink with other crew. Stakar's voice, booming and friendly. ⦕Nice work, Yondu. Taking you on is one of the best decisions I ever made.⦖ Things that don't reek of violence, but still can be understood across cultures.
"Try not to notice all that. It's like this place knows the past is tirin' and it wants to wear you out. Even if it's someone else's past." That's how it had felt to him, anyway, and he squeezes around his back to keep them both in the here and now.
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But he told Tobirama everything, spilled his secrets for the sake of fairness, and it's lucky that he did because he can count on him to save him.
Yondu's led a mostly unpleasant life, too, so when they start back the sounds of violence are abrasive. ⦕You’re the one what kilt those men
by leading ‘em down the wrong path.⦖ ⦕Don't use any of our soldiers. Use those. We don't want to waste them.⦖ ⦕He wasn't cheap.⦖
There are whistles and clicks and grunts that have the undertones of words, casual conversation that the SCA can translate even out of the fog. There are visuals of alien greenery, temperate forests and large wooden cabins set close to caves. There are stretches of beautiful stars and nebulas, purple and pink splashed by stellar explosions across depths of black. There is blue blood splashing out of an enemy's chest as he stabs them, spilling over a hand that's just almost the same color, and he's regarded with contempt by purple eyes.
It might make it easier to handle, as far as intrusive thoughts that have no place in his head, in that it's pretty alien. Some of it is, anyway.
Sometimes it's a blond boy reaching tools under a vehicle that Yondu's fixing. Or sometimes it's basking in the brilliance of a singer on stage, or sharing a drink with other crew. Stakar's voice, booming and friendly. ⦕Nice work, Yondu. Taking you on is one of the best decisions I ever made.⦖ Things that don't reek of violence, but still can be understood across cultures.
"Try not to notice all that. It's like this place knows the past is tirin' and it wants to wear you out. Even if it's someone else's past." That's how it had felt to him, anyway, and he squeezes around his back to keep them both in the here and now.