Knight Griffin

The voice rings familiar, but on his bad side, still bearing a decades-old scar that marred his vision, it takes a moment to sift through memory to find the face before him.

"The hunter?" His voice is uncharacteristically soft, but his deep tone still carries in the crowded tavern.

"...Percival?"

A strange place to find himself - but a bar is a bar no matter how different the city around it may be.

The Brotherhood squadron, his brothers and sisters in steel... never came for him.

At best, he could wonder if the recent influx of Legionaires had deterred their search. At worst...

It matters not. They have not radioed. They have not found him. They [will not] find him. He holds no delusions.

I'll be honest I didn't even realize there was a jail I kind of blacked out when I saw him

Can I just say I got a bit distracted walking into the cell because damn that knight is DAYUM.

And long days and nights pass, lost in reflection,

until one morning, not long after the doors open,

he enters the bakery for himself, supported only by his reinforced cane.

Some things were best left behind, of course, and forgotten.

Some speak of the bakery in hushed tones that could hardly concern confections; stranger travelers than the Glowing Sea had ever borne passed through now, nearly common enough to be disregarded by passerby.

But the people here... whisper. They speak of impossibilities, and God help them, he believes each one, for he has been witness to enough from one woman alone,

and from the man who saved them all that day, seemingly unknown to the town.

Something... something in him could no longer be stirred to act. Something had broken, not when his armor had borne the fire and become a shell of the man he was - but in his every day, every step he took to pass or avoid where it stood in memory of that day.

In memory of a man who still breathed.

The fusion core delivered with it has sat upon his dresser these many months, untapped.

All but forgotten.

Three days after Vivian had departed, the woman she traveled with recieved a delivery bearing his name. Before his long-borrowed home sat a fine set of power armor, thanks, she wrote, for his aid and sacrifice at the bottom of the lake.

Are you going to lay down and die, or are you going to fight for everything you're worth?

He has been abandoned, or else forgotten.

Ironic, really, and perhaps a fitting fate after what his decisions among the Minutemen led to, and the people he let fall.

The Brotherhood squadron, his brothers and sisters in steel... never came for him.

At best, he could wonder if the recent influx of Legionaires had deterred their search. At worst...

It matters not. They have not radioed. They have not found him. They [will not] find him. He holds no delusions.

||LMAO this is the funniest post you could have replied to. I am, as Griffin himself is an oc using Reinhardt as a faceclaim. Lmk what you're thinking and I'll give it some thought, I have a ton of ocs

Sighing - but wincing.

"...Perhaps I do at that. Could you fetch my cane? I think I can get upright from there."

"AUGH!! MY ASS!"

FALLING OFF HIS STOOL

It has not responded.

He may have simply imagined it, thank God.

I never wanted to leave you behind.

"Blood of Christ is a core tenant of the faith, yes.

...Have I been drinking?"

"Whatever happened to a good, old-fashioned hammer?"

"CLIVE KEEP THAT RACKET DOWN!"

Oh, beautiful. With an answer like that, it might as well be Deacon. His temper cools, somewhat, but he's hardly less irate, responding in clipped tone,

"...Explain yourself. Need is not the issue at hand, it is [my knife.]"

He's on alert now. If nothing else, Deacon is not so proficient in disguising his voice as this.

"If you think to attack me, you have chosen a poor target."

It isn't as if the old man's eyes are sharp enough to see the outline when it [is] there, not in a long time - but the knife is something else entirely.

And it vanishes. He turns faster than one might expect - a missing weapon, even if it's only for simple carvings, and someone at his back?

(This settlement might as well take his fucking knife, too, why not.

That first thought is grumbling exhaustion. His second urges him to huff to his feet and take his cane in hand, following after it.)

Very funny Stealth Boy use. I thought you'd departed, Deacon.

"I could swear, that knife was [just here...]"