Advanced Fryepatch

"Do you ever take a mission you never really expected to?"

"Heh. All the freakin' time!"

Of course. How could Seren have expected to hear anything else? But that's okay, their question had been pretty emptily rhetorical. Time to iterate.

"I'm having a real week of it - first I agree to help Dirk's team reclaim an ice cream cake, then I tell Corwin good luck, good hunting, nice to see you, goodbye. Like, that's not fair, is it?"

In other words, they punted the Pathfinders to help the Harriers, because ice cream cake sounded like so much more fun. And to speak of not fair, never mind what happened en route to returning the dessert (to returning from being dessert) in spite of it all. Oh, this cruel, cruel world.

Seren can see Frye watching them out of the corner of his bad eye, the one that winks when he's trying to hide a smile or some other form of abashed abusement. Then the mug will come up to hide him behind some suds...yep.

But it's not like the Ostrich's got nothing useful to say. "Hey, it's your dime, and by your dime I mean your time. You can't help everyone."

Seren sighs, smile rueful as they restrain themself from rolling their eyes. Okay, sure. "You're really not one to talk about being in BLADE to help people anyway."

"Help people? Of course I help people! That's what being an Interceptor's all about - we're not just thrill-seekers, like them Harriers white-knighting around."

"Blue knighting," Seren corrects with a performative toss of their hair and halo. As if Grette and Phina had been - really, had been, erstwhile - half that hoity-toity OR half that über-capable (citation: needing to ask a wandering Interceptor for help). Everyone here's human, or mim, or whichever. They're all deserving of help.

Elma had emphasized that it's all about the kind of help you feel most able and willing to give. There are a lot of problems on Mira, which means there need to be a lot of solutions, and a diverse lot of problem-solvers. The independence, at least, is something Seren strongly admires.

But back to this moment: the presence of someone like Frye within their chosen division has helped to validate a decision Seren still wonders if was made on a whim, setting them up for a boatload of self-doubt even - or especially - when they refuse to change it, now.

And then there's weapon choice. Frye had done more than a little cocky cajoling to tempt Seren into the ways of the Samurai Gunners, but they'd laid it out as plainly as they could manage.

"Look, there's three branches, right? Tank, DPS, Tactical. Whatever you want to call them, and I know there's some mixing around in between. I like handling buffs and debuffs, first off. Can't be worried about relying on someone else for healing if you're the healer, right?"

Seren's usual appreciation for Frye's consistency in res'ing them goes unspoken, here. He doesn't mention it.

"Longsword is a no, because it's too big for me and there's too much motion. Gatling Gun, too much recoil. Same with Assault Rifle. Can't aim for sugar, so Sniper's a no, Javelin's a no, Dual Guns and Swords are definitely a no, Shield is boring, Psycho Launchers are crazy, and Photon Saber is just asking to make me puke. Even if it's cool."

Frye nods appraisingly, taking a sip of his fourth beer. Seren's frothy Guiness float sits untouched, melting.

"Get me planted in one place with my Lastyr and my Iyst, and it's Infinite Overdrive for everyone. No sweat!"

They really do sound like him. He should be proud, shouldn't he? And he is, but, well, what a monster it is he's created, eh? Seren doesn't keep Frye on their team primarily (practically) because they don't have time to be Killer Ostrich-ing all over Mira every damn day, but moreover because he's shared enough of his crazy with them that it's rubbed off, and stuck. A little chaotic hellspawn - so unlike Phog -, for his guzzlin' trouble.

Meanwhile, Seren's still talking: "If your Overdrive counter was at MAX 99.0, you would just kill and kill and kill," they explain, nodding sagely. "I imagine you do. But Mira just doesn't need that much carnage, all in one place."

Sometimes Frye wonders if it's Overdrive itself that makes Seren crazy. Without it on, they're sitting here trying to have a serious conversation with him - him, of all people - about the sanctity of human life and the relative completeness of an effort to save everyone on Mira from total annihilation via interpersonal insanity. There hasn't been one sing-song message exchanged in this entire convo. Gilded affinity links aside, he kinda misses it.

But, Seren is as Seren does. When they want to put their shooting face on, they'll do it. Frye won't stop them, because he might be an adrenaline junkie, et cetera, but he's not stupid. No way he's stepping up to the business end of a Knife-buffed Raygun at the hands of a devil-determined Mastermind. Er, make that angel-agitated.

They also might just wanna talk it through to forget about whatever it is they did or didn't manage to accomplish in the field today. Another day will come, and with it another load of missions, another night of drinks, another snap of a cocktail stirrer, another round of beers.

Yeah, right. Beer, singular. Because Seren doesn't drink.

He throws them a sidelong glance, half just to make sure they're still sitting there on the next red-leather stool, booted feet dangling. "So what do you think it is that Mira needs, Seren? Another evac ship? World peace? Winding down the ratio of humans to xenos? A mim upgrade that lets you run on junk food?"

Frye stops his barrage of useless leading questions there. He hopes it came out genuine. It sorta sounds like it didn't. Maybe he could have thrown in something about a favorite indigen.

Anyway, Seren ignores him, taking a long draw of boozed-up ice cream. They make a face at the bitter taste, then shrug and make another dive. Then another, then another...

Yup. Brain freeze. Well, it's either that or brain fog, and Frye knows which one he prefers. Yowch, but that wince looks painful.

"Alright there, my man? You're lookin' a little...chilled."

Seren shakes their head and swallows, hard. "'m fine. Worth it."

Sure, sure. Frye definitely knows from worth it. Big time.

Forehead freshly cleared of crinkles, they grin their brightest and wryest. "I dunno what you mean by that last bit, though. Doesn't this mim run on junk food already?"