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magitech
[ Hunk is overwhelmed.
At first, it was in a good way. It's still in a good way! It is! Just... He can only relay the exploits of Voltron so many times, can only scrape so many details from his memory to convey, can only answer so many questions before he's just emotionally tired. And now that feeling is fighting with all of the other stuff twisted up in his guts, a mix of the usual anxieties coupled with brand new ones, courtesy of Earth's invasion and the battle they'd just finished.
He's afraid to leave his parents, which feels shamefully childish when he thinks about it. He knows it's not true, but... If he leaves them for too long, what if they're not there when he gets back? The security of their current situation, of being home, feels almost like it can't be real. What if he makes some sort of wrong move, and everything stutters and stops?
(He tries to tell himself that this is impossible thinking, but... Bob. That felt really real. And it was, in a sense, maybe? At least the current climate isn't a game show.)
Eventually, though, his need for some form of meditation wins out over illogical fears. He excuses himself after dinner to go check on the lions, which... There's Garrison-sponsored studies going on around them, now, but the Paladins are still allowed access without much comment, save for the occasional question concerning their ongoing recovery. Since it's later in the evening, though, anybody else attending the area's gone off-duty for the day.
Well. Most everybody. Pidge's current work area, a table littered with tech parts and a laptop or three, parked at the Green Lion's feet, is currently occupied. That's fine, though. Pidge is part of what he's grown into in his time away from Earth. While things here feel ill-fitting and tense, falling into the habits they kept in space feels like a natural remedy, and Pidge is pretty low-maintenance. They've sank into long bouts of silence over work plenty of times, and it stopped being uncomfortable a while ago.
He holds up a hand in greeting as he approaches, figuring he'll at least say hello before he pretends to tend to something with Yellow. With scores of people around them now and so many things to catch up on and things that need doing, they haven't seen each other as much as they're all used to. It's... weird. Just another thing that feels weird. ]
Hey, Pidge. How's it going?
At first, it was in a good way. It's still in a good way! It is! Just... He can only relay the exploits of Voltron so many times, can only scrape so many details from his memory to convey, can only answer so many questions before he's just emotionally tired. And now that feeling is fighting with all of the other stuff twisted up in his guts, a mix of the usual anxieties coupled with brand new ones, courtesy of Earth's invasion and the battle they'd just finished.
He's afraid to leave his parents, which feels shamefully childish when he thinks about it. He knows it's not true, but... If he leaves them for too long, what if they're not there when he gets back? The security of their current situation, of being home, feels almost like it can't be real. What if he makes some sort of wrong move, and everything stutters and stops?
(He tries to tell himself that this is impossible thinking, but... Bob. That felt really real. And it was, in a sense, maybe? At least the current climate isn't a game show.)
Eventually, though, his need for some form of meditation wins out over illogical fears. He excuses himself after dinner to go check on the lions, which... There's Garrison-sponsored studies going on around them, now, but the Paladins are still allowed access without much comment, save for the occasional question concerning their ongoing recovery. Since it's later in the evening, though, anybody else attending the area's gone off-duty for the day.
Well. Most everybody. Pidge's current work area, a table littered with tech parts and a laptop or three, parked at the Green Lion's feet, is currently occupied. That's fine, though. Pidge is part of what he's grown into in his time away from Earth. While things here feel ill-fitting and tense, falling into the habits they kept in space feels like a natural remedy, and Pidge is pretty low-maintenance. They've sank into long bouts of silence over work plenty of times, and it stopped being uncomfortable a while ago.
He holds up a hand in greeting as he approaches, figuring he'll at least say hello before he pretends to tend to something with Yellow. With scores of people around them now and so many things to catch up on and things that need doing, they haven't seen each other as much as they're all used to. It's... weird. Just another thing that feels weird. ]
Hey, Pidge. How's it going?
this killed me because i love cilantro
[ who was left to make one of everything all over, actually? or even in the city? it was an aruptly sobering thought, one that makes pidge fall silent for a moment as she thinks about it.
god, outside of just atlas and the garrison, there'd been so much destruction they had to focus on recovering and rebuilding from.
but he asks about cilantro, and she's never been more grateful, even if she wrinkles her nose. ]
Tastes likes soap to me, sorry. Garnish?
[ she can pick off cilantro. ]
It is soap to me, and that's probably why I remember that this is a thing.
He clears his throat before answering, shaking his head. ] No, um... I was thinking about making it part of the salsa, but it's-- Well. You know. People taste it differently.
I figured it was good to ask before I ruined a meal for you.
[ Would've been crap service if he'd offered to cook then serves up something inedible, huh?
He hums and moves to start, letting the comfort of having a task, of cooking, wash away some of the anxiety that bubbled up at the thought of the invasion.
Pan oiled, over head, knife and cutting board found... Conversation? Good things? ]
So, uh... Matt settling back in alright?