fall to your pride // joiner

[arcy]

[div style="margin: 0 auto; width: 65%; font-family: timesnewroman; font-size: 10pt; text-align: justify;"]The fact of the matter was that Jim didn't expect to see his crewmates again. His friends, basically his family ... it was all gone, and so it stayed gone. That was ... that was just how it was. So he'd been trying to adjust. He'd been interacting with his groupmates, but it was just .. so hard to connect when all he could think of some days was his crew. His crew, burning.
In hindsight, it was a little self-centered to think he'd be the only one.
He picks his way through the swamp. Jim hates the feeling of mud on his fur, but it's a small price for the easy acceptance the other Tanglers give him. Now, the real challenge there is to not think of them as replacements, but it was definitely difficult most days. Like ... yikes.
The call of a stranger is familiar. In several ways -- the voice, for one. Bones -- He thinks, the start of skyrocketing hope on his chest before its violently beat down. It isn't him. It isn't him. He's been here for months, don't get your hopes up now --.
There's no downlift of his spirits, despite the slight tremble of his paws. The wolfdog bounds through the mud, barely grimacing at the splashes of mud that coat his sides as he does so. He only stops when the other canine comes into view, skidding to a halt as he scrabbles for a hold in the mud. He nearly, nearly slips, full-body, in the fucking mud, but manages to stop himself in time. He still swears under his breath and shakes his pelt out even so, until he trots up to the other. His eyes don't even land on the doctor's collar at first, the wide grin transfixed on his face. The ever-standard stranger greeting, of course, complete with the newcomer-specific charming smile. It's not as effective as it could be, considering that there's mud all along his sides. God, he's filthy.
"You're in luck! You're not meaninglessly trudging through the swamp!" He says, very dramatically, voice cheery despite the edge to it. The swamp fucking sucks, he'll say it. He'll say it to fucking everyone if he has to. "Sure thing, who --" His eyes, belatedly taking in the apparent stranger's appearance(his chest is burning at the familiarity. No hope.), land on the collar. He freezes. Ah. Starfleet. ... ... Processing.
Holy fuck, it was Bones. Holy fuck. Wow, denial sure was a thing. "Bones!" He shrieks. Now, his friend may not be touchy feely, but Jim sure as fuck is. The wolfdog's tail is positively going at many miles an hour, and, after only a few moments of hesitation, he attempts to bowl the other canine over in some sort of weird show of affection. Like a regular dog would do, except Jim wasn't a regular dog, thank you.
//another dramatic border reunion, lads.

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