TWs: Feelings-y, Tord's a liar and a pessimist.
"Hey Red, we managed to get those parts you needed," Pat grunted as he and Pau stepped into the room.
Tord glanced over, "Perfect, hopefully, it's enough resources."
Clay examined the three, "What's it for?"
Tord wavered, acknowledging he hadn't told Clay, You, or Yan about his intent on running away.
"Uh..." The leader motioned to Pat.
Pat comprehended his signal, "Oh look at the time, I think Pau and I need to go, uh shoot targets."
"I thought we did that yesterday?" Pau looked at him confused.
"We're doing it again!" Pat yanked him out of the room.
'I meant to change the subject, not leave me alone to explain...' Tord huffed. Sometimes he forgot Pat couldn't read social cues well.
Clay rummaged through one of the boxes, "Aren't these plane parts?"
"Yeah." Tord watched as the kid pulled out an undersized propellor.
"Are you guys going somewhere?" Clay pondered as he fixated on the propellor.
Tord was silent, prompting Clay to look over. He set the propellor down and tilted his head.
The leader sighed, "Listen, Clay. Pat, Pau, and I are... leaving soon."
"Oh okay, when are you coming back?" Clay asked.
Tord shifted in his seat, glancing around the room. The room was silent as Clay faltered a little.
"Y-You are coming back, right?" Clay frowned, staring at Tord with a lost look in his brownish-grey eyes.
The older one eventually found the courage to look at Clay, his voice cracking as he uttered, "I don't know..."
Liar.
You're never coming back.
As soon as he said that, Clay's eyes glossed over, "B-But you have to come back! If not for me, then for the army-"
"I never wanted to be the leader of the Red Army, Clay." Tord chided softly.
Liar.
You did want to become Red Leader at one point.
He continued, "All I want is a break."
Clay opened his mouth, hesitating before saying, "Then if not for the army... will you come back for me?"
Tord felt tears stinging at the corner of his left eye. He looked at the boy as he softly nodded, "I swear."
Liar.
You'll forget about him.
Clay clutched onto Tord tightly, ensuring that his big brother was there.
Tord wouldn't call himself expressive, quite the opposite entirely. Except for the people he calls family, he can't help but shed a few tears.
Everyone he is close to knows about his more sensitive side; they just don't comment on it since he's self-conscious about showing any sign of 'weakness'.
His father despises weakness.
Tord wrapped his left arm around Clay, his right still 'out of commission'.
Clay didn't want to let go anytime soon, as when Tord tried to pull away, the boy only held onto him tighter.
Tord didn't mind, even though he knew he had to get started on the plan before his father realized what he was up to.
No point in lying to yourself.
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧Meanwhile...✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
"Wow, you're a terrible shot," Pau stated bluntly as he watched Pat miss another target.
"How about instead of staring at me, you shoot the targets?" Pat glared.
"I'm out of ammo," Pau said.
Pat stopped what he was doing, slowly placing the gun down, "You're telling me that you chose to stare at me instead of reloading?"
"Yes." Pau's gaze slipped to the floor.
Pat looked at the clock, "It's been 15 minutes since you stopped."
"So it has." Pau bit his lip, his gaze was still unsteady.
The younger sighed, "Just go reload, Pau."
Pau said nothing as he walked away to get more ammo. Pat watched him go, silently berating himself in his head.
'Out of all people...' Pat huffed.
Tord resumed working on the plan, Clay having to patrol the grounds with You and Yan. He still couldn't retain his robot arm, so he continued using his left, steadily getting the hang of it. He sighed as he looked at the components of the hearing aids. Once he had complete control of his arm, he could work on them.
That's when he realized he needed to find an escape route.
'Ugh, of course! That's what I missed!' He thought, exasperatedly face-palming, 'How could I miss the most crucial bit?'
Honestly, he could be such an idiot sometimes. Only sometimes.
Then he realized he would probably have to go out and find a secure escape route. He hasn't been out of his room in...
Well, ever since he arrived back from England.
It was mostly because he was recovering, and he had trouble placing or describing what he was feeling. It could've been sadness, although he terrorized his room, so it also could've been anger. He just didn't know.
All he knew was that he was crying in the arms of Pat and Pau, and it made him feel... warm?
'But what is warm as a feeling?' Tord sighed to himself.
Whatever, he could think about this later. For now, he had to find that escape route.
Tord got up from his desk. His robot arm fell limply at his side. It was made with lightweight material, so Tord wasn't worried about him suddenly tipping over anytime soon.
He slowly opened his door, only seeing no one in the hallway. Tord shrugged, figuring it was about lunchtime.
The Norsk decided to walk the hallways, mentally mapping where everything was. He had a good memory, although a bit slow at recalling certain stuff.
He sometimes got tired of the blood-red runner carpets. The walls stood a dark silver, and the floors; from what you could see, were light grey. If you looked sufficiently, you could see the floors were initially white.
Tord grimaced. This place wasn't the best with cleaning. Probably has never seen a broom within its walls even when it was built.
That leads to the scattered portraits that hang in every few corridors. Portraits of the base being built which are in black and white, Tord's ancestors, and a multitude of achievements; which are mostly filled with the Red Army coming out on top of defeating another army.
Tord glanced out the window, seeing the training grounds below. He watched as some of them struggled with it. The training grounds were near the entrance of the base, a bit to the side of the beaten-up path where a car usually goes to and from the base, bringing in recruits. He could see quite a bit from up here, unlike his father, whose study was a few floors above him. He could see everything.
Then the Norsk realized another problem. His room was on the 3rd floor. He had to figure out an escape route from his room, all the way to the ground floor without anyone noticing them.
As if that could ever happen. Might as well dig his grave now.
Tord huffed, kicked the wall next to the window, and marched back to his room.
He needed to re-think some things.