Queen's Games Jet certainly had a competitive streak, even he couldn't deny that. So while he was trying not to get too involved in the hotel's activities, the temptation to give into that streak and let off some steam he knew he had building up proved too much.
Others might run into him at the archery range where his aim was pretty spot-on, though he doubted he'd be anywhere good enough to actually win the thing. His specialty was guns and, while he knew how to shoot a bow, he'd hardly call himself an expert. Having his HUD for his accuracy and angle analysis probably didn't hurt, though.
Jet also tried his hand at the flamingo flying, though it paled in comparison to actually being able to fly himself, it gave enough of that rush to satiate the need to take to the air that was near-constant.
Of all the things he competed in, though, ice skating was the one he did the best at, ridiculous costume and all. The usually more rough persona Jet held around him seemed to melt away on the ice as he moved with grace and precision that spoke of experience and more than a little knowledge of dancing under his belt. Without the avenue of flight to make himself feel better under stress, the chance to fly across the ice, partner or no partner, put him more at ease than anything else in the hotel had so far. Though, anyone who might have caught him coming off the ice to speak to him would likely be met with a flushed face and more than a little embarrassment.
The Call He knew the rhyme. Not for their resistance, but from old and long-dusty memories. The call had gone well enough, he supposed, but now the late hour and voice promising a sliver of hope had him restless and walking around. Things were quieter so late (or maybe early, he hadn't checked), especially with all the commotion going on right now. It was perfect for thinking, for going over his options. Should he try and team up with someone to see if they could learn something? Should he go-it alone? If he went alone, no one else ran the risk of getting caught with him.
If he went with someone...would it feel right or wrong for not being his team? Did he even have a right to miss them right now when he hadn't been working with them in so long? Why was this always the trap his thoughts fell into at godawful in the morning?
Finding an unobtrusive place to sit, Jet let his face fall into his hands with a sigh, thoughts jumbled and no one he trusted like that yet to bounce them off of.
Indulgence Jet didn't need to try the weird (and probably gross) teas to indulge in certain things. He had plenty of reservations about what the hotel offered, but competition, fighting, and some quieter activities that jived with his interests back home were hard to resist.
Fight Club As much fun as the other parts of the competition were, the fight club was the best part. This was more his speed and felt a lot like being a kid again, gang at his back, enemy to his front, fists raised and uncaring if a lip got split or nose broken. Some part of his mind sounded suspiciously like Doctor Gilmore when it reminded him there weren't any synthskin patches lying around for him, his fluids couldn't so easily be replaced, and his punch probably hit a lot harder than some other guys due to his metal skeletal system...but Jet was very good at ignoring Gilmore even when the Doc was around, his phantom self could buzz right off. He needed this.
"Come on, then, let's do this."
Music He was thankful the musician had some instruments he was willing to let others play. Jet loved his harmonica, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of a guitar in his hands. He made sure the thing was tuned and sounded right before starting in on the chords of an old classic he'd always liked. If anyone were to join him or come close enough to draw his attention, he'd look up with a smile and a gesture for them to come in closer.
Jet Link | OTA
Jet certainly had a competitive streak, even he couldn't deny that. So while he was trying not to get too involved in the hotel's activities, the temptation to give into that streak and let off some steam he knew he had building up proved too much.
Others might run into him at the archery range where his aim was pretty spot-on, though he doubted he'd be anywhere good enough to actually win the thing. His specialty was guns and, while he knew how to shoot a bow, he'd hardly call himself an expert. Having his HUD for his accuracy and angle analysis probably didn't hurt, though.
Jet also tried his hand at the flamingo flying, though it paled in comparison to actually being able to fly himself, it gave enough of that rush to satiate the need to take to the air that was near-constant.
Of all the things he competed in, though, ice skating was the one he did the best at, ridiculous costume and all. The usually more rough persona Jet held around him seemed to melt away on the ice as he moved with grace and precision that spoke of experience and more than a little knowledge of dancing under his belt. Without the avenue of flight to make himself feel better under stress, the chance to fly across the ice, partner or no partner, put him more at ease than anything else in the hotel had so far. Though, anyone who might have caught him coming off the ice to speak to him would likely be met with a flushed face and more than a little embarrassment.
The Call
He knew the rhyme. Not for their resistance, but from old and long-dusty memories. The call had gone well enough, he supposed, but now the late hour and voice promising a sliver of hope had him restless and walking around. Things were quieter so late (or maybe early, he hadn't checked), especially with all the commotion going on right now. It was perfect for thinking, for going over his options. Should he try and team up with someone to see if they could learn something? Should he go-it alone? If he went alone, no one else ran the risk of getting caught with him.
If he went with someone...would it feel right or wrong for not being his team? Did he even have a right to miss them right now when he hadn't been working with them in so long? Why was this always the trap his thoughts fell into at godawful in the morning?
Finding an unobtrusive place to sit, Jet let his face fall into his hands with a sigh, thoughts jumbled and no one he trusted like that yet to bounce them off of.
Indulgence
Jet didn't need to try the weird (and probably gross) teas to indulge in certain things. He had plenty of reservations about what the hotel offered, but competition, fighting, and some quieter activities that jived with his interests back home were hard to resist.
Fight Club
As much fun as the other parts of the competition were, the fight club was the best part. This was more his speed and felt a lot like being a kid again, gang at his back, enemy to his front, fists raised and uncaring if a lip got split or nose broken. Some part of his mind sounded suspiciously like Doctor Gilmore when it reminded him there weren't any synthskin patches lying around for him, his fluids couldn't so easily be replaced, and his punch probably hit a lot harder than some other guys due to his metal skeletal system...but Jet was very good at ignoring Gilmore even when the Doc was around, his phantom self could buzz right off. He needed this.
"Come on, then, let's do this."
Music
He was thankful the musician had some instruments he was willing to let others play. Jet loved his harmonica, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of a guitar in his hands. He made sure the thing was tuned and sounded right before starting in on the chords of an old classic he'd always liked. If anyone were to join him or come close enough to draw his attention, he'd look up with a smile and a gesture for them to come in closer.
"Got a request?"