Tal sighed, tilting his head over slightly and shifting his eyes to look at Sieg. Truth be told, it was partly his own fault for the circumstances with which he’d been subject to, as he’d violated rule number two of the Freelancer code (rule one being that you’d never be paid enough to die). He lacked the foresight to read the fine print, and, rather stupidly, agreed to a contract without actually knowing the terms, in a spur of the moment type-deal. Figuring it’d actually end, and anticipating some kind of month or year deadline after he’d try to negotiate after the contract was signed, he was disappointed to find out that, well, the contract would only end if he died, and judging by her response, there was no room for leeway.
“Statistically speaking,” he thought, sighing deeply while trying to mask his disappointment before the nice little girl and mentally referencing the low average lifespan of a Sirian Freelancer, I was supposed to have broken the contract about four years ago. Shame it didn’t happen any sooner.“
Sure, it was a load of bullshit. Sure, he’d be withheld from deployment with SPECCOM (although this was more of a good thing) until he ironed out all the kinks regarding his sudden onsets of fatigue whenever Saber would enter her combat form, and sure, he’d be the subject of ridicule from his unitmates and station personnel under the absurd premise that he was spiritually and physically linked to a half-naked little girl for the rest of his life, but hey. She was alive, right? And he’d done his duty to maintain the timeline and all that good shit, right?
Eh, not really. He sighed again, mentally, and furrowed his eyebrows. “Oh,” was all he managed to say. Honestly, he wasn’t expecting anything different, but there was a bit of a drastic change in lifestyle coming at him regarding how he’d manage this. His expectations were that it’d be like raising a daughter, only he, being a simple man who kicked doors in and delivered hate for a living, didn’t have any idea how to care for a little girl, or anyone else for that matter. Hell, judging by his scars, wounds, and overall lack of self-preservation as noted in his psych report, he didn’t know how to take care of himself, either.
Maybe they could work something out. Only time would tell as to whether or not he could adapt to this strange circumstance, if he’d turn their forced dynamic duo into an effective combat implement, or god forbid, an actual relationship, but for now, there was a long road ahead.
“…Right,” he managed to get out, his gaze shifting slowly towards the floor, where he counted the little specks in the metal plating to distract his mind.
“Then we oughta start getting used to each other,” he thought, taking yet another deep breath.