Hello and welcome to a scenic... never mind, it's not scenic. It's just a big, boring conference room. No windows, basic chairs, long table, stark military lighting, the whole shebang. It's boring by default for being a conference room. If there was anything not boring about it by design, Tucker was bored enough in the moment that he doesn't remember there being anything like that.
There's a decently-sized group of official-looking types clustered around screens on one end of the room, a mix of aliens and humans (in fairly bland military-issued full body armor, helmets and all, thanks machinima). Way down on the other end, there are only three individuals: another human in the standard issue brown armor, a human in much more distinct aqua armor, and another alien: this one only about waist-height, wearing its own also-aqua brand of armor.
He's busy running in circles and yelling. Come learn a cool new alien language: all they say is blargh or honk in various combinations and tones. Junior, alien kid supreme, is currently saying it in his loudest tone. Which, after half a minute or so, seems to really be getting to the guy in the brown armor, who tensely opens with:
"Private Tucker, can you please rein that thing in?"
Tucker, who is sitting in a chair and leaning it backwards to balance on two legs, doesn't so much as turn to look at him.
"Uhh, how about you rein in your fucking attitude?" He offers instead. "You guys dragged me and my kid into this dumb pre-handoff meeting. Next time put out a coloring book or give him a YouTuber to eat or something."
Junior stops next to Tucker's chair and yells something in the honk-honk-blargh neighborhood again. There's no sense that Tucker fully knows what he's saying, but he holds up a hand to high-five anyway. "Ohoho, sick burn!"
The other soldier pulls in the sort of tell-tale long, slow breath that says something like 'this kind of thing has happened so many times that I've finally snapped and am about to murder the man in front of me,' but someone calls him over from the end of the room where they're talking about actual grownup stuff. Fate protects fools and little children. Luck probably also protects them, judging by the fact that Tucker has not yet been murdered to date.
Junior immediately pulls out a chair of his own and starts copying Tucker's lean. This comes as no big surprise to Tucker. Most of the fun came from annoying dumbass mc-what's his face, obviously. Some things are straight-up inherited like that.
"Don't worry, Junior. The alien entourage you go with is gonna be way cooler. They always are. You can learn some more dumb religious savior stuff while I'm doing a boring artifact dig with a bunch of nerds. Win-win. The less you get exposed to that many nerds in one place, the better."
The blargh-honk he gets in response sounds concerned regardless. Tucker shrugs. He's absolutely just taking his best guess at what it's about.
"And then I dunno, two weeks or whatever and we'll get back on our ambassador bullshit at the next place. I'll hook you up with some chicken nuggets."
"Blargh?"
"Fuck yeah, I'm gonna remember how to cook 'em. I'm a provider now. You owe me a mug that tells me how badass I am at parenting. And if you wanna find yourself a hot alien stepmom while you're at it..."
The group across the room finally breaks up, a few individuals starting to make their way over. This is where vague apprehension bleeds in to replace the feeling of permeating boredom in the memory. He doesn't strictly want to do the handoff and separation, is the thing. It kinda sucks.
Junior, distracted by the dispersal, starts to overbalance in his chair and fall backwards. Tucker pops out a quick "oh shit, watch it-" and overbalances trying to reach over in time to catch him. He totally nails it, of course.
If by nailing it you mean he also falls backwards and they both end this memory hitting the floor.
get the man his Galaxy's Okayest Dad mug
There's a decently-sized group of official-looking types clustered around screens on one end of the room, a mix of aliens and humans (in fairly bland military-issued full body armor, helmets and all, thanks machinima). Way down on the other end, there are only three individuals: another human in the standard issue brown armor, a human in much more distinct aqua armor, and another alien: this one only about waist-height, wearing its own also-aqua brand of armor.
He's busy running in circles and yelling. Come learn a cool new alien language: all they say is blargh or honk in various combinations and tones. Junior, alien kid supreme, is currently saying it in his loudest tone. Which, after half a minute or so, seems to really be getting to the guy in the brown armor, who tensely opens with:
"Private Tucker, can you please rein that thing in?"
Tucker, who is sitting in a chair and leaning it backwards to balance on two legs, doesn't so much as turn to look at him.
"Uhh, how about you rein in your fucking attitude?" He offers instead. "You guys dragged me and my kid into this dumb pre-handoff meeting. Next time put out a coloring book or give him a YouTuber to eat or something."
Junior stops next to Tucker's chair and yells something in the honk-honk-blargh neighborhood again. There's no sense that Tucker fully knows what he's saying, but he holds up a hand to high-five anyway. "Ohoho, sick burn!"
The other soldier pulls in the sort of tell-tale long, slow breath that says something like 'this kind of thing has happened so many times that I've finally snapped and am about to murder the man in front of me,' but someone calls him over from the end of the room where they're talking about actual grownup stuff. Fate protects fools and little children. Luck probably also protects them, judging by the fact that Tucker has not yet been murdered to date.
Junior immediately pulls out a chair of his own and starts copying Tucker's lean. This comes as no big surprise to Tucker. Most of the fun came from annoying dumbass mc-what's his face, obviously. Some things are straight-up inherited like that.
"Don't worry, Junior. The alien entourage you go with is gonna be way cooler. They always are. You can learn some more dumb religious savior stuff while I'm doing a boring artifact dig with a bunch of nerds. Win-win. The less you get exposed to that many nerds in one place, the better."
The blargh-honk he gets in response sounds concerned regardless. Tucker shrugs. He's absolutely just taking his best guess at what it's about.
"And then I dunno, two weeks or whatever and we'll get back on our ambassador bullshit at the next place. I'll hook you up with some chicken nuggets."
"Blargh?"
"Fuck yeah, I'm gonna remember how to cook 'em. I'm a provider now. You owe me a mug that tells me how badass I am at parenting. And if you wanna find yourself a hot alien stepmom while you're at it..."
The group across the room finally breaks up, a few individuals starting to make their way over. This is where vague apprehension bleeds in to replace the feeling of permeating boredom in the memory. He doesn't strictly want to do the handoff and separation, is the thing. It kinda sucks.
Junior, distracted by the dispersal, starts to overbalance in his chair and fall backwards. Tucker pops out a quick "oh shit, watch it-" and overbalances trying to reach over in time to catch him. He totally nails it, of course.
If by nailing it you mean he also falls backwards and they both end this memory hitting the floor.