???.
Being perched up above the battle field had its perks but today he was out with his SMG, snagging an enemy scout and continuing to walk around as quiet as he could. Something seemed off by his teams calls though – mentioning an odd child on the battlefield. He snatched his riffle from his back, setting in his grip and letting the barrel slip against the wall and letting a shot ring, hitting a soldier before he heard a voice.
A spy? No, that fancy wuss wouldn’t sound so young…
He took the risk, letting eyes glance to what was on the other side of the wall to be absolutely confused for a moment. His team wasn’t kidding. When one of his came rushing around the corner, he grasped them, looking to them, saying something in a matter of a whisper before they were sent off and he begun to do his work.
Once again pulling the submachine gun out, standing in front of the kid, he motioned to run to the right, wordless as he continued to listen for anything behind them. It was a safer spot but any of those damn BLUs could be on their way here to capture their point. “Get goin’ kid, ya’ ain’t got all day unless ya’ want to die.”
That cold voice that escaped him annoyed his very core, grasping onto the younger looking and beginning to tug him along, keeping near cover as he kept his hand on the trigger, ready to fire at any one else who dare come his way. “Why the bloody ‘ell are ya’ even out here kid– this is a war zone.” He grumbled, freezing as he looked directly to the kid. Odd clothing for sure. Not from Russia, Ireland or Australian and like hell from America so… Where could this kid have come from?
Mind was over working before he shook it from thought. “Just keep yer head down low and keep quiet. We’re almost outta’ range.”
Artillery shells rained like hell on the field, Emil’s fingers finding his ears to silence the sharp ringing cacophony of noises. Pinging, panging, sharp noises that were almost like successive pelting rocks against the metallic surfaces he hid behind, ( or, for that matter, any of the people who passed him, ) languages [ dialects ] spitting past lips, code-words making contact into speakers on their shoulders, fronts, somewhere to give a response to someone. Emil was able to discern teamwork between the players, large and bulky pushed out in front, a man behind ( why were they mispronouncing medicine every once in a while? ) careful to provide aide appropriately.
Emil watched all of this. Trying, ( with careful movements ) to move around, and he did for the most part. He avoided fire from their weaponry ( except once, a long, thin line of blood dripping down his cheek from when he had glanced up one too many times ) when a person caught his attention. Voice dripping thick with another of those accents he’d heard plenty of around, his eyes blinked. A bit … disoriented from all of what he was taking in.
It had been in the Guinnungigap that this had happened. He’d activated it, due to his own thought process ( Ratatosk would be in charge of any strange happenings there, after all ) and tried figuring out what was wrong, when he had been taken … well, here.
At first he’d been rather dizzy, but certain things
don’t wait for you to get back on your feet.
Staring at the man in strange attire, he dully recognized the term kid. His face flushed, the vibrant shade of red something rather entertaining in retrospect. The cold tone was not registered, instead he glanced back once more, looking over and then back at the man, eyeing his weapon. Unfortunately, that didn’t quite seem to cut it. A hand wrapped around his wrist and he was pulled along. Being scolded for coming out here when he hadn’t even meant to!
Part of him wanted to point that out, apologize, say he didn’t know what he was walking into, but then he was told to just keep silent. So he nodded appropriately. Silent, Emil could do. Being quiet was a lot easier than talking, anyway. His fingers moved, once again lingering idly on his own weapon of choice, the longsword at his back ready for whatever ( if they came to close ) to take.
“Uhm…I know you s-said to be quiet, b-but…” Emil’s voice mumbled, eyes glancing backwards. “…where am I?”