Put Coach In

[Namira]

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Norbert sat at a table, tapping a cannister of sprayfoam, spinning it around, stopping it, tapping again.

Focusing on logic and being sensible was difficult under the circumstances. It was also probably pretty fair to cut himself some slack over that. This mindblowingly sucked.

Part of him wanted to—was, actually—curse his luck and his stubborness. This was a skiing trip. He wouldn't have been able to participate in the actual skiing part and he'd mostly come so that he wouldn't feel left out and could spend some time picking the brains of some experienced skiiers about their regimens. He still absolutely hadn't needed to come, and if he hadn't, then he wouldn't be in this mess right now.

But... Norbert had spent a lot of time in his life getting hung up on the could-have-beens. He liked to think he'd moved past that. He'd accepted that he couldn't change how he messed up his knee and he'd found ways to keep involved with sport even after being sidelined. Plus, if he hadn't hurt himself, then he wouldn't have bonded so much with his brothers and he wouldn't have discovered how much he loved robotics and making things. Norbert wasn't the kind of person to believe that anything was "meant to be" or "everything happened for a reason", but he did believe in the idea that adversity could represent opportunity.

And well, that was why he was sitting here and spinning this foam.

Norbert couldn't have forgotten the sight of Mr. Ramos's neck exploding if he tried. The thing was, the thing was, as grisly as it...

He took a deep breath as his gorge crept up. He swallowed a couple of times, a few more deep breaths. This was awful to think about, but it was important. Really damn important.

The explosion wasn't a big one. It hadn't—god, fuck—it hadn't taken Mr. Ramos's head clean off. It had probably broken his neck but regardless, only one direction, only a certain strength. That mattered. That mattered a lot.

Norbert looked at the sealant. Used by itself, then probably not enough, but in combination? It might just...

He sighed heavily. Shakily. He was going to need to do some science, and not the clean kind.

Best get to it.

He spun the cannister one last time for the road, caught it in his hand, and then limped out of the house.

((continued in: the hunt is on))