Work Text:
Ever the vigilant commando medic, his awareness is uncanny.
Aware of details far and near.
He claims the watcher’s sigil guides him, that eye painted on his bucket.
His brothers say otherwise, the occult born of travel and spice.
Always on his person, a satchel of spice.
GAR certified medic on paper, holder of spice in practice.
Spice for the troopers in pain.
Spice for the anxious fellows.
Spice for aching heads.
Spice for the foes in interrogation.
Medic and de facto pilot of Garnet squad.
His ability to navigate space blindly, spice.
His brothers say never again.
Detours to folk of no principle, is how spice is acquired.
Always theft, never bought.
Spice used with care, has done no harm yet.
One day, his brothers might say enough.
For now, the spice must flow.