oo3 ❄ stuck on repeat

[anonfantry]

[ Well, it's not exactly a novel dream - the perfectly formed scenery fits the desert island cliché to a T, though it's quite a bit more expansive than a rock with two palm trees sticking out of the middle. Above the rolling dunes that sweep down to the surf, a lush green forest rises to cover most of the visible, the tangle of trees thick enough to seem impenetrable (and half of them completely out of place, in a tropical climate). The only thing this leafy, viney (pine tree dotted) brush doesn't ensconce is the narrow mountain range rising from the center of the island. From those towering masses of land, slate grey and tipped with thin spires and a halo of fog (or perhaps smoke), volcanic activity seems the least of all potential dangers.

But all of that's merely an exciting backdrop to the true mundanity of this phantasm. Shored up at the very top of a wave of fine, yellow sand, sits a desk - plain and spare and rusting at the hinges, in no way special at all. And at it, nearly topped over in height by the towering stacks of (random, unsorted, some completely unlabeled) textbooks, sits Cloud.

Hunched intently over something - pages of notes, upon closer inspection - he pays no mind to the intermittent call of seabirds on the breeze, nor the way that lazy warm puff of air tugs at the messy spikes of his hair. He's scribbling furiously. Then considering. Then turning over the pencil in his hand and erasing with equal ferocity. Rinse, repeat, and more than once on the same line, with increasing frustration.

It's only when one of the precariously balanced texts atop his leaning tower spills over and slides down the sandy slope of the dune on the other side of the desk that he stops with a start, dropping his pencil and his notes at once. Skating around the edge of his desk, through the shifting ground, he all but dives after the book, snatching it back up and sinking to a stop in a small avalanche of sand. With an inaudible sigh of relief, Cloud digs his socked feet in (boots tucked safely into the hollow beneath his desk) and starts to haul himself back up the to the crest of the dune, and the loose pile of notes in desperate need of endless correction. ]

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[waterfell]

[She's sharp, and it's beginning to put itself together - not what's causing it, perhaps, but that some outside force is influencing what's happening in this place. It begins to shake the dream, a little, as she begins to think of questions such as where she sees Cloud and how they met.

More importantly, the sense of unease now that she senses something out of place begins.]

Cloud, you studied these things very carefully, didn't you? So, what's happening since then? [She wants to hear it from him.]

[anonfantry]

Of course I did! [ But the strained quality of his voice doesn't bode well; he turns abruptly back to his desk, shuffling through his notes with an edge of desperation. ]

I don't know.

[ It'd be too simple, if there was just one thing he could pin this on - taking up his pencil, again, he starts back in on the corrections. ] Nothing! I- I don't know...

[waterfell]

[It's a nightmare: forgetting the very things he worked so hard to study and remember. Even as she tells herself it's nothing to do with her, she can't help feeling a sort of echo, a sense of her own reaction in his place.

She'd be horrified. Even now, it'd be one of the worst things that could done to her.

He must be horrified. And maybe that's the secret of compassion, knowing what the other person must be thinking. After a long moment, she holds up a small cell phone device. There's no magic to what she's doing with it this time, but it's her own attempt to make an effort, because she understands.]

Start again. This time, we'll take a picture before it can betray you.

[anonfantry]

[ A picture- Well, the logic's there. He hesitates another second before nodding slightly, almost distrustful. It isn't her he questions, but the veracity of even a photograph taken, in this state.

What if his eyes are next to go, and everything he sees becomes written the wrong way?

Returning to his work, he pulls a fresh sheet of paper from the folder squished between a couple of his borrowed books, clearing a few others out of the way. He can recite the material practically from memory, by now - in his own head, at least - but it's still difficult to start. Skimming a few lines of the book lying open above his writing space, he takes another second to refresh the right wording before starting in on his new set of notes. The frustrated sound he makes is not telling of good things. ]

It's no use. [ Erasing hastily, he shakes his head. ] I can't even get it right this way, anymore.

[waterfell]

[After a long moment, she closes her phone with a crisp snap, a sound of finality. There's nothing she can do, as much as that idea rankles her and as much as something in her doesn't want to let it go.]

Hey. [She calls his attention while she gathers the words to say.]

Normally, I'd say something like 'study harder'. But this time, somehow it seems more like studying so hard at home that you fall asleep at school.

You've been working all this time, haven't you? You don't need more than that. You already have this information and this data in your brain. No matter how many times this happens here, your hand will remember the way to write the right words.

Go pass your exam. I don't want to hear that you didn't.