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. ]

Comments

[drinkandforget]

[A sailor senshi: a soldier. But without the question, Lethe doesn't give the answer, instead glancing back down towards the boat.]

It's made for a stronger current than this, and harder handling. It will be easy to repair.

[She's... almost surprised by that concern, which perhaps explains not taking him to task or complaining.]

[anonfantry]

[ There are few things important enough to draw him out of his usual determined frenzy, and it isn't just losing the sense of urgency behind it, bit by bit, to the almost casual forgetfulness that has begun to pick through the back of his mind that motivates him, now.

Much as he tries to hide it, there's no really ever escaping that deeply ingrained streak of purely helpful.

Glancing back up the coast, over his shoulder, Cloud suffers a second of indecision before turning back to her. ]

Do you want some help?

[drinkandforget]

[Lethe has met very little goodness in her life. It can't fail to make an impression, and she stops where she is. There is little she could do to repay him. He doesn't seem to be asking for repayment.

The question comes out just slightly uncertain.]

You're offering even when you have your own business to worry about?

[anonfantry]

[ It's true, he hasn't stopped worrying about his work, entirely. There's a deadline coming up, and he can't afford to fail on the grounds of something so basic as simply not being prepared (or not showing up). But- ]

It sounded serious.

[ He shrugs, letting his book fall to hang from one hand at his side.

A good SOLDIER won't stand by idly while someone waits for help (nor even a good soldier, though he takes less pride in this thought). ]

[drinkandforget]

[A soldier won't, huh? She's seen soldiers fight their holy wars, and soldiers tear each other apart, friend against friend and comrade against comrade.]

Soldiers are the people born with power and skill. [There's no nobility involved - though some may be noble perhaps, and not all are not.]