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Post by Blubber-Bun on Aug 6, 2018 15:17:17 GMT -6
Enemy Lines Jemin & Bates
--- Before events of Chapter VI
Somewhere Sandy High Noon
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Post by Blubber-Bun on Aug 6, 2018 15:29:33 GMT -6
Jemin
It's not right but it's now or never
And if I wait could I ever forgive myself?
He was accustomed to aimless travel and an open road.
He was accustomed to limitless freedom; to come, go and do as he pleased.
He was accustomed to listlessness.
He was not accustomed to strict instruction, set coordinates and paths of which he must be wary.
The reality of the situation was bleak; the desert had never been safe, per say, but now it was dangerous to tread within his own home. He could sense it in the tightness of his throat, the anticipation in the dry air and the silence of the cicadas. From his perch atop a plateau, toting his few possessions (a fraying saddlebag, a flask and a violin) at his side, he observed the distant smattering of ant-sized troops - a blackened, ugly, encroaching mass, devouring the horizon like a virus.
Perhaps his dread would be more evident if he knew how to give more of a shit - or at least if he could recognize his sentimentals as something of significance.
Perhaps dread was just perpetual to him.
"... looks like our summer is canceled," Jemin drawled at long last. Nonchalant, almost lazily. He dropped his gaze, down to where his scorpion scrabbled impatiently at his hooves. "Alright, alright - don't give me that look. I know you're hungry but we've got more ground to cover."
More ground, indeed. His orders were to head to the Oasis. He suspected it had less to do with his value (or lack thereof) as a citizen and moreover to do with his jailbreak stunt. The council would want to keep him - him and anyone else involved - close, where they could see them. Manage them.
Typically he'd resist their control with vigor and some choice words, but for once he thought it best to comply with the council's decisions. Any more strikes on his record and they'd have him on a leash.
Begrudgingly decided, Jemin slung his violin across his narrow back and made for the plateau's decline... but was stopped cold by the rumble of a nearby voice. Too close. Like a snake that had been caught, he hissed through clenched teeth and ducked behind a sandstone boulder. No other Seroran would be dumb enough to take this detour - only soldiers with their iron and steel would roam so openly.
Just his luck.
Jemin - Serora - The Folk
P 1 | WC 381 |
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