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FROM: khezek.jasper@cdc.org
Butterflies??? Alright if you say so...
FROM: khezek.jasper@cdc.org
So what will you give me if I beat you to camp.
Butterflies??? Alright if you say so...
FROM: khezek.jasper@cdc.org
So what will you give me if I beat you to camp.
FROM: khezek.jasper@cdc.org
Really???
Arent those really good armor?? I brought mine.
Really???
Arent those really good armor?? I brought mine.
FROM: khezek.jasper@cdc.org
Yea eye armor. Thats why Armada gave them to us??
Yea eye armor. Thats why Armada gave them to us??
FROM: khezek.jasper@cdc.org
What?? No they look like really important eye armor. I will ask him later.
What?? No they look like really important eye armor. I will ask him later.
FROM: khezek.jasper@cdc.org
Alright I will!1!
[ Wait... something about this seems stu- no, no it'll be a sound experiment. ]
FROM: khezek.jasper@cdc.org
Im going to win those armor glasses. I know how to jump through trees fast and Im going to teach Hinata too.
Alright I will!1!
[ Wait... something about this seems stu- no, no it'll be a sound experiment. ]
FROM: khezek.jasper@cdc.org
Im going to win those armor glasses. I know how to jump through trees fast and Im going to teach Hinata too.
[ And if Jasper shows up with a black eye, he's going to... well, maybe make Shepard laugh? Internally? ]
FROM: khezek.jasper@cdc.org
He will be fine he told me he is the jumping king of Jompeen Kingdom.
Whatever that means.
FROM: khezek.jasper@cdc.org
You want to learn too?? I used to live in a forest sort of like this I can show you lots of stuff.
FROM: khezek.jasper@cdc.org
He will be fine he told me he is the jumping king of Jompeen Kingdom.
Whatever that means.
FROM: khezek.jasper@cdc.org
You want to learn too?? I used to live in a forest sort of like this I can show you lots of stuff.
FROM: khezek.jasper@cdc.org
Are you sure?? Did you know that moss grows on the north side of trees???
I figured out how to make the singing trees calm down by singing back.
Are you sure?? Did you know that moss grows on the north side of trees???
I figured out how to make the singing trees calm down by singing back.
FROM: shepard.lydia@cdc.org
We have new leads. I want to make sure everyone's teaching what they're most suited to
FROM: shepard.lydia@cdc.org
You're one of the few recruits working with boot camp who knows how to use a blade. That seemed like the priority
[And she doesn't trust him to strategize his way out of a paper bag, but technicalities. Is it fair of her? No. But like hell you'll get her to recognize it.]
We have new leads. I want to make sure everyone's teaching what they're most suited to
FROM: shepard.lydia@cdc.org
You're one of the few recruits working with boot camp who knows how to use a blade. That seemed like the priority
[And she doesn't trust him to strategize his way out of a paper bag, but technicalities. Is it fair of her? No. But like hell you'll get her to recognize it.]
FROM: khezek.jasper@cdc.org
Yes.
Some like it more than others.
Yes.
Some like it more than others.
FROM: khezek.jasper@cdc.org
What?
FROM: khezek.jasper@cdc.org
I dont know what that is.
What?
FROM: khezek.jasper@cdc.org
I dont know what that is.
FROM: sturmhond@cdc.org
Teaching blades isn't the problem, I was always on that class. But you've taken me off field strategy, which is my specialty, Shepard. If there is anything I'm well suited to, it's that.
[ This isn't arrogance, it's just the truth. He's been a strategic field leader for most of his adult life, and his scores at official assessments here have reflected that. ]
Teaching blades isn't the problem, I was always on that class. But you've taken me off field strategy, which is my specialty, Shepard. If there is anything I'm well suited to, it's that.
[ This isn't arrogance, it's just the truth. He's been a strategic field leader for most of his adult life, and his scores at official assessments here have reflected that. ]
[ It is not as if it is as intentional as it was the first time, she ... fell asleep for the lack of his understanding of what it meant. Hadn't understood even if he'd been under the same.
But his feet like his hands like his mind had a certain inevitability where they led him to do in some manner what he found himself best made at. To stand in vigil, watch and watch and watch and wait. Finds himself standing there in some sort of mute surprise where she rests in sleep-that-was-not-sleep. Angry and cruel and furious with her but he can't place it where and why.
Wake up, and thinks it cruelly, wake up and it's because she's some twisted proof to the negative of some immutable fact of his existence he thought unchangeable, wake up and it's listless. Doesn't matter if she does or doesn't, she loathes him and he is nothing but empty viciousness to her because that's easier and it might be better for them both than this sick little habit.
Doesn't stop him even once.
The idleness gives way eventually. So long standing there and looking and it is as if she's only sleeping. Did Jessamine -- ?
Turns his hands quickly to something else, and he carves instead with the carefulness that comes with ribs, brittle and hard. Hers were the same, maybe, not the strength of the legs or the horns of that great creature Jasper had brought him, but precious, if only because they guard a heart and lung and the rich vibrant things. Hand snapped it to pieces so he could work on it in resting hours, and as he waits by her side, he cuts it up again to littler sections again.
No magic in it, it'd be an insult, in some ways. It's just his work and made simple. The old letters etched without meaning, in little twists and nicks till it's small in his palm and probably the same in hers. Little flecks for stars he'd felt in her lungs. Made in variation as the ones he knows, carves in the patterns of the Tusked Leviathan, the Woman Weeping, the Great Helm over and around in patterns he knows without thinking, without breathing, in endlessness he sees burned behind his eyelids.
It's finished, finally at last, and it's made in space that comes too easily as timeless. ( Time is a moveable thing in his hands, like a dance, quick-slow-quick-quick-slow ). The same way he reached for the bonecharms, the runes, unthinking and unquestioning and maybe that was why she could not look at him.
But it's wrapped up and set with the other things beside her. She'd know or she wouldn't, take it or discard, didn't matter, only that he looked at her too long as he did it. One tiny smoothed to a dull sheen from the work of his hands and set beside her, a cobbled piece of bone. ]
But his feet like his hands like his mind had a certain inevitability where they led him to do in some manner what he found himself best made at. To stand in vigil, watch and watch and watch and wait. Finds himself standing there in some sort of mute surprise where she rests in sleep-that-was-not-sleep. Angry and cruel and furious with her but he can't place it where and why.
Wake up, and thinks it cruelly, wake up and it's because she's some twisted proof to the negative of some immutable fact of his existence he thought unchangeable, wake up and it's listless. Doesn't matter if she does or doesn't, she loathes him and he is nothing but empty viciousness to her because that's easier and it might be better for them both than this sick little habit.
Doesn't stop him even once.
The idleness gives way eventually. So long standing there and looking and it is as if she's only sleeping. Did Jessamine -- ?
Turns his hands quickly to something else, and he carves instead with the carefulness that comes with ribs, brittle and hard. Hers were the same, maybe, not the strength of the legs or the horns of that great creature Jasper had brought him, but precious, if only because they guard a heart and lung and the rich vibrant things. Hand snapped it to pieces so he could work on it in resting hours, and as he waits by her side, he cuts it up again to littler sections again.
No magic in it, it'd be an insult, in some ways. It's just his work and made simple. The old letters etched without meaning, in little twists and nicks till it's small in his palm and probably the same in hers. Little flecks for stars he'd felt in her lungs. Made in variation as the ones he knows, carves in the patterns of the Tusked Leviathan, the Woman Weeping, the Great Helm over and around in patterns he knows without thinking, without breathing, in endlessness he sees burned behind his eyelids.
It's finished, finally at last, and it's made in space that comes too easily as timeless. ( Time is a moveable thing in his hands, like a dance, quick-slow-quick-quick-slow ). The same way he reached for the bonecharms, the runes, unthinking and unquestioning and maybe that was why she could not look at him.
But it's wrapped up and set with the other things beside her. She'd know or she wouldn't, take it or discard, didn't matter, only that he looked at her too long as he did it. One tiny smoothed to a dull sheen from the work of his hands and set beside her, a cobbled piece of bone. ]
FROM: khezek.jasper@cdc.org
No.
Music doesnt need language.
No.
Music doesnt need language.
[She could spare his feelings, be diplomatic about this - but when has Shepard ever been anything but to the point? If he's asking for her opinion, she'll give it to him - for better or worse, whether it's warranted or not.]
FROM: shepard.lydia@cdc.org
If it's your specialty, I haven't seen it. I've seen Rogers and Sun work
FROM: shepard.lydia@cdc.org
If it's your specialty, I haven't seen it. I've seen Rogers and Sun work
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