It’s well past lights-out, but you’re still awake, restless—even if things aren’t going poorly, you’ve always had a hard time settling down, and even the scant reading material you’ve been able to bring back to the encampment isn’t really helping you rest. So you get out of bed, quiet as you can be—which is pretty quiet, for someone who’s otherwise the opposite of stealthy—and shut the door behind you.
The night air is refreshingly cool, after the sticky summer heat of the daytime, and it feels… a little better, anyway. Sky’s clear, and you can see the heavens clearly; and—the gentle smell of pipe smoke wafting from above, letting you know that you weren’t the only one who’s up a little later than regulation.
You look up and you recognize him—the lean, black-haired lieutenant in charge of Scale Ten, who at least has never been one of the ones trying to push you around. He’s clearly noticed you, too, peering down at you curiously.
“Thought you were a stickler for regulations,” he says, although it’s a little muffled by the fact that he’s shoved his pipe over to the side of his mouth in lieu of putting it down, since he seems to be in the middle of some kind of whittling project, scraping wood shavings off a fallen branch with his knife into some sort of sculpture.
“Figure it’s better to burn off some energy by having a walkabout than tossing and turning all night and feeling terrible tomorrow,” you say, shrugging. Then you pause. “You didn’t seem like the sort to be looking for late-night alone time.”
“Ahaha—“ He snorts. “Well, there’s a lot most people don’t know about me, I guess! Command doesn’t leave much time for personal fun, does it. Or personal anything.”
“…I guess?”
“Yeah, you seem like you wouldn’t really know,” he says, good-humored, and makes a couple very dextrous twists of his knife before looking over his work, seeming satisfied. Then he puts one end to his mouth and blows, emitting a warmly whistle—a bird call. “Hey, got it!”
You don’t really know what to say, but—“That’s pretty impressive… Really, just pretty.”
He grins. “Thanks, thanks! I’m making a collection.” And pauses. “Dunno if you smoke, but you could come up here if you wanna see how it’s done.”
…huh. You’re not sure anyone’s ever really invited you to anything like that before. So, after a second, you start figuring out how to use the supports to pull yourself up onto the roof of Barracks 10, and take a perch next to him to watch him work until sleep does start catching up with you.
Notable:
Dark-haired, tan Shrike, early twenties.
The lieutenant for Scale Ten looks... remarkably like Red Crow, but without the black in his hair and distinctly not sallow-complexioned. His voice sounds the same, for anyone who saw Persephone's memory of him or who was in Shrike's heart and talked to him.
memory 022
The night air is refreshingly cool, after the sticky summer heat of the daytime, and it feels… a little better, anyway. Sky’s clear, and you can see the heavens clearly; and—the gentle smell of pipe smoke wafting from above, letting you know that you weren’t the only one who’s up a little later than regulation.
You look up and you recognize him—the lean, black-haired lieutenant in charge of Scale Ten, who at least has never been one of the ones trying to push you around. He’s clearly noticed you, too, peering down at you curiously.
“Thought you were a stickler for regulations,” he says, although it’s a little muffled by the fact that he’s shoved his pipe over to the side of his mouth in lieu of putting it down, since he seems to be in the middle of some kind of whittling project, scraping wood shavings off a fallen branch with his knife into some sort of sculpture.
“Figure it’s better to burn off some energy by having a walkabout than tossing and turning all night and feeling terrible tomorrow,” you say, shrugging. Then you pause. “You didn’t seem like the sort to be looking for late-night alone time.”
“Ahaha—“ He snorts. “Well, there’s a lot most people don’t know about me, I guess! Command doesn’t leave much time for personal fun, does it. Or personal anything.”
“…I guess?”
“Yeah, you seem like you wouldn’t really know,” he says, good-humored, and makes a couple very dextrous twists of his knife before looking over his work, seeming satisfied. Then he puts one end to his mouth and blows, emitting a warmly whistle—a bird call. “Hey, got it!”
You don’t really know what to say, but—“That’s pretty impressive… Really, just pretty.”
He grins. “Thanks, thanks! I’m making a collection.” And pauses. “Dunno if you smoke, but you could come up here if you wanna see how it’s done.”
…huh. You’re not sure anyone’s ever really invited you to anything like that before. So, after a second, you start figuring out how to use the supports to pull yourself up onto the roof of Barracks 10, and take a perch next to him to watch him work until sleep does start catching up with you.
Notable: