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cypher_can_flyOwen was falling asleep.
He had been his brilliant self all day, naturally. Chatted to the old lady keeping watch over the children, had a good laugh with the lads but a few years older than him who liked to pick through the scraps in the kitchen, the whole lot. But he'd been on this strider for close to a day now, and he hadn't slept. Had hoped they would make it to the next city by nightfall, in fact.
Ah, Scars. Always so bloody inconvenient, including to his poor senses.
The Freelancer escorting them hadn't managed to take care of the Scars until hours into their journey. In fact, Owen could still sense them, following a mile behind. That was frustrating, as well. How long could one man be stuck in a walking metal can without going mad? Inquiring minds wanted to know.
Right. Happy thoughts. He dropped his head against the bulkhead. He'd been in Ponteix for too long, clearly. It had gotten... boring.
Lonely.
(He missed her. He shouldn't think about that.)
Going back to the Satomi had not been an option. He was done with that life for the near future, and he would get back to it when he got back to it.
... did the strider have to sway so much as it walked? Owen hadn't managed to save enough money for an actual bed, and the swaying had the dueling consequences of making him very sleepy, but also knocking his head against the bloody bulkhead half the time.
"Happy thoughts," Owen muttered to himself. "New places, new adventures..."
Right.
He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the way the metal kept brushing against his face. Happy thoughts. New places. New adventures. Sleep... until he got where he was going.
(Admittedly, looking at the itinerary before making a desperate, last-second decision to hop on a strider might have helped.)
[[ establishy. nfb. ]]
He had been his brilliant self all day, naturally. Chatted to the old lady keeping watch over the children, had a good laugh with the lads but a few years older than him who liked to pick through the scraps in the kitchen, the whole lot. But he'd been on this strider for close to a day now, and he hadn't slept. Had hoped they would make it to the next city by nightfall, in fact.
Ah, Scars. Always so bloody inconvenient, including to his poor senses.
The Freelancer escorting them hadn't managed to take care of the Scars until hours into their journey. In fact, Owen could still sense them, following a mile behind. That was frustrating, as well. How long could one man be stuck in a walking metal can without going mad? Inquiring minds wanted to know.
Right. Happy thoughts. He dropped his head against the bulkhead. He'd been in Ponteix for too long, clearly. It had gotten... boring.
Lonely.
(He missed her. He shouldn't think about that.)
Going back to the Satomi had not been an option. He was done with that life for the near future, and he would get back to it when he got back to it.
... did the strider have to sway so much as it walked? Owen hadn't managed to save enough money for an actual bed, and the swaying had the dueling consequences of making him very sleepy, but also knocking his head against the bloody bulkhead half the time.
"Happy thoughts," Owen muttered to himself. "New places, new adventures..."
Right.
He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the way the metal kept brushing against his face. Happy thoughts. New places. New adventures. Sleep... until he got where he was going.
(Admittedly, looking at the itinerary before making a desperate, last-second decision to hop on a strider might have helped.)
[[ establishy. nfb. ]]
