[ this is my short prompt Stop and smell the roses, hm? The saying had survived, even into his future. For two years, he hasn't stopped. Before -- one of the few things he actually looked forward to, when taking time from work and visiting home (generally a tedious affair): flowers.
No, Gjallarhorn spaceships did not keep flowers, fresh or otherwise.
This much lingers, past death: on seeing the bloom lit in moonlight and dazzling, simply dazzling, he does have to stop. What else but to smell?
Too bad: a swarm, an actual cloud of mosquitos rush him.
Pity the purple giant, covered in mosquitos, staggering back with helpless windmilling swatting. ]
[ Prodding the signet does little to abate the burning, yet no one rushes to inquire or make a fuss. Without a public broadcast, he assumes for the moment that this happens. He hasn't been around long enough to know otherwise.
Hence, he continues, and might be found:
- butt crack of dawn, stretching and moving through various exercises in a nearby field of (less mosquito thick) flowers; - mid-morning, eating some of those meat-flavored "grapes" by the cooling bonfire. It's not obvious, but he's using his illusion ability to make them taste like proper grapes. - gathering strawberries or practicing fishing with the makeshift rod Noctis helped him with (where did he get the shoelace? from the doublet in his knapsack). - chilling on some lower mountain outcropping as the sunsets and stars spot, practicing more external illusions.
[ Waving off the Second Lieutenant, Gaelio Bauduin grips the tea tray in one hand and pivots toward the other individual in this dream, perhaps [you]. A face at once familiar and not at all -- the featuressimilar, on a tall build, and violet hair, but different. Different. From the carefully styled curl to the easy stretch of his smile, uninterrupted by a smothering scar, this is a younger man, radiant and carefree.
And, yes, holding a tray with two tea cups, a tea pot, and a tray of chocolate wafers.
In a centered, glass walled work room.
On a spaceship. It's just known, felt, from the sterile interior, sleek metals, to the press of black space and far stars against father walls. You're in space. Roll with it. ]
Geeze, your subordinates looked like they were about to die. If they're made to work at your pace, their bodies can't keep up. Having a too excellent a senior officer means a lot of trouble.
[ Sidling closer, he sets the tray with Much Ceremony right onto tablet briefly set onto the table. Then, pouring the tea into one cup, he straights before promptly leaning against the occupied chair, propping his elbow beside the headrest. This basically shoves the teacup right beside [your] ear. ]
But, even too excellent officers need to take a break. Come on, or I'll eat all the chocolate. That's bad for me, you know? I'm looking after you, but you should take care of me, too.
[ He might just be using his other hand to waft the tea's smoke toward [your] face. And, sure, he might get a bit confused when you don't turn out to be the right guy, but the mood's light. He'll roll with it. And, in the meantime? Tea, chocolate, and space! ]
no subject
[
this is my short promptStop and smell the roses, hm? The saying had survived, even into his future. For two years, he hasn't stopped. Before -- one of the few things he actually looked forward to, when taking time from work and visiting home (generally a tedious affair): flowers.No, Gjallarhorn spaceships did not keep flowers, fresh or otherwise.
This much lingers, past death: on seeing the bloom lit in moonlight and dazzling, simply dazzling, he does have to stop. What else but to smell?
Too bad: a swarm, an actual cloud of mosquitos rush him.
Pity the purple giant, covered in mosquitos, staggering back with helpless windmilling swatting. ]
B | in your heaaaad
[ Prodding the signet does little to abate the burning, yet no one rushes to inquire or make a fuss. Without a public broadcast, he assumes for the moment that this happens. He hasn't been around long enough to know otherwise.
Hence, he continues, and might be found:
- butt crack of dawn, stretching and moving through various exercises in a nearby field of (less mosquito thick) flowers;
- mid-morning, eating some of those meat-flavored "grapes" by the cooling bonfire. It's not obvious, but he's using his illusion ability to make them taste like proper grapes.
- gathering strawberries or practicing fishing with the makeshift rod Noctis helped him with (where did he get the shoelace? from the doublet in his knapsack).
- chilling on some lower mountain outcropping as the sunsets and stars spot, practicing more external illusions.
WARNING: State of his mind!!! ALL FAIR GAME. You might want to indicate, here or in a comment there or ping or
C | frivolity in spaaaaaaaaaaace!
Oh, good. Thanks, thanks, I've got it!
[ Waving off the Second Lieutenant, Gaelio Bauduin grips the tea tray in one hand and pivots toward the other individual in this dream, perhaps [you]. A face at once familiar and not at all -- the features similar, on a tall build, and violet hair, but different. Different. From the carefully styled curl to the easy stretch of his smile, uninterrupted by a smothering scar, this is a younger man, radiant and carefree.
And, yes, holding a tray with two tea cups, a tea pot, and a tray of chocolate wafers.
In a centered, glass walled work room.
On a spaceship. It's just known, felt, from the sterile interior, sleek metals, to the press of black space and far stars against father walls. You're in space. Roll with it. ]
Geeze, your subordinates looked like they were about to die. If they're made to work at your pace, their bodies can't keep up. Having a too excellent a senior officer means a lot of trouble.
[ Sidling closer, he sets the tray with Much Ceremony right onto tablet briefly set onto the table. Then, pouring the tea into one cup, he straights before promptly leaning against the occupied chair, propping his elbow beside the headrest. This basically shoves the teacup right beside [your] ear. ]
But, even too excellent officers need to take a break. Come on, or I'll eat all the chocolate. That's bad for me, you know? I'm looking after you, but you should take care of me, too.
[ He might just be using his other hand to waft the tea's smoke toward [your] face. And, sure, he might get a bit confused when you don't turn out to be the right guy, but the mood's light. He'll roll with it. And, in the meantime? Tea, chocolate, and space! ]