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Oct. 27th, 2010 10:38 pm Zexion never liked roughing it.
Still, over the past long while, he had certainly done the best he could. He occasionally had contact with the First Generations, but save the odd gift of supplies, they stayed out of his business, and he out of theirs. They had made the terms clear, and without his abilities nor any possible way of sneaking amongst their ranks, the terms would have to be abided by... as much as they knew, anyhow.
He still broke whatever rules he could, made every exception he could.
For the most part it was lonely, too, but Flora was a decent companion, and her home was a welcome change from camping alone, particularly in the winter. As long as the First Gens didn't discover he was getting a helping hand, he was fine, and he knew Flora would never tell.
At the gate he pulled the rope that rose into the treetops, and somewhere far above, a bell rang. Zexion didn't bother looking up, not interested in craning his neck, but after a few moments, a ladder descended. It stopped a few feet from the ground.
With a touch of difficulty he managed to get up on the first rung and pull his weight up, and from there it was a straight climb, up and up until he was coming through the lower branches. There was a platform just past the leaves, and with a wary look down he stepped over to it, using the railing as a support.
"Flora," he called, heading up the stairs into the treehouse's balconies.
"I wasn't expecting you for another few weeks," she replied, from somewhere above.
"I was in the region." He let himself into the house, pulling down his hood and unzipping his jacket.
"Where'd you go this time, dear?"
Zexion's eyes narrowed, knowing she wouldn't see it. Dear. "South. Managed to get as far as the shoreline before I decided to turn back. Didn't have a boat."
"You'll have to talk to Hammond if you want a boat," Flora replied.
"In four years, perhaps."
"Ahh," Flora replied. "Four years and thensome. Just because you'll have passed the test doesn't mean they'll trust you."
"I see." He had known that, but mundane conversation moved things along. "How have you been?"
And so it went.
Still, over the past long while, he had certainly done the best he could. He occasionally had contact with the First Generations, but save the odd gift of supplies, they stayed out of his business, and he out of theirs. They had made the terms clear, and without his abilities nor any possible way of sneaking amongst their ranks, the terms would have to be abided by... as much as they knew, anyhow.
He still broke whatever rules he could, made every exception he could.
For the most part it was lonely, too, but Flora was a decent companion, and her home was a welcome change from camping alone, particularly in the winter. As long as the First Gens didn't discover he was getting a helping hand, he was fine, and he knew Flora would never tell.
At the gate he pulled the rope that rose into the treetops, and somewhere far above, a bell rang. Zexion didn't bother looking up, not interested in craning his neck, but after a few moments, a ladder descended. It stopped a few feet from the ground.
With a touch of difficulty he managed to get up on the first rung and pull his weight up, and from there it was a straight climb, up and up until he was coming through the lower branches. There was a platform just past the leaves, and with a wary look down he stepped over to it, using the railing as a support.
"Flora," he called, heading up the stairs into the treehouse's balconies.
"I wasn't expecting you for another few weeks," she replied, from somewhere above.
"I was in the region." He let himself into the house, pulling down his hood and unzipping his jacket.
"Where'd you go this time, dear?"
Zexion's eyes narrowed, knowing she wouldn't see it. Dear. "South. Managed to get as far as the shoreline before I decided to turn back. Didn't have a boat."
"You'll have to talk to Hammond if you want a boat," Flora replied.
"In four years, perhaps."
"Ahh," Flora replied. "Four years and thensome. Just because you'll have passed the test doesn't mean they'll trust you."
"I see." He had known that, but mundane conversation moved things along. "How have you been?"
And so it went.
