Even soldiers must eat
Jul. 5th, 2007 11:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runmakitarunThe morning dawns cold. This isn't much of a surprise. It is Bahamut, after all. The storm still howls, and the thick snow blocks any view of the sun, any view of anything farther than five meters away. Makita and Proto both ghost through the oddly shadowed whiteness. They move with the lethal silence that so quickly taught the Reds that leaving troops on the ground during a storm was a good way to get them all killed before they even knew they were under attack.
The discussion had been short: "I guess we should go find papa." To which Proto had simply nodded, "He's at the northern front. He'll need help erecting new fortifications."
So they trudge through the biting wind and freezing snow. Even during the storm they move with care: the Reds always leave a few special ops teams on the ground, hoping to catch a unit or two of the resistance slacking on security or trying to move into position for an ambush when the weather cleared. Makita and Proto have been working together long enough that they don't even need to speak to coordinate their movements.
She's faster and has quicker reflexes, she watches around the ground level for unexpected surprises. He's more experienced and has better eyes, he checks their backtrail and the upper floors of buildings for anyone following them or trying to take up a sniper position. If every so often Makita lets herself focus for a second on his face while he's watching, or if every so often Proto drifts close enough to let his fingers brush hers, it's not a serious distraction.
You can move quickly, quietly, or safely in a storm like this: pick two. Since silence and safety are their priorities, Makita and Proto move slowly. When noon arrives (heralded only by internal clocks and a sense of hunger) they are still about an hour and a half from their destination. Proto catches Makita's eye and jerks his head toward a nearby building. A little break for lunch is worth taking.
The lure of tasteless ration bars isn't really the reason for this stop, and Makita knows it. She smiles as they both duck into the foyer of an old apartment building. The old-style architecture means there aren't a lot of windows in the foyer, and that means that there aren't a lot of holes where broken glass no longer keeps out the whether. Inside the wind drops considerably and Makita shrugs off her pack.
Proto watches her, "I'm not really hungry, you know."
She grins, "Yeah, well you're going to have to eat anyway." Makita reaches into the bag and pulls out a bar wrapped in wax paper.
"That's," Proto frowns, "That's not a ration bar."
"Nope," her grin widens as she peels back the paper to reveal a dark block. She breaks off a corner and pops it in her mouth clearly savoring the flavor.
His eyes widen, "Is that...?"
Makita looks up and then leans forward to kiss him, "You tell me." When she leans back Proto's smile matches hers.
"Chocolate..." There's wonder in his voice.
"Now," she holds out a ration bar in one hand, "Eat lunch like a good boy and then I'll let you have some dessert." Makita illustrates by waving the chocolate in the other before carefully rewrapping it and sliding it into her pocket.
Proto's eyes twinkle and he reaches out and runs a finger across Makita's lower lip to snag a smear of chocolate, "Do I get to choose how I get it?"
With a grin she flicks his nose, "You're a bad boy, Proto." He just shrugs and unwraps his ration bar with a smile.
The discussion had been short: "I guess we should go find papa." To which Proto had simply nodded, "He's at the northern front. He'll need help erecting new fortifications."
So they trudge through the biting wind and freezing snow. Even during the storm they move with care: the Reds always leave a few special ops teams on the ground, hoping to catch a unit or two of the resistance slacking on security or trying to move into position for an ambush when the weather cleared. Makita and Proto have been working together long enough that they don't even need to speak to coordinate their movements.
She's faster and has quicker reflexes, she watches around the ground level for unexpected surprises. He's more experienced and has better eyes, he checks their backtrail and the upper floors of buildings for anyone following them or trying to take up a sniper position. If every so often Makita lets herself focus for a second on his face while he's watching, or if every so often Proto drifts close enough to let his fingers brush hers, it's not a serious distraction.
You can move quickly, quietly, or safely in a storm like this: pick two. Since silence and safety are their priorities, Makita and Proto move slowly. When noon arrives (heralded only by internal clocks and a sense of hunger) they are still about an hour and a half from their destination. Proto catches Makita's eye and jerks his head toward a nearby building. A little break for lunch is worth taking.
The lure of tasteless ration bars isn't really the reason for this stop, and Makita knows it. She smiles as they both duck into the foyer of an old apartment building. The old-style architecture means there aren't a lot of windows in the foyer, and that means that there aren't a lot of holes where broken glass no longer keeps out the whether. Inside the wind drops considerably and Makita shrugs off her pack.
Proto watches her, "I'm not really hungry, you know."
She grins, "Yeah, well you're going to have to eat anyway." Makita reaches into the bag and pulls out a bar wrapped in wax paper.
"That's," Proto frowns, "That's not a ration bar."
"Nope," her grin widens as she peels back the paper to reveal a dark block. She breaks off a corner and pops it in her mouth clearly savoring the flavor.
His eyes widen, "Is that...?"
Makita looks up and then leans forward to kiss him, "You tell me." When she leans back Proto's smile matches hers.
"Chocolate..." There's wonder in his voice.
"Now," she holds out a ration bar in one hand, "Eat lunch like a good boy and then I'll let you have some dessert." Makita illustrates by waving the chocolate in the other before carefully rewrapping it and sliding it into her pocket.
Proto's eyes twinkle and he reaches out and runs a finger across Makita's lower lip to snag a smear of chocolate, "Do I get to choose how I get it?"
With a grin she flicks his nose, "You're a bad boy, Proto." He just shrugs and unwraps his ration bar with a smile.
