![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
( straw house, straw dog )
Jul. 20th, 2016 06:47 pm[ twenty-four hours after his first successful flight - a loop across space, a simple technical run to retrieve and replace a malfunctioning satellite off Rhea's orbit - and shiro's still feeling punch drunk. he'd missed the end of his penultimate year whilst surrounded by stars, and now - with summer courses beginning, with the pressure of his final year not yet settling in - he feels untethered.
before now, the garrison had been a means to an end. he loved flying, he loved burying himself in technical manuals, he loved the thrill and the speed and the aftertaste of danger. but until now he hadn't know what it meant to hurtle headlong into space.
--twenty-four hours after his first successful flight, he sneaks out from his room and into the encircling night, thinking about weightlessness, about the strangeness of his feet locked to solid ground. his hoverbike is in the garage; he could engineer an escape, but he'd more than likely be caught. the equipment on garrison grounds is guarded heavily. the training rooms are off: he'd spent hours before lights-out running training simulation after training simulation, and he's still feeling the strain. something that no one ever tells you: you lose muscle mass in space if you're not doing your damnedest to keep it up.
so, without a destination in mind, shiro wanders the grounds, hands shoved deep into his pockets. even summer nights in the desert are chilly, but shiro feels too warm under his jacket's cover. like his heart's working double-time, pumping hot blood to his extremities. warming him without the need for external help.
he feels good, despite the restlessness. accomplished. he's a few weeks from nineteen and already he's flown one mission, with more in the pipeline. one of the youngest pilots ever, one of the few planned to fly solo missions before graduation. it's not the honor and glory that shiro seeks, but the realization of his own skills. he's worked hard for this. and he itches to prove himself, again and again, until he can fly a craft into the deepest reaches of space, discovering stars and planets and distant life that only science fiction has brushed upon until now.
so it goes. his dreams all lined up like targets in the shooting gallery, waiting for him to knock them all out into bulls-eye satisfaction. his wanderlust is a straw house, easily blown down with a gust of wind: he need only reacclimate to garrison life, to the cheer and comfort of his friends.
had he not been scuffing footprints along the far reaches of the compound, he would have missed the darting shadow at the periphery of his vision. his first thought is to raise the alarm, but he waits, waits until the shadow resolves into a form he recognizes. a cadet trying to sneak out, not a civilian trying to sneak in.
the kid's running, chin tucked down against his chest. he must know the guard schedules as well as shiro does. shiro watches him for a long moment, noting the jerky marionette gracelessness of that stride. fast, startlingly fast, but inefficient. if he held his arms closer to his body, leaned into the next step, he'd be even faster.
kogane, shiro thinks. keith kogane. he's already beaten some of shiro's sim records. he's also close to breaking garrison suspension records. he's a scrap of red fabric in the night-time gloom, quick hands and quick feet, smaller than his age would suggest.
shiro's snuck out with his friends before: for a birthday here and there, for a chance to breathe after passing a difficult exam. but never like this, like a thief in the night, alone and alone. he follows in the wake of the swirl of dust that kogane leaves behind, gait measured. it'll take time for kogane to disable the security along the walls enough to slip out; shiro will catch up with him long before then.
he's right: five minutes later, he's leaning back against the wall, kogane's shadow flickering across the ground as he works. shiro would be immediately visible if kogane were to look down from the wall, but he seems engrossed in his work.
shiro crosses his arms over his chest. he's already wearing a casual smile. ]
Couldn't sleep, Cadet?
[ his voice is soft enough to avoid startling kogane, but more than loud enough to carry. ]
before now, the garrison had been a means to an end. he loved flying, he loved burying himself in technical manuals, he loved the thrill and the speed and the aftertaste of danger. but until now he hadn't know what it meant to hurtle headlong into space.
--twenty-four hours after his first successful flight, he sneaks out from his room and into the encircling night, thinking about weightlessness, about the strangeness of his feet locked to solid ground. his hoverbike is in the garage; he could engineer an escape, but he'd more than likely be caught. the equipment on garrison grounds is guarded heavily. the training rooms are off: he'd spent hours before lights-out running training simulation after training simulation, and he's still feeling the strain. something that no one ever tells you: you lose muscle mass in space if you're not doing your damnedest to keep it up.
so, without a destination in mind, shiro wanders the grounds, hands shoved deep into his pockets. even summer nights in the desert are chilly, but shiro feels too warm under his jacket's cover. like his heart's working double-time, pumping hot blood to his extremities. warming him without the need for external help.
he feels good, despite the restlessness. accomplished. he's a few weeks from nineteen and already he's flown one mission, with more in the pipeline. one of the youngest pilots ever, one of the few planned to fly solo missions before graduation. it's not the honor and glory that shiro seeks, but the realization of his own skills. he's worked hard for this. and he itches to prove himself, again and again, until he can fly a craft into the deepest reaches of space, discovering stars and planets and distant life that only science fiction has brushed upon until now.
so it goes. his dreams all lined up like targets in the shooting gallery, waiting for him to knock them all out into bulls-eye satisfaction. his wanderlust is a straw house, easily blown down with a gust of wind: he need only reacclimate to garrison life, to the cheer and comfort of his friends.
had he not been scuffing footprints along the far reaches of the compound, he would have missed the darting shadow at the periphery of his vision. his first thought is to raise the alarm, but he waits, waits until the shadow resolves into a form he recognizes. a cadet trying to sneak out, not a civilian trying to sneak in.
the kid's running, chin tucked down against his chest. he must know the guard schedules as well as shiro does. shiro watches him for a long moment, noting the jerky marionette gracelessness of that stride. fast, startlingly fast, but inefficient. if he held his arms closer to his body, leaned into the next step, he'd be even faster.
kogane, shiro thinks. keith kogane. he's already beaten some of shiro's sim records. he's also close to breaking garrison suspension records. he's a scrap of red fabric in the night-time gloom, quick hands and quick feet, smaller than his age would suggest.
shiro's snuck out with his friends before: for a birthday here and there, for a chance to breathe after passing a difficult exam. but never like this, like a thief in the night, alone and alone. he follows in the wake of the swirl of dust that kogane leaves behind, gait measured. it'll take time for kogane to disable the security along the walls enough to slip out; shiro will catch up with him long before then.
he's right: five minutes later, he's leaning back against the wall, kogane's shadow flickering across the ground as he works. shiro would be immediately visible if kogane were to look down from the wall, but he seems engrossed in his work.
shiro crosses his arms over his chest. he's already wearing a casual smile. ]
Couldn't sleep, Cadet?
[ his voice is soft enough to avoid startling kogane, but more than loud enough to carry. ]
