Mitama (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
poetryslams) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
recountal2016-04-09 10:31 pm
poetryslams) wrote in recountal2016-04-09 10:31 pm
their own personal hell;
[Mitama isn't quite certain which gods she's offended, but she's sure she must have offended at least one of them, or else this wouldn't be happening to her. There is no other reason why she of all people would have been assigned the morning patrol around camp.
For that matter - camp. Why is this patrol even necessary? Safety from their enemies is why they reside in their castle on in the astral realms, is it not? Certainly, they do have to deal with the odd invader from time to time, but patrols hardly help with that. Those strange otherworldly beings arrive with such a commotion that the entire army can't help but hear it.
It's one thing to be pulled from her sweet, sweet slumber for healing duty. That, she can understand. Proficiency with rods and staves is something that only a handful of individuals in the army possess; there aren't many alternatives. But patrolling? If it's really necessary to do, there are so many other options. All that's required is a pair of working legs, a keen set of eyes, and the lung capacity to yell one's heart out if they happen to notice that something is wrong.
But no, here she is, all but dragged out of her comfortable tent and waiting at the entrance to camp for her patrolling partner. Her father had seemed to be laughing the entire way here, when he brought her -
- and then, of course, the blasted man had turned right back around and gone to sleep in his own tent.
Now it's not even dawn yet. Mitama can see the earliest, faintest rays of sunlight beginning to peek up from the horizon, and while such beauty would normally inspire a poem or two in her, at the moment she finds she's simply too tired. In fact, she must be tired, because she could swear she sees the one other member of the army who gives her a run for her money when it came to napping approaching.]
...what?
[There must be some mistake. Surely Lord Ryoma couldn't have been so shortsighted as to approve herself and Dwyer, of all people, for the earliest patrol. Honestly, what in the gods' names was thinking?
This, rather than the budding sunrise, draws a poem out of her.]
Are my eyes deceived? / 'Tis Dwyer, awake so soon. / This must be a joke.
For that matter - camp. Why is this patrol even necessary? Safety from their enemies is why they reside in their castle on in the astral realms, is it not? Certainly, they do have to deal with the odd invader from time to time, but patrols hardly help with that. Those strange otherworldly beings arrive with such a commotion that the entire army can't help but hear it.
It's one thing to be pulled from her sweet, sweet slumber for healing duty. That, she can understand. Proficiency with rods and staves is something that only a handful of individuals in the army possess; there aren't many alternatives. But patrolling? If it's really necessary to do, there are so many other options. All that's required is a pair of working legs, a keen set of eyes, and the lung capacity to yell one's heart out if they happen to notice that something is wrong.
But no, here she is, all but dragged out of her comfortable tent and waiting at the entrance to camp for her patrolling partner. Her father had seemed to be laughing the entire way here, when he brought her -
- and then, of course, the blasted man had turned right back around and gone to sleep in his own tent.
Now it's not even dawn yet. Mitama can see the earliest, faintest rays of sunlight beginning to peek up from the horizon, and while such beauty would normally inspire a poem or two in her, at the moment she finds she's simply too tired. In fact, she must be tired, because she could swear she sees the one other member of the army who gives her a run for her money when it came to napping approaching.]
...what?
[There must be some mistake. Surely Lord Ryoma couldn't have been so shortsighted as to approve herself and Dwyer, of all people, for the earliest patrol. Honestly, what in the gods' names was thinking?
This, rather than the budding sunrise, draws a poem out of her.]
Are my eyes deceived? / 'Tis Dwyer, awake so soon. / This must be a joke.