middleofsomewhere | Event: Healing Waters

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Event: Healing Waters

"Good morning passengers, it is day twenty three of the month of Grasshopper. All passengers of the Voidtrecker Express require rest. Next stop Jema’grethy Island. All passengers prepare to disembark."

It is a very strange morning message that rings through the train on the morning of day twenty three but as the passengers of the Voidtrecker Express wake their screens glow with the colour of the void and a holographic screen pops up for them to read.

World #2554098133741: A world once inhabited by an ancient civilisation and now preserved as a historical site, nature reserve and well-being retreat. It is famous for its relaxing hot springs, calming atmosphere and beautiful beaches.

It is a popular void-traveller destination, particularly among void missionaries as a place to rest and recuperate after difficult missions.

The Voidtrecker Express will spend three days here, arriving today and leaving on day twenty six of the month of Grasshopper. The dressing carriage is open for your convenience.

It is time for a holiday it seems!

Preparation

For those who go to explore the dressing carriage they will find a variety of beachwear and wetsuits. One cupboard has a pile of tents and groundsheets in all four team colours.

One cabinet is exclusively filled with beach towels, in a kaleidoscope of colours, designs and patterns. Another is filled with different shapes and sizes of plain towel dressing gowns. There is even a cabinet with buckets, spades and small rock-pooling nets.

It seems they are in for quite an adventure.

Arrival

"Shortly arriving on World #2554098133741. Exit from void in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one."

The train lurches and rattles as it leaves the void they will get a glimpse of silver-purple sky and a beautiful ocean below.

However some passengers might be a little more than distracted, one staring at that table for a second too long, another seeming lost in thought for a couple of seconds, a longer than normal pause in a sentence. They see a vision, a glimpse of a life that is not their own. Not all at once, but here and there as the train descends to the island.

But then it is gone and things are back to normal. Just in time, as they come to land.

Jema’grethy Island

The train has landed on a grassy ridge, overlooking a beautiful beach of white sand and the ocean beyond. It is warm, but not too hot, a cool ocean breeze cutting through the heat making it pleasant. Behind them is a grassy plain, changing to forest in the distance. There is the sound of birdsong in the purple sky. To the west the land is more craggy, the silhouette of a fortress in the distance. In a word, it is idylic. A sense of peace permeates the island.

A little more worrying is the volcano-like structure in the north. But even a quick glance will show it is not a typical volcano. There is no smoke and the liquid slowly running down it in rivulets is pink and blue.

Exploring the passengers will find beautiful beaches, ragged cliffs to walk and caves to explore. Where it is more craggy the beaches are made of pebbles- perfect for rock pooling.

The place has no people, but it is clearly maintained. The eastern beaches have racks of shallow boats, both canoes and one- or two-person sailing dinghies. There is also a small building in which scuba gear is stored, along with several waterproofed manuals and instructional literature.

Ruins of ancient houses are scattered across the island, but the main settlement is built into a rocky section in the north-west that has been secured with ropes and stairways cut into the cliffs, perfect for scrambles and hikes.

There are no living quarters, but there are sheltered sections with basic toilet facilities marked as camping grounds in five different sections of the island - by the hot springs, within the ruined fortress, beside the harbour, on the eastern beaches, and on the northern face of the mountain.

Hot Springs

To the west are the hot springs. They have both outdoor and indoor areas; the indoor areas being wooden loghouse saunas, changing rooms and storage sheds, whilst the outdoor areas are a tiered series of pools spilling down the side of the mountain and shaded by brightly flowering trees. The waters are hot, mineral-rich and soothing.

Perfect for overly stressed, world weary Void heroes...

(OOC: More setting information is here, please feel free to go wild with the setting and have a fun and relaxing time. You can use this post as a catch all for your holiday or make your own posts on

middleofsomewhere. More information about how the memory event is structured is here!)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Well, back home, people walking along beaches just like this used to randomly find bottles of every shape and size washed up ashore. Opening the bottles revealed handwritten messages, usually from seafarers, mariners, lost souls out at sea..." He smiled wryly, but cut a figure of deep pensiveness all the same. The sound of the water and the wind made for a fitting backdrop.

"When the waves got rough and they couldn't handle the tides, shipwrecked sailors and missing seamen would write to their loved ones. The messages varied; from letters of fond farewells to last minute calls for help. Whatever the case, they'd roll it up, put it in a bottle, and let it drift away until they eventually find their way back to land." It's a somber origin, but he doesn't delay, encouraged by the sensory overload surrounding him - suddenly cognizant of one last whiff of the sweet syrup in the mountains, wafting in the air; the watercolor painting of Jema'grethy's twilight.

Roland shakes his head, a tender smile gracing his lips. "It wasn't all sad, though. A lot of messages people found decades later were also love letters, confessions, even poetry. Letters of hope. Letters they hoped others would find, one day in time, to remember that they existed, out there in the vast sea. And that even when they were sailing away to goodness knows where, they never forgot the ones they left behind at home."

He doesn't allow for much of a pause after regaling Tidus with a tall tale from home; Roland reaches behind him, stretches his arms until he can pull the towel he was sat on moments before a little closer to where they were. The offending tome is in his hands again, but this time, he flips near the end where pages were still blank. Roland then immediately tears it, finally looking up at Tidus. He looked strangely peaceful, despite the excitement buzzing in his chest.

"Get where I'm going here?"

Edited 2020-08-19 14:22 (UTC)

What a mood drop. At first, Tidus wants to poke fun at Roland for it, for bringing his fun down. He invites the guy to get his nose out of his work, and this is what he gives him back? But as Roland goes on, it's a sombre reminder of a memory: a sense of being, a way of life in Spira. Not sending out bottles or last messages to one day be found by loved ones--no one in Spira received that chance once Sin reared itself in the unfortunate group's direction, boat or village or town. There wasn't a chance to do anything but prey.

But it reminds Tidus of it anyway, the only comparison his mind has. The air that Spira carried throughout it. You'd be able to forget about Sin, but not for long. ...at least, he could. But even then...

The tearing catches Tidus's attention, interrupts his thoughts. A strange sound, confusing him, and he looks around before finding Roland with his book, clear puzzlement on his face. He sits up off his hands, and if not for he paper, he'd be more confused.

"You...want me to write a love letter?" ...actually, no. He gestures behind his shoulder. "Uh, Yuna's with me, and she lives in Spira..."

Roland is free to interrupt his half-working thought, a tone far too genuine to be fake.

He chortles at that, head shaking side to side again. "No, not a love letter. I mean, unless you want to." Roland is smiling widely, way too invigorated in a way that no man should be given the context of his strangely melancholic tale. He tears two pages off of his book, and his pen is back out from his pocket once more.

"Listen, you asked me what was on my mind right? When I see all of this?" He gestures out, elbow bent and palm facing the great beyond across their sight. Then, the two pages are thrust directly into his sight, a little too close for comfort. "I'm going to write a message in a bottle. Actually, two messages." He's poised to write already, the words ready to come flowing out of his pen, but in his energetic little spiel, he forgets the most important aspect to his plan.

"Drat," he frowns, voice forceful. "I have to go look for bottles. Probably back on the Voidtrecker, in the kitchen." But he pauses then, puzzle pieces slotting into place in his head. Roland searches Tidus's gaze, determination rolling off of him like a palpable wave. "Please tell me you've still got some in your Arms Band from the other day. Now would be a really great time to lend a pal a bottle, or a jar. Or two."

This, or Roland's making a dash for it. He was fast. He'd make it!

Edited 2020-08-19 15:21 (UTC)

He asks Roland what he sees out there on this sea, and the answer he receives is letters in bottles. Bewilderment turns into amusement, some mixture of the two the more Tidus listens to Roland. And--alright. It's bizarre, it's funny, that the man he had to remind to enjoy the beach would be thinking of this of all things.

A humour only slightly interrupted when Roland swings his determined gaze onto Tidus. A look that could mean anything, but it's safe when he asks him for jars.

"I can't believe you wanna waste those jars I bought on messages." Messages that, who's going to find them on a vacation getaway island? But it's not stopping Tidus, not even the thought of the points spent to buy them. He brings out his banded wrist, and from it a jar appears, then one of the drink bottles. Pieces of onigiri sit in the jar, and a liquid in the other.

The drink gets put on the sand while he opens the lid of onigiri, looking in and taking a sniff. Huh, it really did keep. "We can eat it," he says while angling the contents to Roland, nods next to the other bottle. "I don't know what that is though. ...You can try it."

Spoilers: it's sweet latte.

"Oh, wait are those for someone else though? Are you sure?" He makes a mental note that if he had to use Tidus's supplies, he was for sure going to have to pay him back somehow. Platform day was coming up, right? Maybe more chores were in his future, see if he can gain back everything he spent.

But for now, he takes the bottle and tilts it from one side to the other. He'll wait for Tidus to take the first bite of the rice ball - something Roland knew about from his time in both worlds, similar dishes present in first and second kingdoms - so he opens the cap of the drink, thanks him with a nod. The blank pages now resting on his lap feel heavy. He's eager to send them out, though for what reason he has yet to really say or show.

When Roland tries to chug the drink, he winces almost immediately upon tasting the drink. He swallows it down, but grimaces at the bottle. "Hm. Not my kind of coffee, but hey, bottom's up." He pauses from time to time, to catch his breath while he attempts to empty it out. If an onigiri is passed to him to eat, he'll be munching on that too, with a heightened sense of urgency. "Where'd you get all this food?"

"Go for it," Tidus answers when Roland speaks up, an onigiri in his hand and taking a bite. Still tasted fine, which hey, Roland did say that any food they stored would be okay in the Arms, but it was good to know. He'd have to talk to Uta again, maybe start building up some of it over the next couple of days. How much was ten pounds of food anyway...? Might be good to ask Rol later, Mr. Numbers that he was.

But Tidus makes a face at him first, the way he's rushing; an onigiri offered to him, and remarked first before he gets his own answer- "You know there's no rush, right? And you talk about how I eat."

Or something. Tidus never did get what Roland's problem was that one breakfast, but whatever.

"Uta prepared it. You should know him, he's Black Squad and Purple Team. I asked him 'bout making food and storing it. He can make whatever--about 10lbs of it. But I think he needs to know how to make it first."

"I just want to send these off while I can still see the water," And excuse us, he's still waiting to finish chewing and swallowing before he speaks! The bottle of sweet latte is empty now, and he moves to finish his half-eaten onigiri, a savory snack he's more accustomed to partaking versus a drink that reminded him of a cloying dessert. Delicious in its own way, but just not Roland's type.

He does try to pace himself, taking a deep breath with a gentle close of his eyes before he bites back down on the rice ball, chewing thoughtfully. "I know Uta, yeah. We spoke before when we were handing out Black Squad bands. Let's invite him to the town hall, then. I knew we were all a talented bunch, heh. Just a matter of putting the right people in roles where they'll shine the most." He smirks at Tidus, throwing him a side glance. "So I guess for you, permanent dishwasher and bathroom duty."

Edited 2020-08-19 16:37 (UTC)

"Uh huh," comes the dry response that Roland's probably expecting, though it's not even the assigned duty that Tidus is going to chide him over. "What did I just say about keeping work in the train and off the beach? I'll get you taken off Team Lead if you keep this up."

It's an empty threat, not attempting to be serious in anything but a joke, since what powers did Tidus have? Sense doesn't need to have a place here.

"Shouldn't you be thinking about a poem or something you wanna write anyway? Let me guess," Tidus lilts, a guess that has him looking back out to the sea, his head bobbing in thought. "A poem abooout...responsibility, and how good orderly work will keep a train running."

He looks back at him. "Yeah?"

Did he get it?

"Okay, sure. As soon as I'm out, I'll vote you in." He banters back, no real threat to it either. But it was always fun to poke Tidus's buttons, so averse was he to the idea of joining the council, the teams...But after his story from the dressing carriage on day one of the vacation, Roland assumes that might be way.

He wipes his hands clean on his shorts before he chuckles under his breath at the suggested poem. Really? "If you want me to write you a manifesto on orderliness, I'd be happy to do that any other day. For now, though..."

The pen is out, and the ink stains the first page in his usual cursive, his writing beginning in earnest. His expression settles into something akin to nostalgia, like he's really writing to someone versus to a general audience; like he's writing because he believes there will be a person behind the ocean to read it. As he keeps his eyes on the page, his free hand reaches over the other paper on his lap, which he offers to Tidus.

"You're free to do it too, if you want. Make sure Jema'grethy doesn't forget that the greatest blitzball player from the Zanarkand Abes stayed for three days on their resort. Signed with an authentic autograph, maybe?" But it's an offer which the teen is free to take or deny as he wishes. For the most part, Roland's messages in the bottles were for his own peace of mind. He understands that not everyone will see it this way, but it's made so much sense that he intuitively knew he had to do it. He had to write to them.

Edited 2020-08-19 17:03 (UTC)

You keep your disgusting work threats to yourself, pal...!

But also, don't think you're keeping your letter--love-wise, poem, whatever--to yourself. ...at least not willingly. Tidus takes a quick peek to see what Roland is doing, a visual of the task, then turning back to the water afterwards. But then the curiosity of what he's writing get Tidus to attempt to slowly lean back and aside...to see what it is he's looping away on there...

Except Roland's writing is kinda as awful as always, and the distance between them doesn't help. And not when then Roland is slipping over the offering, getting Tidus to snap his gaze in the opposite direction.

He doesn't know if Roland actually caught him with that offer, but it's embarrassing--embarrassing what Roland says, well-meaning, but the flair of his old title rubs him wrong right now. Like someone looking back on a past accomplishment marred by time or events. What did a guy like him have to be proud of?

"Nah, I'm fine," he dismisses easily, casually, nothing to it. Fine with leaving it there, but if he can't be nosy by being sneaky, he's just going to outright ask-

"What're you writing?"

Roland sets the paper down on the sand, eyes still glued on the page he was preoccupied with. "Suit yourself. I'll leave it here, in case you change your mind."

And sure, he was aware that Tidus was trying to peek a look. It didn't stop him from writing though, the words coming out as natural as his own breathing. He couldn't be stopped, even when Tidus just outright asked him. In any other place and time, Roland would have just told him it was something special; something from his heart, without the hiding and the pretense. Roland played the evasion game well. But in Jema'grethy, Roland also found himself stripped of his right to decide. Consent was taken from him the moment the island, or their kidnappers, or whoever magical being was behind their predicament, invaded his closely guarded secrets and flashed it for unwilling eyes. The same thing could be said for the man whose memories he had seen without choice. It was a violation of the highest order.

So he throws caution to the wind. He is prepared to take it back on his own terms, whatever it is was mined from the recesses of his soul.

The pen slows, but it keeps going, line after line. Steady and sure, Roland responds, "They're letters, updates from me. What's been going on, and that I'm always thinking about them."

"One's going out to Evan and the crew in Evermore. The other one - " Roland doesn't miss a swirl nor a flourish in his penmanship. "- will hopefully make its way to Earth. To my son."

Or what's left of it.

He wonders if Roland is suddenly so enraptured by his task that he doesn't even hear him. A little awkward, but Tidus becomes okay with it. Roland is just like that apparently once he gets a pen in his hand--though, it's curious. A tradition, Roland called it. It must be a pretty important tradition--for more than just shipwrecked fellows--for him to get this quick into it.

But then Roland speaks, and Tidus understands better. Startled inwardly by the mention of a son (did Roland ever mention him before?), but then--the guy's old. He's probably got a son ad partner waiting for him back home, like some of the people here.

Tidus's features soften, his mouth dipping some, but not quite sad.

"Aren't you worried they won't reach them?" They won't, surely, not if they just toss them out in the sea here... and maybe it doesn't matter, it's about the process, but it's disappointing to think: letters to loved ones who'll never get to read them.

"Not really, no."

Roland finishes the letter off with a signature, and if Tidus glances at his work once more, he will find it full of big loops, but it's a mark of his status nonetheless. A signature that has seen documents, laws, bills, and treatises, but rarely sentimental letters. When he answers Tidus, it was with a confidence that didn't seem fitting for such a sad tale; or the uncertainty that accompanies the raging storms of an alien sea. Yet it's so naturally Roland that it could convince anyone what he was saying was true.

Roland folds the paper until it's small enough to roll, but pauses for just a moment to look at the purple water creating a swirl of new colors against the dusk.

"It'll reach them because if I've learned anything from what my life's been through, it's that we're all connected. Heh. It's corny, I'll admit, but I believe it now. And because I believe it, it's going to happen." Not a hint of hesitation, nor a trace of fear is present in Roland, as he takes the empty bottle of coffee now, scoops up sand in it and throws it out right after just to absorb lasting moisture from the drink he had downed in minutes. The first letter is inserted in - a smooth fit, thankfully - and the lid is secured so tight that his hands tremble at the force.

"It's hard to explain, but...I just know I've got nothing to worry about. After all, even if it took thousands of years for bottles on Earth to reach the shore, to reach people, they eventually made it. They were discovered, the letters were read. Remembered."

Nevermind that that this was decidedly not Earth; this was a void planet with void magic and weird missions that risked their lives every single time. Roland was resolute, always was, always will be. If I believe it, it will come true.

It's corny, for sure, something he might say himself. Appreciates the confidence, because really, that's all you need: To believe. It's not about the letter or the bottle at that point, and Tidus knows--it's about heart of it, a way of saying: I'll be back soon. Once it's written, the rest of it doesn't really matter. It's just a way of making it certain to yourself.

Tidus understands, before Roland even finishes speaking; before he says, It's hard to explain. Thinks he does anyway, that way of thinking about it. He kicks up a knee and wrap his arms around it, his head turned toward Roland, but no part of him trying to peak and read a message not meant for him.

But it seems a waste, that it wouldn't really reach anyone...read, remembered. Who would read them here? A tiny planet with a single island...

...Oh. "Isn't this a rest stop for void missionaries? Like...void travellers? Why don't you put it somewhere someone'll find it? The Void Ministry is on the look for us. Why don't you see if they can get it to your friends?"

Speaking of the second letter, it doesn't take Roland long to finish it off. It's significantly shorter than the first, with only three sentences at most before he signs it - not with his signature this time, but with his name in block letters. He holds back a scoff at the mention of the void ministry, not even looking up as this page is folded in a similar manner as the first; perfect quarters, small enough to compress in a bottle or jar.

"I don't think they're looking for us to help us with any favors, Tidus." The empty jar that once housed onigiri is put through the same sand-in sand-out treatment, before the letter is tucked into place. Though this time, the small shell that he found earlier is put inside too, until it fills up the breadth of the jar. A perfect size, to close it off tight. "The void ministry's cut us off from all the amenities they probably granted other void missionaries, since we're not the real Voidtrecker Express. They're not going to be interested in getting my letters to their intended destinations, that much I can tell you. I'd rather trust the sea, purple as it is. Heh."

Though as he collects the two bottles, one in each hand, Roland does think about something; an idea that forms just as Tidus mentions it.

"...Although, I don't really mind leaving behind other things on this island. Kind of like secret letters." His smile grows at the corners, facing Tidus now. "You still got jars with you?"

"I didn't buy those jars for you to stuff paper in," he says with a narrowed brow, an disapproving frown. For a guy so serious about doing all sorts of work for a Team Lead, he's sure's happy to go around wasting his bottles, isn't he?

But that's not the point that Tidus wants to focus on (but maybe he can come back to it later, if Roland tries eyeing more of his jars--he'll have to count what he's got left once they get back on the train). "What are you talking about anyway? Cut off? I thought they didn't have a clue what we were doing and were suffering from voidsickness. That's what I heard."

Because he sure never did see that message for himself. He was busy!

Roland hums. "I guess you're right about that. Supplies don't come easy or cheap, after all." And he knows that he spent a lot for his things this round, even though they were nowhere near any answers on how to even get points to the number that it did. "Sorry. I'll pay you back for these two."

He stands, and shakes sand off of his shorts, his legs. The two bottles are still in his hands as he takes a few steps towards the shoreline. He thinks about something, ponders something quick before one bottle is left held in his hand and the other is promptly thrown into the waves of an ocean now resembling melted watercolors pooling by his feet. The water is still warm as his toes wiggle in the shallows. He crosses his arms, watching the bottle float away, the one with a shell inside along with the letter.

He walks back, but doesn't send the remaining bottle in the same direction. Instead he taps it against his cheek as he scans the harbor. "They don't have a clue what exactly we're doing, yes. And they do think we're all relatively void sick too, that's true." Roland walks as he talks, peering around for...something. But he doesn't wander too far that Tidus won't hear him.

"But they also think we're part of some void criminal organization, and that if anyone were to spot us, we'd be reported immediately to the void ministry. The transmission ended with a warning not to engage, and that we might be in danger. Or that we are the danger." He looks back, bottle still in hand. "Doesn't exactly spell friendly to me."

Edited 2020-08-21 18:55 (UTC)

Tidus watches him, the throw of Roland's arm and the bottle being sent out into the seeing, the plop it makes when hitting the water: distant, but audible still. His legs draw in to let him rest his arms over his knees, and he switches the view from the man to back out, only looking in turn when Roland regards him where he ambles.

"And what's happening to us does?" It's where his mind goes to before Roland's point, but even then--it sounds cautious. And he can get that. Who even were they? They didn't know. Voidtreckers, sure, but were they playthings, or what?

"I'd be suspicious too. I mean, some weird train with a bunch of people saying they don't know what's going on. But that's gotta sound like a problem to someone in a job like that." Like, come on. If they actually spoke to them, had more than five seconds with them. They'd be able to believe what was really going on.

"I wouldn't mind spooking the train. This," he knocks up his chin in gesture, to the island, the vacation, "doesn't make up for the fact it's taking people from their lives and then dumping them without a word. Is the Void Ministry really any worse?"

"..."

He makes his way back to Tidus's side but doesn't take a seat on the sand or the towel he had set out. Roland suddenly makes for a serious figure, standing on the beach with his arms crossed, the darkening skies tattooed in his mind. As much as he hates to admit it, Jema'grethy is beautiful even if this was all for a loan.

"No, you're right." Roland speaks up, his hand holding the letter to Evermore throwing the bottle up and down gently, catching it without fail every time. "About the train. The void ministry. Who's to say we're actually fighting for the wrong side here?" Up, down, up down, the bottle goes. "But that's the thing, isn't it? Why is this phony Voidtrecker Express rebelling against the ministry, why are they running away so well? What's the play? You don't just stage an elaborate coup like this because everything was fine and dandy with your government. Something's up with both of them, and we're unfortunately caught in the middle."

When the bottle falls into his hand this time, he stills himself. He glances down at Tidus, an eyebrow quirked up in curiosity.

"Given the chance, what would you leave behind for the ministry, then? What would you want them to find here?"

"And people think I don't trust politics." It's an aside, not really the truth; one comment made a long time ago, but maybe it's funny that out of the both of them, it's the government man expressing suspicion for an official organisation.

Not that Tidus has strong opinions for or against the Ministry. He drops his only recently folded arms back to his sides, just to angle himself better to regard Roland.

"No one thinks what we're doing is bad. Saving worlds, lives? No one's going to argue about that." Tidus wouldn't. No matter their circumstances, those are people that need help, and he won't stand aside and do nothing. "But the rest--it sucks. The train takes who it wants. People do things they say's for the best all the time. What's wrong risking our lives for those planets, right? A few of us for all of them? It's good in the end."

There's something else that he wants to express, not sure exactly how to, but it might not be the time for it. They're stuck in the middle. He's silent for a second, just to gather how to continue.

"If we're gonna leave anything...we need to figure a way of getting them to contact us again. Know we can hear them. We got that one message on the train--then it shut off the translators." Cut them off from seeing the message. He leans forward, eyes settled on Roland. A fire spilling into his words: a conspiracy in its infancy. "It's like you said. We don't matter, we're stuck in the middle. The train wants us to do its work. If the other guys are any better or not, does it better for us? The train's got stuff to answer for, and we should make it. If the ministry's its enemy, then lets shake the train tracks!"

"There's a lot that goes on, when you peel off the surface." The weight of his words is not lost on Roland. Such a turn of conversation leads him to the path of a former life - or maybe better put, a life he believes he will return to, one day, someday. "I know politics can get rough because I've seen how ugly and dirty it can get. One minute, you're signing peace treaties and promising to recall troops, and in the next, ambassadors are pulling out of your borders and calling for war." The smile on his face is sardonic. "I was in the belly of the beast, remember? I trust leadership, but people's agendas are an entirely different matter. It's never as simple as what you see in the surface. There's always something..."

He trails off there, and chances upon the glass bottle he has yet to send off into the purple sea. A letter addressed to a second life, where the worst of his fears were assuaged by a king no older than ten. Where hope and faith won the day, united peoples of all races to a common cause. Difficult, but not impossible, and he was taught that lesson well. His gaze turns fond, even as he listens to the rest of Tidus's words, hearing his impassioned plea to 'shake the train tracks.' Roland actually has to chuckle at that, meeting his gaze head-on.

"It's not that we don't matter, Tidus. Maybe we might be the ones who matter most of all. We just...don't know enough, right now. Information is being kept from us, deliberately, like you said." He fills his lungs with a deep breath of air, chest expanding and eyes closing for a brief moment.

"Alright, what are you proposing then? Humor me. Do you want us to write a letter addressing the void ministry - that we're the Voidtrecker Express phonies they've been trying to find? And that we were here on this island for three days?"

He's genuinely curious where this is going, not opposed to it (yet) and sees no harm in the gesture. There was nothing to hide, anyway. They were already being branded as dangerous regardless.

"Tell them where we're been, that we got the message they sent out. We get a list of numbers for each place we go--even here. Give them them, see if they can figure out where the train's gonna go next. Tell them what we've been doing."

It's all Tidus can think from what they have. What else did they have? Little--too little information, too little way of getting information. All they can do is throw out scraps and see if someone starts noticing the mess.

"That message too.. we should check it. See if it said anything." He pauses, a brief tug of his brow before he looks back at Roland with a finger pointing at him. "A number! You know, dash-four-eight-two-five-three-- documents have that sometimes. Or a name."

There might be, there might not. It wouldn't hurt to check either way.

"Whatever happens then..." He raises his shoulders, giving a shrug. "Maybe nothing! Maybe we got nowhere, maybe we do. Maybe they find us, but the train runs off. But you know what? I don't care. At least we're trying."

Roland doesn't speak right away, he listens again, though his brow furrows and he's taken to throwing the bottle up and down in his hand again. There's some sense in what Tidus is saying; the action versus inaction, doing versus just laying there and accepting things as they are. Fanfare aside, what were they at the end of the day? Refugees? Victims? Kidnapped citizens from every far flung corner of the universe?

He plays devil's advocate, nevertheless. "And if the void ministry tracks us down? What then? We ask for help getting home?" His voice is steady, as if he's thinking out loud, weighing out the options. The clink of the bottle in his hand is loud against the soft waves.

"Usually what happens in situations like this is even though we're obviously the injured party here, the ruling body might still brand us complicit in illegal activity. We have been going around saving worlds outside of the void ministry's approval. That makes us conspirators. It makes us guilty."

He throws a side glance at Tidus, eyes shining with intrigue. The grip on the bottle tightens. "What then? Do we live with that consequence? That chance?"

They don't know the future--that's the message Tidus takes from Roland's words better than what he gives, since the threat of what ifs. And he already knows that, knows the uncertainty in trying and not.

"Yes," he says, the flinch of his gaze at the weight of the question only small, not even hesitant in its dip. Voice bold and firm. Sure. "You always try. If you don't, then you have to live with that too. And I know what the train's doing, not what the ministry might."

But he doesn't care. He wants action, he wants something. A chance. A hope.

"I'm not gonna give this train an easy ride as long as it keeps doing what it wants with us."

That's all the conviction Roland needs to hear. It was the same feeling when he saw how much it meant for Nita to attack the train - even though he knew it wouldn't do a thing. That wasn't the point either, was it? Even though the rebuttal was quick to come in the back of his mind: The same logic can be said for the train. We don't know their inner workings, either. Who's to say, in this mystery?

But hope. The feeling of hope is clear, and Roland knows this well. You always try. It was like listening to Evan again, the king of never giving up. The one who tries, even in failure. Who rises, even in weakness. Were they not all just citizens of their own worlds, just trying to find their way back home?

Roland nods once, and walks back to the same spot of the beach where he threw the first bottle. The letter to Evermore is sent in a different direction, but this time, he doesn't throw it. He kneels against the sand and sets it adrift, gently, cradled by the waves. And off it goes, disappearing little by little into the last of the dying sunlight.

He turns back to Tidus, his mouth a firm line and his gaze resolute. "Alright then. On your lead, captain. Let's do it." Roland stands and rests one arm over his hip. "Let's shake the train tracks."

Edited 2020-08-22 18:37 (UTC)

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ugh i forgot to mention he's wearing the shorts Tidus picked out aksfasgkgj fail

failure at roleplay

failure at life, really

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