"I wouldn't know," he replied, not bothering to keep the annoyance out of his voice. "I wasn't here." After a pause, he added, "I can't say that I found it comforting."
He held the cleaning rag at arm's length, using his fingertips to swirl it on the table. I shouldn't have to do these things myself, he thought. He was capable, in that he was able-bodied, but it brought his firm opinion back into focus: his skills were being wasted here, in what seemed to be training for work for which he had no real aptitude or interest. No one would ever look at him and think that he was a good candidate for any kind of on-the-ground combat (Is that what they want us for?), let alone petty custodial duties, but apart from that, he was better at issuing orders than following them.
Landel might be a childish control freak, but if Aguilar was squandering L's time and energy in this way, there was at least one level on which the General was the greater fool.
When L asked the girl about the sword and shield, she was obviously taken aback. Her motion slowed, and she seemed to hold her breath; then, she paused to think of something to say.
L felt a sharp pain in his head when she spoke again, so sharp that he winced and lost his grip on the cleaning rag. The bucket, resting on a seat, would have fallen to the ground and splashed everywhere if he had still been holding it. His vision narrowed to tunnels with what seemed like shimmering around the edges. Migraine aura, he supposed, and recognized it as one of the promised effects of the experiment. If this happens to me while I'm eating, I'm in trouble. He felt nauseated even on an empty stomach.
He couldn't focus well yet, as the pain receded, but he did his best to level the girl with a long, troubled stare. "You're lying to me," he said, weary. "Why?"
A sharp glance from a nearby soldier caused him to collect his rag and start wiping again.
no subject
He held the cleaning rag at arm's length, using his fingertips to swirl it on the table. I shouldn't have to do these things myself, he thought. He was capable, in that he was able-bodied, but it brought his firm opinion back into focus: his skills were being wasted here, in what seemed to be training for work for which he had no real aptitude or interest. No one would ever look at him and think that he was a good candidate for any kind of on-the-ground combat (Is that what they want us for?), let alone petty custodial duties, but apart from that, he was better at issuing orders than following them.
Landel might be a childish control freak, but if Aguilar was squandering L's time and energy in this way, there was at least one level on which the General was the greater fool.
When L asked the girl about the sword and shield, she was obviously taken aback. Her motion slowed, and she seemed to hold her breath; then, she paused to think of something to say.
L felt a sharp pain in his head when she spoke again, so sharp that he winced and lost his grip on the cleaning rag. The bucket, resting on a seat, would have fallen to the ground and splashed everywhere if he had still been holding it. His vision narrowed to tunnels with what seemed like shimmering around the edges. Migraine aura, he supposed, and recognized it as one of the promised effects of the experiment. If this happens to me while I'm eating, I'm in trouble. He felt nauseated even on an empty stomach.
He couldn't focus well yet, as the pain receded, but he did his best to level the girl with a long, troubled stare. "You're lying to me," he said, weary. "Why?"
A sharp glance from a nearby soldier caused him to collect his rag and start wiping again.