Post by Jasmin Forte on Aug 3, 2015 20:33:19 GMT
Two sets of foot prints dusted the ground. Two sets of boots knocked against the fine grains of wasted, depleted soil. Whush, whush - the rhythmatic clap was heart-achingly familiar to the owners of the heavy boots.
Two girls shared a single cigarette, handing it back and forth.
Jasmin accepted the nubbin of a crudely rolled cigarette and gave a smokey, dragon smile as she exhaled the first breath of toxins, and then passed it back.
"You doin' okay now? Got ya' out in the lick of time, eh?" Delainey praised with little audible concern.
"Yeah," Jasmin replied slowly. Her lips felt numb. She was not doing okay. Not by most standards. But by her own?
Just peachy.
"Cool. Good to know," Delainey replied tenderly. "You haven't had one of them seizures in awhile." She licked her lips, the thick layer of smoke singing her tongue with an unpleasant, sour flavor.
"I dunno what happened," Jasmin admitted, deliberating. Was she straining herself? Was it the heat? What about stress? Regardless, she had to find a cure for her fits of semi-consciousness. A person of her ranking wouldn't be deemed fit to lead if he or she had epileptic fits.
Delainey knew that. She dragged her out of the kitchen, swearing up and down about heat exhaustion, just as the Commander's eyes blanked and her head lolled against the table. She always got to her in time.
She knew there was nobody that could lead quite like Jasmin. There was nobody that could understand her men the way she did.
Jasmin thought of it as a probable excuse to get out of the house, but a minuscule part of her had inferred the truth: Delainey cared. She kept that in the back of her mind so it wouldn't escape her mouth impulsively one day.
"Hm," Delainey grunted offhandedly, signaling that the topic could be dropped. She dropped the cigarette and smashed it with the steel toe of her scuffed auburn boot.
"I'm heading off to let you.. you know, walk. Chill. Potentially be shot. Whatever," She added over her shoulder, as she was already walking away.
Jasmin clucked her tongue at her in return, and lifted her cool hand to her mouth to feel around for any sensation in her lips. She didn't much remember seizures, and she didn't care to. The aftershock was uncomfortable, but not debilitating or incredibly worrisome.
She'd never expected to even survive the first war with all of her limbs functioning, so seizures weren't something to fret about. Not to her.
She headed off into the musky, dry sea of forgotten land that was District Four with as much bounce as she had back when it was vivacious and springing with citizens, her gun drawn, the safety possibly on, but probably not, and her eyes glowing and watchful, ready for anything.
Hopefully.
She cocked her ear toward the woods to listen, but she could never really tell if the sounds were spurts of wind catching the bare branches, or an enemy that made a hasty step and ended up rustling the branches.
She lifted her gun in anticipation. Just in case. She couldn't lose her head. Not now - literally or figuratively.