Author Games Compilation [Cycle 2]

Task 5: A Stitch in Time [HE]

Throughout my twenty-four years and some odd months of knowing Hayes, I've come to describe him as an overly cautious specimen, and to put it like that is generous. I would call him intelligent, but not too much so; aware of himself, but not too much so; paranoid, a bit too much so. I might call him reserved every now and again, too, but easily disturbed? No, not that one. He may be a sensitive man, yes, and he may focus too keenly on how his words are being received, but in a crisis I don't believe I've ever seen him come out too changed from the experience.

Whatever happened with The Raven in London has most definitely changed him. He walks the perimeter of the citadel in Zhengzhou, dejected and stiff, and if he's not rigid-backed, he's slouched over, caught in his own head when he should be paying attention to his surroundings. Who knows when one of these windows might just bust and rain stained glass upon his head, bringing with it some abomination from the skies?

I can't let him remain like this. I need to pull him out of this reverie. Host, I implore you to set aside what's bothering you and attend to your duties in full. The manner of the task itself is full of uncertainty and trepidation. While it's best you don't exhibit those qualities in excess, I would appreciate if you'd show that you still have at least a sliver of self-preservation left in you.

I expect a retort, a snarky comment, even a tired, "Shut up," but much to my surprise, I get nothing. He simply continues walking the perimeter, barely tuned in to what lurks in the shadows of the night around him. Really, the only thing ensuring he doesn't trip over his own feet is the light of the city abolishing a pitch-black sky and his own adjustment to the darkness. He was quite thrilled when the sun started to set, I think, because he's been using it to not-so-subtly mope in ever since.

Mope is a strong word. I know the images that flash through his mind, the fluttering birds and collapse of body and wing. I know the occasional sting that rushes through the stitches on his cheek, and I've noticed the way he turns away from people when they're speaking to him. Maybe this is another reason he's glad the sun has set.

It gives him enough power that, when he turns the corner towards the front of the citadel, he's able to walk forward on steady feet and project his voice towards the lot situated several yards away from the door. "Some of you can get some shut-eye. I'll take someone's watch."

They look up at him from the ground, the much taller, much stronger four. Their gazes are quick to float amongst themselves, sharing unspoken words, and then they glance up at him again, unsure. He picks up on this; he sees their doubt. "You can't all take watch all day and all night. You'll croak from exhaustion when the time actually comes to kick ass. One of you, maybe even two, need to sleep." He finally appeals to his own drainage, squeezing his eyes to a close and sighing. "Don't make me have to walk back around this building and find more dead team members that I've known for years now."

A couple of them seem moved by his last statement, and with little argument, two rise from their place on the ground and begin walking back towards a temporary base they've made that's close enough to rise to the call for help if needed but far enough away to get some good shut-eye and discuss plans without whatever may be inside the citadel being able to listen in. 

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Score: 11.5

Rank: Somehow still 3rd of 9