the Great Roughing of It is at hand

[canceller]

[When they picked a direction to go, there had been an entire slew of factors to weigh. There was no wrong answer when the work they’d be doing could have them combing the entire planet for loose ends to tie up, conflict to settle. Geass could be anywhere and everywhere, but they could only be in one place at a time. Populous areas came with increased security, and any facial recognition would expose them. In times where everyone could celebrate peace, ne’er-do-wells would have to drift outward to move as freely.

The Geass Order had operated as such, placed so remotely as to safely isolate itself. Or rather, the Thought Elevator had been, and the Order had grown around it. If they had been drawn to it, it might be a worthwhile lead to venture towards other gateways around the planet, to see if any strange activity pops up in their vicinity. It’s as good a place to start as any.

Siberia’s summers are mild but short, so they take the opportunity to travel when they can. The forests are sprinkled with lush green this time of year, seasonal plants that can’t thrive the same as the evergreens towering above, the fields in the towns they pass through full and ready for harvest. The undertaking they have may be a heavy burden, but Jeremiah would be lying if he said he wasn’t taking pleasure in the sights along the way.

He imagines C.C. lived like this, must still be living like this. She had disappeared after the Zero Requiem, and if Lelouch knows to where or why, he hasn’t said. If it burdens him, he hasn’t shared that either, but the team he makes with Lelouch has worked well so far. When they have to carry everything down to the bedding they sleep on, Jeremiah feels at least a little uniquely qualified for the job of taking the brunt of it. Today is no different, his pack tightly organized and secured around his waist and shoulders, moving at the vanguard down the dirt path they’re on with almost as much ease as he would without the extra weight.

Just as long as he makes sure he doesn’t leave Lelouch lagging behind. He doesn’t exactly want to embarrass his prince, but slowing to a crawl would feel too coddling, unless he was asked to.]

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[canceller]

[Unpacking as needed is an ordeal in of itself, but it's a familiar dance by now. Jeremiah's gotten good about keeping things sorted with like items, able to find things without digging for them, pulling out only what's needed. For a moment while Lelouch is occupied, he steps away with his toiletries, set on accomplishing some of his evening routine. He may be more than capable of roughing it, but it's still preferential after a long day on the road to simply groom for a while, wash his face, brush anything out of his hair.

He removes his contact as well. It's not often he's wasting time gazing in mirrors lately, but it's comforting all the same to see himself and have orange and green both look back, rather than green on both. Jeremiah had tried wearing one over his robotic eye to match them the other way around, both orange as they once had been, but it had been too irritating to stand. Reconstructed skin around his eye, the shape of his prosthetic, he's just not sure why.

Jeremiah stares at himself for a long moment once he's done. He hasn't had much time to himself today, but he hasn't had much time away from Lelouch at all, so it's par for the course. Still, it's a chance to assess himself, the deepening copper of his complexion the longer they travel outdoors, metal points on his skin where his mask would attach, having peeled off the spots of latex he covers them with most of the time. No new or deepening lines; he looks, but he's not sure how his skin will age yet. There's still many unknowns about how his body will change and deteriorate over time.

Amethyst eyes, heavy-lidded and dark as night and yet boring straight through him like industrial equipment to tissue paper. Jeremiah still can't place the look near the docks that he'd received, what it is Lelouch had seen, but the longer he stares into his own irises the more he sees another set burning into his mind's eye. We may as well be insatiable.

He finishes up, working the thought back into the fold. It's not much use to spend time ruminating on every piece of Lelouch he can't put together or it's all he'd have time for, but the hollow ache left in his chest is disquieting regardless.

Stepping out of the bathroom, Jeremiah returns what he no longer needs to his belongings and tucks the large pack out of the way. The timing fits when the kettle goes from barely steaming to whistling, and he heads over to pick up where he'd left off.]

Of course. [Jeremiah grabs the steeper and the box of tea, briefly examining it again if it has a guide for the temperature. He finds none, so he eyeballs the same amount of leaves as usual for the two of them and settles it into the pot. Taking the kettle, he begins pouring it over, his nose getting a first glimpse as steam starts rising up.]

How's progress coming along? [Better than taking a stab at what he's marking, should it not jump out to him whenever he gets a glimpse of his work.]

[ludicrous]

Atrociously. Nearly all conditions have been cleared, but there are too many variables to deal with. But that's within expectation. We're dealing with a geass user who can turn people into "stone". Like Medusa, embrittling her lovers and enemies. Perhaps we should've brought a mirror?

[ For their monster to gaze upon and petrify, forever, in the throes of catatonia. Unfortunate, then, that Lelouch is a monster in his own right, preparing for every eventuality, closing in the target with terrible precision. Snake-like and still so amicable when he stops brandishing the pen as his sword, settling it down on the table. ]

From what I've deduced, that geass affects the hearing, distorting the voices of those around you. It's triggered by a certain phrase, or a song, much like a siren called forth from the depths.

[ Isn't that sweet? Lulled to a slow death to a beautiful melody. Lelouch considers it, ruffling through his belongings to retrieve two pairs of earplugs. ]

That's what these are for.

[ Specially made, and why that stop in Saint Petersburg was necessary, all the way on the other side of Russia. They aren't necessary for Jeremiah, but he'd prefer to save him that auditory horror. ]

You're far better suited to this task than I. Nevertheless... by this time tomorrow, it'll be checkmate.

[ He folds the map, handing it to Jeremiah. If the tea's steeped enough, he'll pour himself a cup and take a sip. There's a high chance it'll register as scorchingly hot to him, however, given his poor circulation. ]

Not going to shower? I'll go ahead of you if you don't speak up now.

[canceller]

[He notes the earplugs, vaguely familiar from when they'd first been acquired but then stowed away. Jeremiah hadn't asked, but he hadn't needed to know yet, so he'd been largely unconcerned. He's grateful for the consideration now, though.]

Understood. It certainly would explain the strange limitations of who becomes affected, if it's not purely triggered by range.

[Taking the map, he tucks it into his pocket for the moment for safekeeping, then turns back to the tea. They don't have much of a proper set to speak of, but they have what they need to make it work. At least they have a pair of cups and a carton of milk and the sugar cubes from earlier, set on a tray not likely intended for this. Jeremiah eyes the color as Lelouch pours, though he realizes he can't judge this particular mix by sight alone anyway given he's never had it before. It looks dark enough, he supposes, pouring himself half a cup as well but leaving the steeper in the pot for the moment.

He lifts his cup and saucer, having a taste as well to see how it compares to the aroma. It's not bad, even if herbal teas don't often appeal to him, a little on the light side but not too weak to drink. Lelouch did mention sugar, though he refrains for the moment, not one to sweeten anything and everything.] By all means, go ahead. I've still got things to prepare.

[Another sip, just to ponder the flavor a little longer.] Hm... your thoughts on this blend?

[ludicrous]

Somewhat bitter. [ The taste inhabits his mouth too long, a light tang and then the disagreeable tartness his mouth frowns about. He pours a couple of ounces of milk in, taking another sip. And another, and another, since he'll finish this drink before offering his final judgment. ] ... The flavor profile leaves something to be desired.

[ But Lelouch is particular as he is cagey, rising to stand as he gently sets the cup down with a soft clink. ]

I won't be long, Jeremiah.

[ On that note, Lelouch dismisses himself to the bathroom and prepares a shower. The habits of a fussy noble he's cultivated over his formative years are resistant to change, though the same doesn't hold true for the shower head, the temperature of the water switching from blisteringly hot to ice cold as it sluices down. Scrubbing down his body with the bevy of soaps and shampoos he'd bought, he considers the futility of this whole endeavor. It'll likely go on forever, and as someone with only eternity lying ahead, it's something to consider: if this is all there is and will be. Chasing down rogue geass users for the injustice they wreak.

The endlessness of this pursuit.

Toweling off and changing, he returns, scanning about the room for Jeremiah. It's telling enough in its own right, seeking him out. ]

[canceller]

[It's a shame, Jeremiah supposes, but there's little else to be done. He's about halfway through his own cup before Lelouch departs the room, and he's left with his own thoughts once more. Stepping to the window, the night offers little other than pitch black and the amber-gold twinkle of lights in the distance, slightly elevated as they are from their current post. Jeremiah doesn't doubt if he scanned for it, he'd see into the dark more clearly, but his eye remains on its usual function. He's just looking, wondering on not too differently of a tangent from his companion, of the things that brought him specifically here and now.

How long have they been on the road? Stopping to smell the roses goes a long way, and goodness knows Lelouch can't find contentment by standing still, so it's the best compromise. Of course there's the obligation to commit themselves by their natures and their skill sets, the fire needed to fight fire. Jeremiah's used to the restlessness of the long game after his years in the military, hungry for the taste of victory but often beset by the realities of conflict. It can take time, all the careful planning and patience, rather than jumping at any shot they have and simply taking it. When the final play comes in, when they inevitably win out tomorrow, he'll finally get to savor that feeling again.

And then with time, his hunger will return. Restlessness sets in. The driving force in him is different, he thinks, but Jeremiah feels it too. He knows he won't ever get his fill on this alone, if this is the only way he can seek a sense of accomplishment, a life to look back upon when he's on his deathbed and know it had been worth something.

Doing it all not just for himself but for someone else, committed to a higher purpose, would it truly make it meaningful enough to fill the gaps?

Grave as it is, Jeremiah doesn't lose himself to despondency, and tries to shift his thoughts elsewhere. For his unwavering loyalty, it's not an uncommon thread to ponder for him, but he also knows he's become jaded to his own mortality. Fighting in a Knightmare Frame was always his strength, but he's only ever engaged in battle these days with twin blades, his Canceller, and faith in himself. It's actually become quite easy, considering how deep the discrepancy in strength runs between himself and the average human being, no matter how armored or well-armed they may be. How easily they crumple to the ground from a single strike.

When he sees Lelouch return again, hair still damp, he's since moved to sit and rifle through his own belongings. He's procured a couple hangers, one for his jacket from earlier, another for tomorrow's clothes so they have some time to loosen up their wrinkles. In his hands, he has his mask finally fished out once more, working with a cleaning cloth to polish it up. He may not wear it in public to maintain anonymity, but he'll want it tomorrow. There's not a fight he's prepared for in advance, against enemies he'd reveal himself to regardless, where he didn't don it. He has little need for extra protection, it just feels right.

Jeremiah smiles faintly.] How is the water pressure?

[ludicrous]

Poor.

[ Enfeebled. Decrepit. Water that kept sputtering like a creature upon its death throes, ready to give out after he's only finished lathering his hair. The former Zero, lauded as a miracle-worker, nearly outdone by a showerhead. A testament to the futility of man. ]

Nothing to raise complaints towards, mind you.

[ He's been dealt a worse hand before. Lelouch seats himself, the bathrobe tugged more snuggly about him. His hair's faintly dripping still as he sits on the bed. He won't be able to sleep tonight, either; only a stretch of a few hours before he'll rouse again, more vehement, with a temperament like a slap across the face. It isn't until toweled himself into some semblance of dry that he speaks up once more. ]

I'd recommend you go as well. You'll need it. It may be a while before we're able to remain in a place of this caliber again.

[ Somewhere the threat of being taken out while asleep doesn't hold so much of a risk. Lelouch lays out his clothes for the evening but doesn't change into them, merely sorting them out. ]

... Does it help?

[ The mask, he means. A non-sequitur, though his eyes give away his intent, staring pointedly at the object clutched between Jeremiah's fingers. In many ways, it's the closest thing to good luck that they have, a relic of the old regime turned into a symbol, much in the way Suzaku— through his figurative demise— has become a symbol of peace. ]