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.]

Comments

[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. ]