Outside Jono's Tent, Glacia, Thursday Evening Fandom Time
Jonothon knew he had to pace himself.
Logically, anyhow, Jonothon knew he had to pace himself. He'd been pushing himself for days now, since coming back from the island, and on more than one occasion he'd forgotten to eat. He wasn't even going to bother trying to sleep. He knew what happened when he slept, and for as much as he enjoyed dreaming about the monster in his blood stealing his hands away from him and systematically destroying everything and everyone he held dear...
Jonothon had never been any good at sleep.
And at first, nobody had really worried about it. They were two weeks out of Sidra now, there was still plenty of work that needed to be done, and it made sense, in that light, that he'd be pushing himself that much harder. Especially since the nearer they came to Glacia's capital, the more prone they were to fall victim to an attack they weren't ready for, and Jonothon had made it perfectly clear that he was going to make damn certain that something like that wasn't going to happen again. But when overwork had started to mix with an attitude change that had his troops worried...
It wasn't that he was being unprofessional. Not at all. In fact, he'd taken such a sharp turn to the other end of the spectrum after his post-Fandom drinking binge that people were starting to wonder if there was actually any Jonothon left in there at all, or if he'd been replaced by some sort of high-functioning illusion that had been instructed to run drills, consult maps while his troops enjoyed their downtime, and then run more drills without taking any time for himself in order to rest. There was none of the snarky banter that they'd grown accustomed to, no moments stolen to give pep-talks to those who seemed to need encouragement. Nothing. Just red eyes and a constant, unrelenting focus on getting things done.
Jonothon had to pace himself. And, if he sat down outside of his tent, red eyes not daring to stray away from the maps of Sidra's roadways and even their underground sewer systems until he had them memorized just to be on the safe side, then at least he was sitting and really, that was something like taking a rest, too.
[Open for phone calls or those in Glacia!]
Logically, anyhow, Jonothon knew he had to pace himself. He'd been pushing himself for days now, since coming back from the island, and on more than one occasion he'd forgotten to eat. He wasn't even going to bother trying to sleep. He knew what happened when he slept, and for as much as he enjoyed dreaming about the monster in his blood stealing his hands away from him and systematically destroying everything and everyone he held dear...
Jonothon had never been any good at sleep.
And at first, nobody had really worried about it. They were two weeks out of Sidra now, there was still plenty of work that needed to be done, and it made sense, in that light, that he'd be pushing himself that much harder. Especially since the nearer they came to Glacia's capital, the more prone they were to fall victim to an attack they weren't ready for, and Jonothon had made it perfectly clear that he was going to make damn certain that something like that wasn't going to happen again. But when overwork had started to mix with an attitude change that had his troops worried...
It wasn't that he was being unprofessional. Not at all. In fact, he'd taken such a sharp turn to the other end of the spectrum after his post-Fandom drinking binge that people were starting to wonder if there was actually any Jonothon left in there at all, or if he'd been replaced by some sort of high-functioning illusion that had been instructed to run drills, consult maps while his troops enjoyed their downtime, and then run more drills without taking any time for himself in order to rest. There was none of the snarky banter that they'd grown accustomed to, no moments stolen to give pep-talks to those who seemed to need encouragement. Nothing. Just red eyes and a constant, unrelenting focus on getting things done.
Jonothon had to pace himself. And, if he sat down outside of his tent, red eyes not daring to stray away from the maps of Sidra's roadways and even their underground sewer systems until he had them memorized just to be on the safe side, then at least he was sitting and really, that was something like taking a rest, too.
[Open for phone calls or those in Glacia!]