001: The Wind Blows At Home

[killerkashim]

[ It's hot. Not just hot - hot and dry, and if your skin couldn't feel it immediately then the parched earth and occasional sand-filled gusts of wind would drive the point home with perfect clarity. The location seems to be a valley of some sort, situated between two tall rock formations that meet at an angle. Built into the corner of this rock

Comments

[findmyownreason]

[no. They're not enemies. And their not comrades. They're... something different that has to do with being bound over full graves in a barren world. Whether that's closer or further than the other options Cloud wouldn't know.

He waits until the kid throws the first shovel. He's obviously wiry - and, Cloud suspects, possibly undernourished. They'll deal with that later though. First things first and the dead take precedence.

The first spade of dirt hits the body in the hole and makes that unsettling, full sound, packing down clothes that had rested with a layer of air until now between them and the body, hitting the solid mass that wasn't as solid as dirt or rock but that gave the slightest bit. Cloud's face stays passive and he automatically drops the next shovelful.

He's not a grave digger. This is new to him. But he's had to dispose of bodies before and once, a very precious one.

He prefers the water to the earth but there's no life giving water here.

The movements are automatic and fluid, methodic, working in a way that he learned as a grunt in the army, careful not to expend any more energy than necessary to finish a job that was going to last far too long. When the first hole is full and tamped down, he pulls the Buster Sword free and moves to the next, again imbedding the sword at the head of it. It's almost a ritual, as if the great sword's marking the spot, even briefly, is storing away the memory of what the hole holds.

And dirt again begins to fall into waiting graves.]

[ooc. I can tell the conversation between these two is just going to sparkle