(no subject)
It's ridiculous, how gorgeous this island is.
As soon as he'd found himself steady enough on the crutches to go more than a few feet away from the compound door, Mace had slowly spent each day going up and down the boardwalk, taking in everything he could.
The earth room on Icarus had nothing on Tabula Rasa. Hell, Earth had nothing on it. The sun beating down on his skin is still an alien feeling -- heat lamps never had the same effect, that prickling and tightening of his skin when he'd been out too long, the way the sweat drips down his neck and dampens his shirt, even the quick rain showers that leave him soaked never get old.
And then there's the ocean.
He hasn't been out that far yet, never managing to get more than a mile or so down the boardwalk before he tires out and has to head back, but Mace dreams of it. The waves, the blue water, looking out at the horizon and seeing bright blue instead of smudged greys or jet black. He almost feels guilty for enjoying this when he think back to Icarus and everyone there. Trey would have loved it.
Today he's made some headway, stopping in some sort of temple before heading back. He passes the boarding house, passes homes that are now becoming familiar day after day, and when he finally reaches the compound, he's drenched in sweat and his shoulders ache like a motherfucker, but he's pleased he's done so much for the day. Getting exhausted so eaasily is frustating, but the little victories count more now than they ever have, especially considering he shouldn't even be alive to enjoy any of them.
Mace practically falls into one of the bakery's patio seats, letting the crutches slide to the ground beside him. The noise he makes would, for anyone who knew him, probably pass for something like a laugh.
As soon as he'd found himself steady enough on the crutches to go more than a few feet away from the compound door, Mace had slowly spent each day going up and down the boardwalk, taking in everything he could.
The earth room on Icarus had nothing on Tabula Rasa. Hell, Earth had nothing on it. The sun beating down on his skin is still an alien feeling -- heat lamps never had the same effect, that prickling and tightening of his skin when he'd been out too long, the way the sweat drips down his neck and dampens his shirt, even the quick rain showers that leave him soaked never get old.
And then there's the ocean.
He hasn't been out that far yet, never managing to get more than a mile or so down the boardwalk before he tires out and has to head back, but Mace dreams of it. The waves, the blue water, looking out at the horizon and seeing bright blue instead of smudged greys or jet black. He almost feels guilty for enjoying this when he think back to Icarus and everyone there. Trey would have loved it.
Today he's made some headway, stopping in some sort of temple before heading back. He passes the boarding house, passes homes that are now becoming familiar day after day, and when he finally reaches the compound, he's drenched in sweat and his shoulders ache like a motherfucker, but he's pleased he's done so much for the day. Getting exhausted so eaasily is frustating, but the little victories count more now than they ever have, especially considering he shouldn't even be alive to enjoy any of them.
Mace practically falls into one of the bakery's patio seats, letting the crutches slide to the ground beside him. The noise he makes would, for anyone who knew him, probably pass for something like a laugh.