The island has...technically provided. It's just not anything he might want.
[Morning near the CMA found Cyrus quite preoccupied indeed.
He hadn't been sure who had set the box down; there had been no note, nor had there been any signs that anyone had been anywhere near him, much less close enough to set the thing down on his lap. At the time, he had been asleep, though not through any intention of his own; he had been sitting up, his back propped against one of the walls of the building and various sheets of paper covered in his own thick, heavy scrawl resting across his legs. His positioning, also, was a problem - he hadn't felt anyone place the box down, and he was a notoriously light sleeper.
At the same time, he was still fully aware of what he had been told - the island would provide when it saw fit to do so, and apparently, it was Cyrus' morning.
The box was wooden and deceptively heavy, despite its size; his first indication of what the island had apparently decided he needed at that moment came when the thing refused to open. After a few moments of studying it, the small mechanisms in the sides were found; the puzzle was undone in five moves and the box slid open easily.
The contents were, at first glance, intended to be assembled into something. A second cursory look was enough to tell him that it wouldn't be anything useful.
He had set the box aside and continued writing.
...and that was an hour ago.
The island is still proving impossible to analyze or understand in its entirety; a pattern in the events that have occurred has yet to emerge in Cyrus' observations, and he finds his gaze trailing more and more often toward the box, still sitting at his side.
Eventually, he decides to indulge for a while. It's been quite some time since he's really worked with his hands, but it's not unfamiliar; despite the fact that the items in the box are relatively small and in no way useful, the fact remains that machines make sense, and he quickly settles into something resembling a pattern when it comes to the assembly of...whatever it is that the island has left for him.
This, of course, is a bit too comfortable. Feel free to poke him for whatever reason, even if it's simply to ask why the esteemed Team Galactic leader is sitting near the CMA and essentially playing with toys - however, indulging in that latter part is done at your own risk.]
He hadn't been sure who had set the box down; there had been no note, nor had there been any signs that anyone had been anywhere near him, much less close enough to set the thing down on his lap. At the time, he had been asleep, though not through any intention of his own; he had been sitting up, his back propped against one of the walls of the building and various sheets of paper covered in his own thick, heavy scrawl resting across his legs. His positioning, also, was a problem - he hadn't felt anyone place the box down, and he was a notoriously light sleeper.
At the same time, he was still fully aware of what he had been told - the island would provide when it saw fit to do so, and apparently, it was Cyrus' morning.
The box was wooden and deceptively heavy, despite its size; his first indication of what the island had apparently decided he needed at that moment came when the thing refused to open. After a few moments of studying it, the small mechanisms in the sides were found; the puzzle was undone in five moves and the box slid open easily.
The contents were, at first glance, intended to be assembled into something. A second cursory look was enough to tell him that it wouldn't be anything useful.
He had set the box aside and continued writing.
...and that was an hour ago.
The island is still proving impossible to analyze or understand in its entirety; a pattern in the events that have occurred has yet to emerge in Cyrus' observations, and he finds his gaze trailing more and more often toward the box, still sitting at his side.
Eventually, he decides to indulge for a while. It's been quite some time since he's really worked with his hands, but it's not unfamiliar; despite the fact that the items in the box are relatively small and in no way useful, the fact remains that machines make sense, and he quickly settles into something resembling a pattern when it comes to the assembly of...whatever it is that the island has left for him.
This, of course, is a bit too comfortable. Feel free to poke him for whatever reason, even if it's simply to ask why the esteemed Team Galactic leader is sitting near the CMA and essentially playing with toys - however, indulging in that latter part is done at your own risk.]