"I think most of us did," he agrees, and feels a little bad to realize he's marred this beautiful place with talk of death. It's such a normal, constant part of his existence, has been since his earliest memories, that it mostly doesn't occur to him that it might be out of place. But he looks at Annie in her bare feet and impractical clothes, her easy manner and happy smile, and resolves to try and remember as he continues to pad along in her wake.
"I can swim in full armor, I'm pretty much drowning proof," he answers, wondering just what surfing is but more focused on answering than asking right now.
He doesn't expect her next question, it's not something most people seem to think or care about. So many don't even acknowledge their names in the first place. "It... varies," he answers quietly, drifting back towards the water again and its unaccustomed warmth. "Most of us didn't dare for a long time, at first, and if we did we kept them to ourselves and our batchmates, in case it was considered an aberration."
He crouches down again, water washing over his incongruously pale, bare feet, and lets the surf wash over a piece of shell he's found, rinsing the sand away to show the luminous mother of pearl lining it. "I didn't choose mine until I was... nine, I guess. Maybe ten." They'd only ever tracked their age in the vaguest of terms, their stage of training had always been more important, and even now he's guessing to say he's thirteen, it could just as easily be twelve. It doesn't seem very important most of the time. "It was just before we deployed, anyway. My whole batch chose our names in the last standard week or so before we graduated."
"A lot of shinies show up to their first posting still just going by their numbers." And so a lot of them die before ever claiming even that tiny sliver of individuality for themselves, but he remembers not to say that this time, and instead tips his head to look back up at her, smiling faintly and holding the scrap of shell out to show her, the mother of pearl gleaming in the sun. "What makes it like this?"
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2017-02-15 06:41 am (UTC)"I can swim in full armor, I'm pretty much drowning proof," he answers, wondering just what surfing is but more focused on answering than asking right now.
He doesn't expect her next question, it's not something most people seem to think or care about. So many don't even acknowledge their names in the first place. "It... varies," he answers quietly, drifting back towards the water again and its unaccustomed warmth. "Most of us didn't dare for a long time, at first, and if we did we kept them to ourselves and our batchmates, in case it was considered an aberration."
He crouches down again, water washing over his incongruously pale, bare feet, and lets the surf wash over a piece of shell he's found, rinsing the sand away to show the luminous mother of pearl lining it. "I didn't choose mine until I was... nine, I guess. Maybe ten." They'd only ever tracked their age in the vaguest of terms, their stage of training had always been more important, and even now he's guessing to say he's thirteen, it could just as easily be twelve. It doesn't seem very important most of the time. "It was just before we deployed, anyway. My whole batch chose our names in the last standard week or so before we graduated."
"A lot of shinies show up to their first posting still just going by their numbers." And so a lot of them die before ever claiming even that tiny sliver of individuality for themselves, but he remembers not to say that this time, and instead tips his head to look back up at her, smiling faintly and holding the scrap of shell out to show her, the mother of pearl gleaming in the sun. "What makes it like this?"