Road to Arcadia: the Path East

Chapter Thirteen: Humble Requests

The night continued on with casual conversation, the bulk of attention dissipating from Kai. He was thankful for that, quietly settling in to the group at his own pace. He tried to keep track of how often Jey spoke, which wasn't difficult because he didn't say a word. Occasionally he'd clear his throat, making the first sounds Kai was sure he'd heard from him.

As the sun set and the night descended upon them, the squad began to settle in. Each returned to their respective bus. Kai was half expecting them to spend the night inside the shed. While the air was warm, it wasn't bad once the sun had disappeared. Carsten explained that the security systems in the buses were second to none, and as a result, all overnight stays were required to remain within the vehicles. Carsten, Yulia, and Ziggy all claimed the upper level beds, citing their seniority and added cushion. They were at least nice enough to get Kai set up for the night.

The seats on the bus folded down to create a makeshift bed. It wasn't the most plush experience, but after eight months of sleeping in an upright driver's seat, anything that was flat and had some cushion was a five-star hotel. He'd brought along his own blanket, per the R&R checklist. He was able to settle in and wind down without any issue. Despite the fact that a handful of people were sharing a vehicle, everyone weaved in and out seamlessly, a perfect blend of their experience and Kai's desire to not be in the way.

Alayna was still out by the time Kai sat down. She was still planning the trip ahead, in and out between each bus, making notes on maps in the hanging lamplight of the shed.

Kai didn't pay any mind. Instead, he dug around in his belongings, fishing out a notebook before digging around for the pen that fell out of it. He reached up and flicked on an overhead seat light, figuring since the bulk of the passengers were on the upper level it wouldn't disturb them.

He flipped the notebook open a couple pages in and stared at the blank page. It had been a while since he'd written. It had been a long time since he flipped open a notebook under the light of the moon, old flashlight tucked in the crook of his neck. He was embarrassed by how long it had been since he had written a letter to starbeam. His chest caved in just thinking of the name.

But he wasn't writing to starbeam. Not today. Today, he had a promise to uphold. Today and the next day and the one after that--each day until he found himself back on the floating city once again. There was nothing that said he would be away for long, but there was also a part of him hoping that maybe it would take longer than expected.

He scribbled a couple words and doodles into the margins on the back page before pressing the pen into a fresh sheet.

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Doc,

I told you I'd write to you. I don't know if you were expecting me to follow through or if your expectations were (rightfully) on the ground, but if anything the power of spite is keeping this pen to paper.

This is hard for me.

That is a blanket statement that can be applied to a wide range of things, so please feel free to use it in any way you see fit.

I'll give you one potential outcome.

Hm. Also vague. Trying again.

Writing--doing the thing that you can't see me doing right now--is harder than I think either of us would expect. I'm so used to writing uncensored because I was never certain if my words would ever make it back to the person they were intended for, but I know you. I know you and I know your face and I-----------------------------------------------------------

I'm different here than I am when I'm talking. I like that about me. I don't think I was ever a shut in, a recluse that only spoke through light pencil strokes on paper, but I grew different, I think. I grew half in the sound space, learning how to size myself so my words exited my mouth and took the shape I wanted them to. The other half grew on the page, uninhibited by the need to fit crafted sounds into cookie-cutter shapes, worrying who would be in ear shot. I spent so much time only ever speaking through ink that I don't think I realized how much I lost until I was forced to fit sounds into shapes other people would understand again.