GODSENT | reyge

2-1; not too close

It's not often that Reyna goes for walks. She appreciates nature enough — Rosarito had its clear blue waters and its sandy beaches, semi-arid climate and tourist population, but most of the trees around the coastline had been cut down for industrialisation purposes, buildings replacing them. Here, in the humid jungle of the mysterious island the Protocol Headquarters entirely occupies, there's plenty of greenery, little critters, and the chirps of tropical birds populating the air. It gives her room to breathe.

Walking on this long, slim beach makes her miss Rosarito, whose beaches were wider, air cooler and thinner. Perhaps she should head back when the Baja Beach Fest swings around again — feel the music, the passion, the excitement of being in a large crowd of her fellow people in her bones.

The sun hangs high in the sky, too harsh for a walk that was meant to be relaxing, so Reyna heads inland, into the relishing shade of trees that break up the unrelenting pierce of sunlight. The standard issue singlet really might be her favoured piece of clothing here. The lower section is all but almost removed, the edges of what's left jagged and uneven.

Reyna had done it to help Sage. This puzzles her most. She doesn't care much for others; she had a much more important goal ahead — and Sage, a healer and one that is capable of resurrecting, especially, will be important. Her deal with the Protocol, too, is on her plate. So long as she serves them like a dirty, loyal dog, Lucia will get the best treatment and protection.

The irritation of being under some form of control itches at her, but she bites it down. This is for Lucia. She can tolerate this. Kingdom will be far, far away from either of them while she's undercover with the Protocol. Everything will be better in the foreseeable future — Reyna will make sure of that.

But, first and foremost, should the Protocol even think about going back on their word, Reyna will prove the reason for her namesake. She is not a cog in their machine, and she refuses to be. Never will she belong to another like this again. That mistake had caused her much pain and had taken a dragon's bite out of her, forced her to let go of all she used to know and understand.

Zyanya Mondragón...it was a name of the past.

A crunch of heavy combat boots in the collection of fallen leaves and snapped twigs and branches ahead has Reyna pausing. She listens closely, trying to identify the owner of this heartbeat. It's unfamiliar, but it is one she has heard before.

She reveals herself from behind the pair of trees, and the agent in front of her jerks his head up sharply, eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

Yoru, as he wanted to be addressed, blinks at her, a strange assortment of colourful leaves, flowers, and bark in his hands. His dyed-blue hair is styled as nicely as he usually does it, slicked back and pushed up—somewhat like a bird's tuft of head feathers.

With the rest of the Protocol, this new recruit is aggressive, abrasive, aloof. He rarely gathers in the mess hall, or sits down to watch football with Breach or Brimstone in the common room, or spectate gunfights in the range. A true lone wolf by definition. Even Reyna likes to partake in watching Phoenix and Jett duke it out in the mess hall over who could finish Sage's dinners the fastest from time to time.

She barely sees him around the compound, but it's easy to read him; his reluctance to socialise or be around people, a strict belief and preference for being on his own — it's all because of his hatred. It's so palpable that Reyna could swallow the taste of his loathing whenever she walks past.

But here, strangely enough, his heart is at rest, aura not quite as murderous.

"Yoru," Reyna greets, curious. "Taking a walk too?"