Welcome to Gaia! ::

To say that Taym's heart sank at receiving the text would have been an understatement: a panicky, trapped sensation descended on him immediately, and he wasn't sure which fear was stronger: that they'd bumped up his deadline, or that they 'd put him on a scale. There had been no agreement about intermittent weigh-ins, and he was not fully prepared to be combative if they were going to be forced on him.

He let himself in after a short, sharp knock, and the fact that there were two people present made his hackles rise. The realization that one of them was wearing neither Life nor Moon emblems was sufficient to add bewilderment to the cocktail of negative emotions he was cultivating, and he shot both of them a dirty look and a sarcastic salute but said nothing as he collapsed into a chair without asking for permission first, still reeking of the cigarette he'd sucked down to steady his nerves.

After both has arrived and taken a seat, Stephen smiled like a movie star and then took his own, Jane remained standing. "This will be brief. You've both been flagged for a certain type of mission." She began with tone and expression entirely ordinary and then slipped into something more sympathetic. Jane looked down at the folder in her hands as she continued, "I'm sorry to hear about your daughter, by the way. If you'd like to attend the funeral, it's being held tomorrow. An escort can be arranged."

Lawr listened intently to Jane's comments and his expression didn't flicker in the least. He was marginally more distressed by the idea of a mission than the mention of his daughter's funeral, one posed a danger to his personal well-being. The other did not.

Instead he took his time, flicking his cold gaze to Taym as he spoke, fixed and frozen.

He didn't say anything at all.

And then the thaw. He had no room for sympathy or pity: relief occupied too much space. He swallowed hard, and felt sick, and said nothing, and tried unsuccessfully to will his hands not to shake. He pushed them into his pockets instead, and whatever surly combativeness he'd entered the room with was gone: he huddled into his seat and examined his knees and breathed, carefully, slowly, not too deep (don't show anyone how much it hurts, ever).

Clearing his throat, Stephen shot Jane a look, and took over the conversation, "Anyway, the reason you boys are here is because your weight class qualifies you for Sahara duty. That territory is primarily Famine, who for what I should hope are obvious reasons, prefer targets that are extremely healthy. People with your ahh," his eyes flicked over them in professional assessment, "physique, have less to work with. Slim pickins as the saying goes."

Jane handed them each a folder, the inside of which contained a diet and workout regimen for each man as the doctor continued, "That said, you could both stand to lose a bit more to maximize that potential and hedge your bets against that clan's notice. You," he nodded toward Taym, "...are just about there, three to five pounds less and I think you'll be fine. You'll have a bit more work to do," he pointed to Lawrence, "...but it's really your safest option. We have some people out there, but in about a month and a half we'll need to swap them out. It's rough in the desert, especially when you start out in that condition, and you two are on the shortlist for replacements."

Jane gave him an encouraging smile, "It means we try to keep you alive. Two months on, two months off to fully recover and rest."

"******** the money! Two months," spat Taym before either of them could answer Lawrence. "Two ******** months? What exactly are we doing for two ******** months in the middle of a desert?"

Too much time. Too much big empty space, no libraries to hide in when the itinerary wasn't sufficiently filled to ward off boredom and idle thoughts: ******** the money; doing missions was after all his job and Lawrence's focus on compensation needled him. There were bigger questions.

Huge, empty questions.