Post by Gala Levinlaw on May 20, 2020 21:07:59 GMT
In Sector 5, near the waterfall but cautiously hidden behind large and waxy fronds, someone had set up a tent. That tent—small and inoffensively green—wouldn’t have been anything to remark upon if not for the fact that whoever owned it seemed determined to live in the area. After all, who would try to grow a garden if they didn't plan to stay a while?
Each weed had been yanked from the dirt and sorted decisively, dandelion leaves put in a pile to eat and poison sumac carefully disposed of. More careful than that is the way that the soil has been tilled in long lines as straight and thick as support beams. Signs had been planted in the ground like wishes that read "wheat" and "basil" and "lilies" in bold black marker. Where the dirt was still wet someone had tracked boot prints all up and down the aisle. They wound round a burlap bag that had begun to spill wheat seeds and then vanished behind a line of laundry.
Gala Levinlaw was little more than a grumbling silhouette behind her faded blue sheets. Something about the cadence of her voice—like two rocks ground together—gave her the effect of frowning. Stood on the scuffed toes of her boots Gala stretched both her freckled arms as far as she could. All that could be seen was the top of her sunflower yellow bandanna, the way her fingers moved like spider’s legs to fuss her clothesline back into place. Her laundry, meanwhile, was drooping from a sagging clothesline and falling to the ground in heavy, wet piles.
Now Gala would say she was actually very good at this and that she had just been off her game; And in fairness, she was. Once someone has rolled over the age of thirty and begins tumbling onward down to thirty three they’ve usually got what they do and don’t like figured out. Gala didn’t like Midgar—one might even say she was committed to it, twenty years married to her disdain—and it was crawling through her bones like mites, chewing at her knuckles until she sabotaged her laundry and burned her dinner. It was an emotion she couldn’t take with her on a mission and so she was trying to exhaust it by keeping busy.
Fieldy
“Ahhh! What a find, good work Choco,” Fieldy said as he walked alongside his companion. Together they had followed what looks like a trail of various weeds and bits of green in the slum, and they had rounded a corner to an area with a waterfall and at least some plant life. 
Without an immediate response from Choco, Fieldy went back to relaxing. He closed his eyes and started feeling like he might drift off for awhile, which wasn’t the worst idea honestly. It had been a long trip to Midgar and he hadn’t really found a place to lay his head yet. 
