I thought I was leaving , but I guess I just couldn't stay away. I've got a better timeline for this story than I've ever had for my others. I'm hoping that means I'll actually be able to update this in a timely manner and not get discouraged and decide to leave again. Wish me luck.
This is a revisit of my very first posted fanfic, Searching for Your Feathered Soul. Much better, I think. As it's predecessor, this fic is Yuriy's POV.
Glad to be back (tentatively). Thanks for having me. :3
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(Searching for Your) . . . Feathered Soul Revisited
Chapter One: Perfectionism
"Shoot."
I watched as their trained arms moved back in unison. It was mechanic, but certainly not perfect. There was a time, quite a while ago, that I would've wondered what they were thinking as their shooters zipped through empty launchers. But I knew better now than to bother.
There was no thinking, there was no feeling, there was only the sharp sensation of necessity. Questioning something was as pointless as straightforward resistance. Neither would lead to anything here.
I watched with patience as our leader walked down the line, inspecting the incomers as if they were cattle. Some of them had unsteady hands as they pushed the shooter back into the plastic training launcher. Many of them would never graduate to the real thing. I understood that fact completely.
"Shoot."
Again, they listened and obeyed, the older of the group having little trouble. But there were two young boys, picked up only yesterday, that seemed to waver under the constant repetition. I shifted, one of my arms falling to my side. But it quickly rejoined the other crossed behind my back.
Our leader moved to the boys, his face looking as cold as it always had. I knew they could sense his sheer disapproval by the looks on their faces. Before I could contemplate on it further, each was led in an opposite direction by a particularly surly looking set of guards. They probably wouldn't be back to the training room again.
Perfection.
It's a fleeting, impossible thing, isn't it?
I turn away, my eyes closing. From across the room I knew he was watching me now, expecting me to look again. That was my job, after all. When I wasn't training I was observing. Observing the lowly cattle that could never hope to be my peer. I needed this so I could keep going. I opened my eyes and watched.
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Short. Guess it could be considered more like a prologue.
