135 Days Until Boredom And the Uncertain End (part 3)
Evester looked over the plans that Uly had given him: a pamphlet of suggestions on how to find passions outside of trying to risk his life. Martial arts? Too connected to survival. Uly would not allow it. Math and Sciences? Too connected to survival. Gaming, was, too, adrenaline inducing. Thus the pamphlet had a few things: politics — which he’d never do — or arts, which he’d never tried.
It was not that Evester hated the arts. Rather, he knew how to appreciate them as Estashia’s son. The issue was that he never could, or tried to, do arts. He had never cared to. Leave it to the more artistically inclined. Not him. Never him. There were options in there that Uly suggested because he knew they could be done alone: Music, Sculpting and Painting, Writing.
Evester hated each idea.
Why couldn’t life just be easier, and let him know what he was good at so he could do it instead of being so dreadfuly bored? Like Uly and technology. Kim and people? Phil and scams? Or rather they all knew what Evester was good at. He had been trained that way and it was the skill that was saving the world, but it was not practical to a world of peace. Evester refrained from reminding them that when they went to their new home world his skills would still be of use. For this was meant more than him. This was for Zeydar and the hopes of their relationship being any real of normal. Evester had to prove to them all, and himself, that he wasn’t in it for the rush.
Evester decided on music first. He wasn’t going to just become good by doing it once. It would require patience and practice, which was what Evester figured Uly was trying to get him to do. Patience and practice, centering himself until he knew how to survive and thrive without the constant need of danger. It was a way for him to learn to not give into it all.
“Have you seen the plans that your father has given us?” Rayda asked walking into the room as Evester eyed the guitar that Uly had found him.
“Is that the plan for training?” Evester wondered to himself what it had in it, but he didn’t want to look at it just yet. He wanted to know of the war and its plans, but he knew it would get him riled up again and he couldn’t get into the high just yet.
“Yes.” Rayda sat before him. “Guitar?”
“I wanted to try an art first. Politics seemed too easy.”
“Sure you did.” Rayda rolled her eyes before flipping through the training plans again. Rayda was always like that; it wasn’t like she doubted him. It was that she understood that he wasn’t great at trying things. When Uly had became friends with her, it had been because she was as smart as him. They’d met in university and became great confidants. Where Uly was concept smart, Rayda was people smart. Rayda knew Evester well for not knowing him as long as Uly or Kim.
“What does it say?” Evester’s curiosity was piqued the longer she looked.
“Many weak points and the likes.”
“It’s worthless if we don’t have training bodies.”
“We’ll get them.” She focused on him instead of the notes.
“And how do you plan to do that?”
“Crass and I’ll figure that out.” Which was to say it would be dangerous and Evester wanted in. She kept talking as she adjusted his hands on the guitar, showing him how to hold it properly. “For now we need to set up a training facility.”
“What for?” Were they expecting more people to come? When? Why? Who? Did Uly okay it? Would his father get arrested? What about all of them? “What are we going to do? Teach the military?”
“We may be.” Rayda tossed him the file. “Once you have a chance, look it over. Have fun with your art.” It was then that she turned on the training video he had not yet to start and eyed him for a long moment. She then smiled.
The instructor began the lecture in earnest and Evester’s eyes darted over the top of the page. It was tempting him. She’d left it on purpose to tempt him. If he wanted to succeed, if he wanted to prove to them all that he could, then he could not look. His hand reached for the file as the instructor said “Focus is necessary.” Evester’s eyes went to the screen, his own words resounding in his head. He saw Zeydar’s eyes, he felt the heat at the tips of his fingers, and the lingering swell in his chest.
He had to prove to them all that adrenaline wasn’t the only thing in his life that mattered. He had to find another purpose for living, another hobby, something other than the high to sustain him. He would do it. Thus he kicked the file to the ground, where he could not see it and followed the instructions said aloud.