the reluctant heroes

[Life in Luceti continues as usual, plunging farther over the edge of unusual more and more each day. His breakfast uncooked itself this morning before he could even take the first bite. At school, a pencil rolled off his desk, and he watched it fall to the floor a dozen times. He keeps seeing familiar faces in empty spaces. The nightmares - echoed half-memories, really - aren't as sharp as they'd been in the immediate wake of the draft, but they haven't vacated his brain. He swears they're all going insane.

In the face of it all, Jean holds himself to his usual schedule. After school, his first stop is the stables for chores. He takes his horse out for a ride, cutting through the forest to see the trees starting to turn color - on their own, now, although some trees are stuck in shift seizures, dropping their leaves and budding all over again as he passes.

When he's done and he's got his horse back in the stable, he stops by the bazaar to rifle through the assortment of goods on display. He ends up finding a curious device that, upon further inspection (which looks an awful lot like messing around with random buttons), plays music. He pops the lid open to see what's inside. Discovering the tape nestled in there, he begins searching the tables and shelves and bins for more like it.

With the headphones looped around his neck, he heads for Celcius' Tear, where he'll sit with his tea and listen attentively to the music playing from the little machine, occasionally testing the various buttons. But that doesn't mean he's eschewing from company - feel free to come bother him and see what's got his interest.

Eventually, he'll pull out his journal and make an announcement of sorts.]

[Voice]

This is kind of a weird request, but does anyone have any minor injuries they need taken care of? I'm not much of a healer, or whatever you want to call it, but that's why I want to practice. If you've got any cuts or bruises or abrasions, I can probably fix it up with Nala's magic. Anything worse than that, and I can't make any promises. You should see someone with more experience.

[There's a pause, filled with some rustling as he reaches for something nearby.]

Also, uh-- [He briefly switches the journal to the video function, so he can hold up a cassette tape for everyone to see. Sinatra's greatest hits, for those with eyes good enough to read the small print.] If anyone has more of these music cartridges, could I borrow them? I'll even trade with you, if you want.

That's all.

[Classic incognito message, with the picture blocked out and everything; he even makes an attempt to disguise his handwriting, which he forgets after the first three words.]

Say you want to ask a girl out. How do you go about doing that?

Girls like flowers, right?

[See, there's actually a lot of consideration that goes into this. For a guy with a faulty brain-to-mouth filter and a do-or-die attitude, the amount of waffling here is...strange, maybe. But everyone's a walking contradiction. He has some ideas, along with maybe ten different speeches that he's mentally mapped out over the past three years and never planned on actually using, but second- and third-guessing himself leads to this pandering for advice...thing. He's pretty sure it's lame, but... It couldn't hurt, right?

Okay, so maybe he's just procrastinating.]

[Action]

[Anonymous dweebiness aside, Jean goes about his day as usual. Training at the Battle Dome; going to school; taking care of his horse at the stables, and taking him out for a ride into the woods; and checking the General Store for some...supplies, art supplies. Don't ask, don't tell.]