Sounds like you did your piece and then some. Sounds to me like you’ve been a damn good solider.
[Jesus, the guy's getting to be more there than here. He isn't speaking to Willard, can't be; the words don't fit, and there's no reason Lugo should know anything about what had gone down in the jungle. No reason anyone should know. The likely answer is Lugo's seeing someone who isn't there, maybe seeing someone else in or through Willard. Though not unheard of, it's unsettling, and what's worse is there's something shockingly familiar in the way he's looking at Willard, something ringing in those words (more tone and suggestion than the direct message, keep moving, just keep fucking moving, but at some point, there's nowhere else to go, solid striving drops to empty space).
Shit, it's as if Lugo's addressing what Willard's thinking and all of the impressions he can't even sort into thoughts, himself. Like despite the distance that must have stood between them and maybe still stands between them ('you can't travel through space, you can't ravel through space'), there's something... Something he understands, though he lacks the words or clarity for it, now. Something that could blow apart or bind together the whole fragmented, wayward ruins of Willard's questions.
It's ridiculous, or at least isn't worth the effort that clear thinking requires. Might be that Willard's mind is as out of sorts as Lugo's seems to be. All things considered, that's pretty likely. He forces his thought to shift focus, find something to fix itself on.
All right. The change in Lugo's expression as he's (drifting don't think any further about it leave the word where it is let it be the way its stands not now not now). Some quality has become more present, and Willard isn't sure whether to take it as a sign of improvement or regression, or whatever else it could be. It's almost... It's strange amid all of this, but he looks almost peaceful, even amid the obvious pain and the less obvious suggestions of regret of doubt of Christ knew what-all.
He decides it's best to let the softer words pass without remark, though their wistfulness leaves an ache. Instead, he simply moves to help the guy up. The request didn't sound silly in the least, and Willard doesn't treat it as such, and he moves about the business promptly, with an efficiency he'd cultivated well before he'd joined up.]
no subject
[Jesus, the guy's getting to be more there than here. He isn't speaking to Willard, can't be; the words don't fit, and there's no reason Lugo should know anything about what had gone down in the jungle. No reason anyone should know. The likely answer is Lugo's seeing someone who isn't there, maybe seeing someone else in or through Willard. Though not unheard of, it's unsettling, and what's worse is there's something shockingly familiar in the way he's looking at Willard, something ringing in those words (more tone and suggestion than the direct message, keep moving, just keep fucking moving, but at some point, there's nowhere else to go, solid striving drops to empty space).
Shit, it's as if Lugo's addressing what Willard's thinking and all of the impressions he can't even sort into thoughts, himself. Like despite the distance that must have stood between them and maybe still stands between them ('you can't travel through space, you can't ravel through space'), there's something... Something he understands, though he lacks the words or clarity for it, now. Something that could blow apart or bind together the whole fragmented, wayward ruins of Willard's questions.
It's ridiculous, or at least isn't worth the effort that clear thinking requires. Might be that Willard's mind is as out of sorts as Lugo's seems to be. All things considered, that's pretty likely. He forces his thought to shift focus, find something to fix itself on.
All right. The change in Lugo's expression as he's (drifting don't think any further about it leave the word where it is let it be the way its stands not now not now). Some quality has become more present, and Willard isn't sure whether to take it as a sign of improvement or regression, or whatever else it could be. It's almost... It's strange amid all of this, but he looks almost peaceful, even amid the obvious pain and the less obvious suggestions of regret of doubt of Christ knew what-all.
He decides it's best to let the softer words pass without remark, though their wistfulness leaves an ache. Instead, he simply moves to help the guy up. The request didn't sound silly in the least, and Willard doesn't treat it as such, and he moves about the business promptly, with an efficiency he'd cultivated well before he'd joined up.]
Just tell me what you need.