there is no clock or wallscreen displaying the outside to inform lukas of the time: he only has his internal clock - slightly skewed now, by these days of entrapment - and his meal deliveries, which seem fairly consistent. bernard's visits are more erratic, though he seems to avoid the stretch of hours lukas has deemed his nighttime, when his only companions are the small radio that alerts him to the goings-on of his own silo, and the glaring red light that signifies juliette.
he wishes he had his star charts. there are two books spread out in front of him, pilfered from the tomes bernard continues to insist he's not ready to read, but that lukas is perusing regardless, though none of the pages seem to contain any information about the sky. he's glanced through the titles, their content pages, and it seems to be a subject that this hidden library is dismissive of - which lukas finds unsettling. all those pinpricks of light, so far out of reach, and no one before cared? the thought ruminates uncomfortably as he slides a finger down the microphone of the headset, exhaling loudly into it, sounding a little tired as he reports to @flxmekeepr, āthere's hardly been a change over here. they've still got the barricade up, down deep.ā lukas doesn't mean to sound bitter. he just wants out - to stretch his legs on the steps as he walks to the up-top cafeteria, settles in for a viewing of the sky.
but he knows it wouldn't be the same even if he could, because jules wouldn't be there, too.
ā- you have these books over there too, right?ā lukas asks, because he doesn't want to talk about this war anymore tonight. he doesn't want to think about the gunfire, the smell of smoke, the way the explosions had rattled his teeth. he just wants to talk to her. āhave you read any of them yet?ā
