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Gengeal Week - Harvest
The idea of a harvest season is kind of funny, over in Banora.
Genesis knows this for a fact, not because he doesn't like the way Banora does things, but because his lessons have made sure he knows everything about everywhere else in the world. Anything less, and, well. It's not worth thinking about. But he knows for a fact that there is nowhere else in the whole world that has anything like Banora White trees.
How do you have a steadfast harvest season with trees like that? Trees that decide to flower and then bear fruit at a pace that is all their own, and highly individualistic as well?
For all that his family is the one in charge of just about every Banora White tree on the entire island, well, this is something he hasn't been allowed to learn yet. His parents must know something he doesn't, because they brush him off every time he asks about it (which is only twice, before the look in his father's eyes and his annoyed tone make him stop). It's... frustrating. But what can be done about it?
So he doesn't think too much on it. Tries not to, anyway. He just focuses on his studies and, well. Sometimes, maybe, he focuses on those studies while he has a friend hanging outside his window.
That his room is up on the second floor has never stopped Angeal, and Genesis guesses it's never stopped him either. Both of them have always been good at running around and clambering up into places they shouldn't. Angeal especially, considering all the work he has to do to keep his family afloat. It's one of those rare times when he has a break, and so there he hangs, his arms crossed on Genesis's window sill and his feet likely lodging in somewhere to help him be a little more comfortable.
Genesis hardly knows what makes him bring it up. Maybe because of the arches which sprawl all the way down the hills his house is atop of. Maybe because of their mildly sweet smell that rolls in through his open window. Maybe the leaf that is still sticking in Angeal's air from when he snuck his way up here.
But he mentions it. The funny thing about how unreliable Banora's harvest seasons are.
"Oh, you can tell when some dumbapples are gonna blossom," Angeal says, like this is just a common sense little thing. "I mean not all of 'em sometimes, but there's a few, y'know how it is."
Genesis absolutely doesn't know how it is, and he tells Angeal so. Or, well, okay. So maybe he does a little more than just tell him so. Maybe he gets a little worked up, demands Angeal tell him, bothers him into showing him, and, well. He thinks he's earned a break from studying, right? So it just feels natural, when he makes his way out of his window too, and climbs down the wall to follow Angeal down to the immense dumbapple orchards spread all throughout and around town.
Even if his parents have been slow to teach him about the family business, Genesis has still managed to learn enough on his own about how the orchards are arranged. Whether reading books, or papers left out by his father, or eavesdropping on conversations his mother has with workers, he's learned a decent little bit. So he knows exactly where Angeal is taking him.
Banora isn't the oldest town in the world by any means. Still, other people did live on the islands long before his own family took over and made it far more prosperous. So while some of the orchards have been carefully organized in the recent years, well. There are other patches all around that are a little less neat.
Like the path out of town.
Once they've snuck their way down the hill, all the way around town so that no one can snitch on him, Genesis takes a second to just admire the trail. It's always awakened something rather romantic in him, seeing the trees of his home leading him out to somewhere beautiful and outside. Past the grounds of his familial home, past the basic entrapment of town. Like a promise to past the island in its entirety, but done so in a sweet and wonderful way.
Angeal stands there, right at the very end of the tunnel, light sprinkling in past the leaves, and grins at him. "You can tell when the dumbapples around here are all ready to get goin', right with this one here," he says.
The Banora white tree that he's patting doesn't look any different than the many others which line the path. At least, Genesis can't see anything too obvious in just a shallow first glance. "Alright, genius," he says, intrigued despite himself and picking up speed as he trots on over to see what will show in more than just a first glance. "You go and tell me just what's so different about this one."
"Hell if I know," he says, and Genesis could kill Angeal Joseph Hewley in the god damn shins. It must show on his face, because Angeal laughs and starts clambering up into the tree's boughs. "Alright, well, I got some ideas, I think. I don't know how this ol' fella decides, but I think it's the oldest. So whenever it starts to blossom and all that... Sooner than later, all the other ones start followin' suit. He gives the marchin' orders all around here." A fond pat to rough and twisting bark.
"Now what makes you call a tree a him, Geal."
"Could call it a lady if y'like, the tree isn't gonna give a shit, Gen," Angeal says so matter of factly that Genesis can't help but laughing. Damn his ass. He knows the kind of dumb things that get him to giggle or snort or any other stupid noise which can come out of him. It's all in the delivery of saying the most asinine things. "Anyway, this has never failed me yet. I go to check this tree every day it's not blossomin', and when it starts, that's how I know."
Well, now he's just feeling short with Angeal clambering up there like he is, so Genesis steps forward. Banora White trees can be tricky for the average person to climb, he's learned in all his time living in Banora, but they do well enough under one's feet if you simply know where to get a foothold. And honestly? It's easier trying from the side first, and then getting up that way.
So Genesis digs his foot up from where he stands beneath its long arch, finds just the right place where he can brace himself, and grips with his knees as he pulls himself up along. It's not that hard. He's done it a thousand times before, usually away from the prying eyes of his parents or any over his teachers and overseers. The kind of people who berated him for potentially 'damaging' precious merchandise. Even if it's never been merchandise, exactly. Not with the way all he has to do is close his eyes and hear everything, especially this close.
The song of bugs making violinist solos on their own legs, serenading their loved ones. The soft rustle of leaves carried along by the distant sea breeze. The slow aching creak of wood as it bent to the weight of itself, or was moved by the wind, or so slowly grew.
Once upon a time, that was the only true company he had.
These days - days like today - he doesn't often close his eyes. He doesn't need to anymore, not like that. Instead, he feels so much more as he looks up into the leaves, and sees Angeal patiently waiting for him with a grin. Waiting for him with a offered hand that they know he doesn't need, but that Genesis is glad to take anyway.
Angeal's pale purple eyes meet his over a half dozen tiny little branches. "They just smell a lil' different, I guess," he tells him. "I mean, all the trees smell a lil' different when they're about to start flowering and bearing fruit... but this one smells different from even that." Shifting in place, Angeal stretches over the bough. "Maybe it was the first dumbapple tree around here."
Who knows. Maybe it was. Everything has to have its beginning somewhere. The first drop in a pond, a tree in a grove, a person who built the house from which a town would spring.
It doesn't really matter to Genesis too much if it was or wasn't, however. All that really matters is that he has a better idea of how things work, this little domino affect that Angeal seems to know about. And more importantly than anything...
"Geal. You'll tell me when the dumbapples are getting ready to flower and fruit, right?"
"I always do, don't I? I'll always tell you everything."
This is really what he wants to hear, more than the sound of flowers in the wind or fruit being plucked from its place as insects sing. He wants to hear Angeal.
Genesis knows this for a fact, not because he doesn't like the way Banora does things, but because his lessons have made sure he knows everything about everywhere else in the world. Anything less, and, well. It's not worth thinking about. But he knows for a fact that there is nowhere else in the whole world that has anything like Banora White trees.
How do you have a steadfast harvest season with trees like that? Trees that decide to flower and then bear fruit at a pace that is all their own, and highly individualistic as well?
For all that his family is the one in charge of just about every Banora White tree on the entire island, well, this is something he hasn't been allowed to learn yet. His parents must know something he doesn't, because they brush him off every time he asks about it (which is only twice, before the look in his father's eyes and his annoyed tone make him stop). It's... frustrating. But what can be done about it?
So he doesn't think too much on it. Tries not to, anyway. He just focuses on his studies and, well. Sometimes, maybe, he focuses on those studies while he has a friend hanging outside his window.
That his room is up on the second floor has never stopped Angeal, and Genesis guesses it's never stopped him either. Both of them have always been good at running around and clambering up into places they shouldn't. Angeal especially, considering all the work he has to do to keep his family afloat. It's one of those rare times when he has a break, and so there he hangs, his arms crossed on Genesis's window sill and his feet likely lodging in somewhere to help him be a little more comfortable.
Genesis hardly knows what makes him bring it up. Maybe because of the arches which sprawl all the way down the hills his house is atop of. Maybe because of their mildly sweet smell that rolls in through his open window. Maybe the leaf that is still sticking in Angeal's air from when he snuck his way up here.
But he mentions it. The funny thing about how unreliable Banora's harvest seasons are.
"Oh, you can tell when some dumbapples are gonna blossom," Angeal says, like this is just a common sense little thing. "I mean not all of 'em sometimes, but there's a few, y'know how it is."
Genesis absolutely doesn't know how it is, and he tells Angeal so. Or, well, okay. So maybe he does a little more than just tell him so. Maybe he gets a little worked up, demands Angeal tell him, bothers him into showing him, and, well. He thinks he's earned a break from studying, right? So it just feels natural, when he makes his way out of his window too, and climbs down the wall to follow Angeal down to the immense dumbapple orchards spread all throughout and around town.
Even if his parents have been slow to teach him about the family business, Genesis has still managed to learn enough on his own about how the orchards are arranged. Whether reading books, or papers left out by his father, or eavesdropping on conversations his mother has with workers, he's learned a decent little bit. So he knows exactly where Angeal is taking him.
Banora isn't the oldest town in the world by any means. Still, other people did live on the islands long before his own family took over and made it far more prosperous. So while some of the orchards have been carefully organized in the recent years, well. There are other patches all around that are a little less neat.
Like the path out of town.
Once they've snuck their way down the hill, all the way around town so that no one can snitch on him, Genesis takes a second to just admire the trail. It's always awakened something rather romantic in him, seeing the trees of his home leading him out to somewhere beautiful and outside. Past the grounds of his familial home, past the basic entrapment of town. Like a promise to past the island in its entirety, but done so in a sweet and wonderful way.
Angeal stands there, right at the very end of the tunnel, light sprinkling in past the leaves, and grins at him. "You can tell when the dumbapples around here are all ready to get goin', right with this one here," he says.
The Banora white tree that he's patting doesn't look any different than the many others which line the path. At least, Genesis can't see anything too obvious in just a shallow first glance. "Alright, genius," he says, intrigued despite himself and picking up speed as he trots on over to see what will show in more than just a first glance. "You go and tell me just what's so different about this one."
"Hell if I know," he says, and Genesis could kill Angeal Joseph Hewley in the god damn shins. It must show on his face, because Angeal laughs and starts clambering up into the tree's boughs. "Alright, well, I got some ideas, I think. I don't know how this ol' fella decides, but I think it's the oldest. So whenever it starts to blossom and all that... Sooner than later, all the other ones start followin' suit. He gives the marchin' orders all around here." A fond pat to rough and twisting bark.
"Now what makes you call a tree a him, Geal."
"Could call it a lady if y'like, the tree isn't gonna give a shit, Gen," Angeal says so matter of factly that Genesis can't help but laughing. Damn his ass. He knows the kind of dumb things that get him to giggle or snort or any other stupid noise which can come out of him. It's all in the delivery of saying the most asinine things. "Anyway, this has never failed me yet. I go to check this tree every day it's not blossomin', and when it starts, that's how I know."
Well, now he's just feeling short with Angeal clambering up there like he is, so Genesis steps forward. Banora White trees can be tricky for the average person to climb, he's learned in all his time living in Banora, but they do well enough under one's feet if you simply know where to get a foothold. And honestly? It's easier trying from the side first, and then getting up that way.
So Genesis digs his foot up from where he stands beneath its long arch, finds just the right place where he can brace himself, and grips with his knees as he pulls himself up along. It's not that hard. He's done it a thousand times before, usually away from the prying eyes of his parents or any over his teachers and overseers. The kind of people who berated him for potentially 'damaging' precious merchandise. Even if it's never been merchandise, exactly. Not with the way all he has to do is close his eyes and hear everything, especially this close.
The song of bugs making violinist solos on their own legs, serenading their loved ones. The soft rustle of leaves carried along by the distant sea breeze. The slow aching creak of wood as it bent to the weight of itself, or was moved by the wind, or so slowly grew.
Once upon a time, that was the only true company he had.
These days - days like today - he doesn't often close his eyes. He doesn't need to anymore, not like that. Instead, he feels so much more as he looks up into the leaves, and sees Angeal patiently waiting for him with a grin. Waiting for him with a offered hand that they know he doesn't need, but that Genesis is glad to take anyway.
Angeal's pale purple eyes meet his over a half dozen tiny little branches. "They just smell a lil' different, I guess," he tells him. "I mean, all the trees smell a lil' different when they're about to start flowering and bearing fruit... but this one smells different from even that." Shifting in place, Angeal stretches over the bough. "Maybe it was the first dumbapple tree around here."
Who knows. Maybe it was. Everything has to have its beginning somewhere. The first drop in a pond, a tree in a grove, a person who built the house from which a town would spring.
It doesn't really matter to Genesis too much if it was or wasn't, however. All that really matters is that he has a better idea of how things work, this little domino affect that Angeal seems to know about. And more importantly than anything...
"Geal. You'll tell me when the dumbapples are getting ready to flower and fruit, right?"
"I always do, don't I? I'll always tell you everything."
This is really what he wants to hear, more than the sound of flowers in the wind or fruit being plucked from its place as insects sing. He wants to hear Angeal.