contempsi: ({why me})
[Hope's life has certainly been thrown into turmoil over the past few weeks, and there's certainly more to come. Now that Lightning's returned, and seems to have gathered her strength... he admittedly can't take his mind off his own problems at hand. He saw her brand—but what's to become of his?

His days, too, are numbered.

After a slumber fraught with nightmares, the boy awakens to find a more urgent, pressing problem at hand.
]



[Somehow, by the grace of whatever deity is over this place, he finally manages to open the journal by his bed and paw his way into a video broadcast.

The screen is filled with a fluffy white puppy face.
]

RUFF!

Um... w-what's going on!? Am I dreaming!?? Someone help! Lightning? Aerith?!

[Later on that day, he can be found sulking outdoors in the grass by the pathway that separates Community House #4 from the other residential homes, head on his curly fluffy paws.

He can, in fact, be understood if anyone attempts to converse with him. Translations are in italics.
]
contempsi: ({um...})
[A few weeks have passed since his arrival; Hope's grown more accustomed to the way things run around here, finally gotten some climate-decent clothing, and is now attempting to stick his neck out further—for better or worse. When the video comes on, he's wearing a dark green turtleneck sweater—since there's no errant silver feathers sticking out behind him, this suggests that he opted to cover his wings instead of letting them hang out to be vulnerable.

His head is sort of halfway tucked on his folded arms, which suggests he's lounging across something—probably his bed. Hope props his chin in hand, staring at the camera.
]

So... ah... [Idly adjusting the cuff of his sleeve.] I guess... it's time for me to go back to school, huh. [He gives a faint, nervous sort of smile.] Who here's already going? Um... I guess... i-it'd be nice to know who I'm going to be in class with. Or do they separate it by years here... like they did back in my hometown?

[There's the sounds of shuffling, then, and he quickly turns his head to the side.] W-what...!? H-hey, stop! [A black nose appears in view, along with the heavy sounds of panting—before a thick pink tongue drags over his cheek.] Gross! Cut that out, Baldr! I'm trying to... stop it! [He's clearly trying not to laugh, though, as half a curly black puppy face appears in the view, an audible thumpthumpthumpthump as his wagging tail smacks against the bed each time.] HOPE PLAY! HOPE PLAY!

We'll play later! [Hope's brow furrows as he attempts to shove the young dog away, now occupying the furniture. He gives up then, with a heavy SIGH, pulling the journal back toward him.]

I... guess they don't allow pets there, right?

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Hope Estheim

January 2019

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