To Jump From Anywhere & Make It Home : Threads. - Tumblr Posts

‘  who the fuck do you think you are?  ’ / ghostface jkabnjknd

“ A journalist. “ Danny’s answer is clean and practiced, hair trimmed short and gelled into position like a real celebrity, practiced every word in the mirror and in the car on the way to work and in a thousand different moments. This, to say, he knew how to handle people like Jamie, and you could feel it. the smooth ringmaster with naught but leather bands to keep the lion at bay and yet still they puppetted the beast like a marionette rather than a horror show awaiting its opportunity, one never granted. you had to be good, of course, really good at that to get anywhere and not get caught.

he walks in with a small crowd of others, cameramen and news anchors and not-from-here reporters, all there for the same reason. Something weird happened, and weird means a good story, and anywhere there was a good story, the vultures came.

It just so happened that there’d been a lot of blood involved. It sounded like a horror movie on the back of school grounds. Danny was almost excited to see it. And right off the bat, he could tell that Jamie had something to hide.

Like a shark smelling blood, like a shark breathing it in.

“ Or, technically, I’m a photographer if you prefer the proper term, sir. Sorry about all the ruckus, news doesn’t wait for anyone. “ he pauses in front of Jamie as his brethren goes by, as if a sacrifice on the very words he’d just spoken but the importance of respect taking a bigger priority than being there now. a bandaged finger fiddles on the knob of an expensive looking camera held in his grasp, antsy, but regardless he offers the man a small apologetic smile and a handshake. “ Jed Olsen, by the way. You’re the principal here, right? Fowler? Can’t blame you for being pissed when a gaggle of wannabe journalists comes stomping through your school. I’m not the head of my group, but I can at least apologize and introduce myself "

there’s the sound of somebody calling back from the group something about getting over it and to come on Olsen, just within earshot, but Danny shoots them a glance that shows more disrespect than you might initially expect out of features like his, before his eyes go back to Jamie and the expression softens back into what it was before, if a little more sympathetic on the behalf of his ruder allies.

@disassnbler // cal & N!

none of them knew the wormhole could spit out just whatever it felt like, not until now; even with what Tangent had been claiming when she wasn't cooped up in her lab that it couldn't. nothing does not create something. there is always a reason. they'd been yet to find a reason, a good one, anyway. some, like Cal, just accepted and welcomed the bot. others, like Anemone and Solane were a little more wary. some were tearing their hair out trying to figure out where he came from, and how ━ spearheaded by Tangent herself and Instance, predictably.

The first theories were that the Heliopause harbored an AI piloted drone which was lost during going through the wormhole, but the Helios answered unhesitatingly that they didn't have anything of the sort ━ their technology was advanced compared to the Stratospheric, but their AI was feeble in comparison despite their pride; they could make the body, maybe, but they didn't, and even if they did they couldn't have made the AI as intelligent as he proved he was ( 'bordering on human' was the first thing Vace had said when seeing him, and Tangent was beginning to realize that that sentiment wasn't as far off as they might've expected. )

The next theory had been that he was sent from Earth alongside the Heliopause, or shortly after, but the timing didn't work, and neither did the story; he was from Earth, but there was no Copper-9, at least not in Earth's recently remembered galactic history and definitely not in Vertumna's, and while N was a pilot, there'd been no craft with him as far as they could find, even if there was the timing of which he must've left earth and arrived, using the Heliopause and Stratospheric for reference didn't match. ━ so many questions, and a never-ending list of contradictions.

━ they were still looking for answers, the how and why and when, but roughly, everyone had acquainted themselves with living alongside the robot, began becoming friends with him ; it was easier than had first been expected, especially when Vace discovered his combat capability. ━ Cal, on the other hand, was more interested in him himself! forget the technicalities, this could be a new buddy, and he could only imagine how jarring all of this was to begin with, too... he wanted to be a minor source of stability for him, if he could be at all. something simple. something easy. ( farmwork tended to fall into at least one of those categories, anyway... )

" Yep! Floatcow leather, reinforced with an internal synthetic webbing to make it tougher. " Cal flexed the gloves, colored a deep brown, as if to assert his honesty with a display alone. " Maybe not the best for temperature management, these aren't made from the helium bladders, but if it helps, it takes a lot to burn me! "

He pats his bicep. " As a youngster we all get genetic modifications here, and mine was always being the right temperature. Makes freezing or getting burned a little harder than it usually is! " ━ he speaks with some strain and hauls up a bag of soil under one arm as he keeps the other mostly free, tubing coiled like a snake around his elbow. " Also means I don't gotta sweat. "

with only a tanktop in the way of his upper-body, a tattoo peeking out from below the hem as the sun beat down on him, it seemed to be true. " Real useful during Dust! which... how's your cooling? not too sure if you'll like it much- "

❰❰ ALMOST ❱❱ to link !

❰❰ ALMOST ❱❱ our muses almost kiss but don’t or are interrupted before they do

Something in him cannot think, cannot stop thinking, cannot stop at all, and he thinks ━ he's convinced it's going to kill him.

Or maybe she is. Or maybe this is just what it's like, you know, to love something ━ someone, and to be able to get so close, and the world doesn't end when you do. Maybe its association, living for months in the wake of each-other, ripples on ponds that don't move and never stay still, living in the same space; in the wake of disaster, a hundred years back, a hundred years catching up to them.

Maybe it's because she didn't have to learn it like they did, how he didn't have to learn it like they did, either. One day they woke him up so he could be the apocalypse stopping the apocalypse, calamity on calamity where blood under enough pressure becomes black, black under enough pressure becomes light, light under enough pressure becomes something bigger than it could ever hope to contain, the way the cosmic dark is larger than anything, the way what's being asked of him is too. Like its a foreign concept to be given something, given something and told━ no, asked to take it, asked if he wants it, given and given graciously and given because she wants to be here, given companionship in the wake of movement; endless movement, given voice to thoughts he didn't have the language for; couldn't have the language for, and now, given touch, hand to arm to hands that don't know what to do ━ he's deerlike, funny how doe scares buck, and he can't breathe.

Please, something in him begs in the only voice he can muster, watching her. Please, a language unto itself hoping it can be understood by the negative space left in it's wake, in the way he's not thinking ━ not begging at all, but if he could, he would be. if he could, he'd move to meet her. if he could, he'd meet hers first.

Something in him cannot think, cannot stop thinking, cannot stop at all, and he's convinced it's going to kill him. Because she loves him, he's pretty sure she loves him, and he loves her, and he's pretty sure he does, and love has never been something that comes without the blood, without the black, without the light━━

And the light returns in the form of a Goddess, and the light returns in the form of a princess, and the light returns in the form of a statue. He is too acquainted with tombs, Link decides all at once like something in his chest becoming a golden bird and flying off, like a silver wire breaking and animation returns to the living stillness, he is too acquainted with tombs.

But this doesn't stop Zelda from coming, a network of parchments in her callousing hands that are learning how to work the way she's wanted to but never could before, and they almost don't catch what they've interrupted at all until they notice how close the two are together, and you can see the realization on their blue-grey eyes, in the brightened tip of their sharp ears. Link imagines with a humor he can't help that he must look the same, all tense muscle in anticipation, all soft features wide but unable to articulate that he wants her to kiss him, needs her to kiss him. He figures Zelda's expression is a little different, but close enough to draw comparisons to.

" Oh-! I'm━ " a still hazed mind gets confused on why she's introducing herself again as Zelda struggles for the words, mind too fast for her, a funny contrast to Link, who finds himself too blind in surprise for the mind to move at all ( almost gawking ) " I'm so sorry, I-I'm interrupting something, here- I'll bring these━ I-I'll go- "

Link says something reassuring he forgets the moment it's out of his mouth, beckoning them back but he's smiling and it's honest, as he shifts his hand from its aimless hovering to rest on Gaia's arm, cradling the elbow. She staggers as though struck, poise awkward as she holds the scrolls ━ construction plans, he's sure, that's what most of them have been lately ━ and glances between Link and Gaia like a mouse caught in a trap, almost asking permission to flee, but mostly just the attitude of you're serious? you're seriously asking me to stay-???

After a moment she relents, and step carefully forwards as though navigating a cave which may or may not but probably has traps in it, before gaping like a fish looking for words, and eventually settling on; " … I hope I don't make a habit out of this… " ( They most certainly will, much to their chagrin )

When her expression changes to one of surprise, smile vanishing, Ryuji can't help the pang of worry in his stomach that he did something wrong.

Maybe he did, a part of him murmured, you did just make a scene then proceed to ask if she wanted clothing coupons in public, you know? Maybe that'd be embarrassing for her, both in the ways of her disliking such attentions; her efforts to keep her head down royally dashed by sheer virtue of her befriending of him, not to mention the metaverse as a whole; and in the ways of what thoughts it might inspire. ( while Ryuji hadn't first known, hadn't first realized, the concept passed right by him entire until pointed out with pen and paper like an assignment he missed the date for; how many others shared that first unawareness? how many other people would judge her for it? their peers so often tore her apart as it is, a feeling Ryuji was so familiar with. was this feeding the vultures? was it baiting them in? if not appearance in one way, then they would always find another. they would always find something different, they would always find something. )

for a split second, his center of gravity shuddered just enough to make his nerves feel shaken, and he tries not to look too worried. it was just surprise, and if she did turn it down, really turned it down, he could give them to someone else; the sentiment, hopefully, not a bad one. not a lost one. ━ but he hoped she'd take them. he couldn't know what it was like to be who she is trying to outlive who she used to be known by, but he wanted to help, even if he couldn't. wanted her happy, even if it was fleeting. he knew that always, always, she'd deserve that much. ( so he hoped she'd take them. he really hoped she'd take them... )

but Ryuji almost gets blindsided by his own momentary past self as he straightens out properly with his breath regained, not expecting to be caught red-handed in his half-step falter of language; he should've, Akari was quick, quicker than anything, and he finds himself kind of glad for it, but also a little embarrassed at being called out

" Oh! Uh.. " the bleached-blonde falters, not untruthfully, and scratches at the back of his head, openly unexpecting of it, as the other arm he holds the coupons with bends & lowers only slightly in his thought, the offer still blatantly on the table despite the motion " Reason I asked is 'cause, well… I wanted to know if you'd wanna go together! "

might as well be honest! ( double down! )

" I don't really know how to style an outfit like you or the others, a-and I don't know nothin' 'bout girl clothes, " Ryuji bounces his leg by the tip of his shoe, scraping it against the ground, bluntness overpowering the anxiety beneath it " but I like hanging out with you anyways, no matter what we do, and you deserve something nice! "

Ryuji's conviction of the statement is honest, heartfelt, unhesitating. he doesn't even need to think about it to believe it, like it's just a fact to him, like simple truth. he waggles the coupons like it's proving a point, flimsy paper slips shivering in the wind " and if I gave 'em to Ann, I'm pretty damn sure her closet would explode at this point… "

[Plotted Asks!]

@quillheel wrote in… »» " Hey, Akari-! " brazen as ever, like a bull in a china shop, you can hear the blonde before you see him. Ryuji manuevers, almost dance-like ( if not for how ungraceful he is ), around the groups of students departing from the academy. To his benefit, at the very least he's not toppled anyone over… this time. ducking, weaving, before hopping haphazardly on one leg, a backpack of supplies hooked on his arm wild with momentum, to part through a gap of people and at last make it to Akari. He's as bright as ever, though red in the face from the strain & speed of himself, frame shaking with heavy breathing. he hunches, hands on knees, to catch his breath. He seems not to care as people stare, just a little, at the commotion. " H-hey━ sorry about that, I uh- I wanted to ask if you were free today-? Real last second, I-I know, but━ " Well, that explains the seeming bid for attention: it was. like Akari's time would be snatched up if he wasn't fast enough. ( some days, that was true… ). he digs out two slips of paper from his bag, and waves them like evidence, reason to his social crime. " ━ wound up getting coupons for that one clothes place down the way, in Shibuya, and they expire in a couple of days so I-I wanted to ask if- " come on, spit it out! " if you wanted em-! " ━ damn! he meant to ask to go together, even if Ryuji didn't know his head from his feet in fashion, but… ah well, it's the heart that counts, right? as long as Akari had the chance to get something she liked, it was worth it either way.

The moment Akari heard the all-familiar, less-than-inside voice beckon to her, the moment she dared to turn around--she half-expected to witness some poor soul get trampled over by the incoming stampede headed in her immediate direction. However, she would be humbled in her assumption--surprisingly so, don't get her wrong--as she instead caught a showing of Ryuji attempting to hop, skip, and jump his way over to her, somehow avoiding the outcome she'd predicted.

"Ryuji, you know that you could have just said my name and I would have waited for you... right?" There's a shake of her head, but she did have to stiff a small huff of laughter. There was no reason to make such a showing, but in a twisted way, she was glad he did.

Embarrassing? Oh, yes--everyone within the vicinity was now staring into their very souls. Weirdly amusing and worth watching? Also yes.

However, when he'd expressed his intentions further, Akari's little grin had faded for an immediate reaction of surprise. She blinked a few times under her glasses, both at the invitation, and, of course, at the two tiny sheets within the blonde's grip. Coupons... for a clothing store? And, judging by his own language, he acquired these at his own leisure, and not by any sort of random chance.

Yes, extremely unlike Ryuji. To the point where she's still wearing that expression by the time she spoke again. Her thumb and index slowly trailed downward over the strap of her bag; Morgana must have jumped out at some point, maybe when he heard Ryuji coming...? He definitely would have said something less-than-ideal by now if he were present.

"A... are you sure you wouldn't want to give these to Ann?" Ann was the actual fashionista of the group, after all--surely she was the better candidate. And yet... here he was, offering them to her instead.

She... wasn't quite sure if she should be the one accepting these, out of all people... and not merely due to her lack of fashion. So, she would not extend her hand to accept them just yet.

"...You asked if I was free?" Surely it wasn't related to this, right? Ryuji didn't quite strike her as the type to enjoy that kind of shopping.

The haze over her vision clears as she comes to, eyes spiraling her skull in their dizziness. The first thing she sees is soft, candle-lit light, and smoke that gently rose from a crackling fire at the center of the hut she'd woken in. Mari is strewn neatly across a bed, her body feeling stiff as a rock, as if she'd hit something hard and fast before waking up. She groans in response to muffled, incoherent voices that steadily become clearer the more that she wakes. She finds just enough strength to turn her head and stare drowsily at whoever else occupied the room, looking as spaced out as a slowpoke in a coma. | for adaman!

Some of the times he checked up on her, he almost couldn't believe she was still alive.

At first, they hadn't thought it'd been the case. The body worn and broken, harsh under the gravity of the world hauling into the earth, before someone felt the cold strawberry skin of her nose and realized that it still drew air, breath turned to mist when warmed enough to do it. Lucky, that her landing close enough to spot in the frosting river reeds of the mirelands, to rouse ruckus, to be hauled back. Lucky, that her landing was softened, perhaps, by the mud & the foliage & the tension of that crackling frenzy in the air that might've spat her out in the first place. They'd not have been able to save her, as autumn rolled in on itself further into summer's sleep, if she stayed out there too long.

A story Adaman recalls to himself as he overlooks her; a duty, in a way, to himself to ensure, to manage, to see. Each day, she continued. Each day, an anticipation. He doubted it to be one of Galaxy's, the clothes too different, the person too unknown. Not theirs, but whose? who, where, what did she come from?

A secret to be answered in time. He tried not to get his hopes up that it'd be answered at all. Even if she hadn't died yet, a fall like that rarely goes without aftershocks.

It's late by the time consciousness dribbles back into bones. The smell of herbs through the warmed air, something bubbling atop fire, the sound of fabric and skin shuffling as he moved, attentive and slow, as he spoke to the more medically wise who'd been attending her. he'd offered to take the responsibility to look after her while they rested, with only so much to be done, that could be done. Easiness in his voice, reassurances, then goodbyes as he attended to the broth. ( a family recipe, one said to bring new life. he liked to think, even slightly, that it could help... )

It's only when the two left that dark eyes flick over, her breathing turning harsher with unconsciousness slipping back, and see her coming to. The task dropped, the sound of Adaman's robes shuffling is quick as knees shuffle in a scurry to her side, searching for something over her form; over her face. How long has the stranger been asleep? ( the answer comes instantly, second sight, second intuition. 4 days, 19 hours, 42 minutes. like clockwork, like divine knowingness. )

Sinnoh, he was glad to see any life at all, regardless of how distant she was now.

" Come on... Come on... You've got it... " the words are a soft wind through teeth as he leans a little closer as though trying to make it easier for her to recognize, one hand's knuckles pressed into the edges of the mat, her old clothes folded nearby. It's as a hand reaches, soft in the open air nearby, that he sees the white of her eyes; regardless of how distant; and relief takes him only for a moment. Perhaps pride, bubbling beneath the surface, at the other having drew breath long enough to do it at all. a complete stranger, and yet, still they lived.

" There you are. " a subtle congratulation he doesn't expect to be felt as the reaching fingers make purchase, gently at the side of her face, the other joining it's brother, slipping under her other cheek as he gently lifts her head, thumbpads lightly pulling taught the edge of the eye where crows feet would one day linger as Adaman studies her face, her eyes, looking for something unknowable.

It's unclear if he's found it after the moment passes, and he carefully sets her head down to rest back 'pon the cushioning beneath, gingerly, as he softly speaks not fully intending for Mari to listen, " Hey, Stranger. We thought you were a goner. Glad to see you prove me wrong. "

🔥 // Throwing this back at you, for Akechi's opinion of Yusuke. :) Or even, Ralsei's opinion of Kris!

send me a 🔥 and i'll tell you one thing my muse finds attractive about yours // always accepting!

" Oh! " ━ the brief flicker of being caught off guard, charitable; good natured, as though it was an unexpected but not disliked surprise. spinning the wheel in a teenage game & watching the tinted bottle land on you, abruptly asking just how well they could do; trivia, kissing, something else; always something else; it didn't matter. ( it masks a brief, insufferable bolt of panic that glimmers like lightning from his heart down to his stomach. it's just a game, but still, a tv-ready feeling takes over, the polish of someone who must live off of how well they can dance around the unexpected, and dance well. )

" You're asking me? Well, I'm sure there'd be plenty of girls quite interested in Yusuke-san's features, but alright! hmm... " a laugh, shifting into pondering, think on it, act as though you haven't thought about it before, an invasive thought curled around the brainstem far more descriptive than what is being asked. run the list in your mind again, ignore the fact you have a list at all, again, again. check the time. 30 seconds is appropriate. get it right. get it right.

" Ah, his eyes perhaps? he's very attentive to other people in his own way, which as a detective, I have to appreciate! " ━ as a detective, of course, only that. nothing more. nothing further. something shivers inside him and keels over in the cold apathy to his inner self as a trained dog jumps through hoops. poodle; greyhound; akita. ( 'his hands,' offers a different, quiet part of him that could never be shared, never be heard. 'dexterity along the length of fingers, brutality along the backs of knuckles : the way he uses both to make something beautiful.' )

Whenever they wake up like this, they feel like they're 6 years old again. ━ Factually, this is not correct, and cannot be correct. When they fell, they were something young, but never that young, never again. Their childhood was one of independence & the orange-gold crest of a mountain's shell & the routine of tending to chickens before wandering in the long rye, alone as a child, together here. When they were 6, they were taught how to feed animals and how to pick berries. When they were 6, they were taught the right way to hold an oil lamp. When they were 6, there was still glass jar waiting. And maybe it's still waiting. They can't remember. But now, 13 hangs on their teenage bones like a reminder of what world they're living in, and how many times they've lived it renders it null. Memory lost until they look in the mirror, and it's still to early to bother. Ouroborus in the long grass, snake in the bedframe, serpent in Eden.

But the serpent has just awoken, and while somewhat peckish, they could wait til dinner. Hunger unto hunger unto hunger until someone matters more than the process looping again ( and maybe from a different life, maybe from the one they're in, they can still smell the smokeless heat of fire, of protection )

Frisk rubs their eyes, hair disheveled, as one hand tries to comb it down. They end up distracted by a spot of acne on their jaw that they'll have til they're 15, no matter what they do about it, as they peek at Toriel from behind thick tangles. ━ for how many times they've heard it, will hear it, they'll never get tired of the voice that greets them when they have the privilege to hear it at all. That priviledge is granted then revoked then granted again, but still, that never stopped them calling.

" M'hm… " the hum of Frisks voice betray the sleep they try to wriggle off as they finally brush back their bangs to observe the chaos-that-was-yet-to-occur-but-most-certainly-coming, notably ducking to attempt in peering beside Toriel's legs into the oven like getting a sneak-peek of a surprise. Alas, without a bulb, the oven retains its secrets. Their dark eyes look up at Toriel as they right themselves, and while they always seem tired, they always seem brighter with her around " Migh'wanna grab a brush before I get th'burner covered in this- " they waggle the hand still with its fingers combed & caught in a bundle of their brown bangs, some strands giving out and falling back into their eyes " -but 'll help. like helpin'. " they nod as they say the last part, as though confirming it themselves to be true, which they already were, but it doesn't hurt!

as they saunter down the hall to snag a brush or comb you could've sworn they'd never seen before, they all but trot back to Toriel as they wrangle their locks into place, eyes brighter, sharper now as they glance around the kitchen " What're we makin' today? "

The heavenly smell of baked goods radiate from the kitchen. A warm glow that lures you in with the promise of homely comfort. It's there you'll find Toriel mid-prep. The pie crust has already been set aside and she's at the oven with a slight sway to her hips. The light hum of instrumental music coming from an unknown source. You're quiet, though it's not enough to keep her from noticing you.

"Oh. What timing. Did you sleep well?" Her voice is soothing, Motherly. The look of joy expressed in a kind smile. "If you're feeling rested I could use some help in the kitchen today." / @quillheel

It's casual and not at the same time, the way he looks at Akira, and maybe he is what he fears him to be. ━ good reason to be cautious held behind the sharp edges of dull red eyes, both settled 'pon the ravenette, in the knowledge of who he is; what he does; and what you cannot say. His gloved fingers idly trace careful lines in his cups porcelain ridges with a concealed nail, idle as his attention rests squarely on the shoulders of conversational interest ( his subject, maybe, in the way he's been watching since he entered, only when Akira wasn't looking; eyes catching yours like he knew when you were ) making it feel almost the same as a teenage girl fiddling with her hair when someone she liked spoke to her, casual and innocuous and not at the same time, electricity bouncing off the cup; off the countertop; off the skin.

Maybe he is a live-wire, warning of twisted metal still too clever not to hold a current with a voltage that'd kill you if you let it, if you didn't. Electricity like a haze forcing hairs to stand, the mind to repeat mantras, strain of a mask he could not see; but knew was there. Maybe he is, electricity swimming in the pool with him, or maybe it's something worse than that, and you just couldn't see it yet. ━ only one person who could hide it. only one person who knew the tricks. make it two, and make it count. ( I wonder what happens when predator and predator get put in the same room, no matter how much one considers the other ; or perhaps themselves ; as prey, it is predator and predator. crow and cat and vulture. three; who was what, or what did you have in common? )

" Oh, I'm sorry! I should've made it more obvious. " Akechi responds as though that in a way is an answer, eyes crinkling with the motion of apology, but not quite closing. a dip of the head, brows arched, clean soft hair falling nicely where the longest of it barely touched his shoulders.

" As a detective I have a habit of studying people, like people watching, and there's just some little things I noticed about you, is all. I usually don't point it out, but you're an interesting exception. " He shifts back, eyes flicking to scan the space behind the counter, Sojiro caught in a glimpse in the back; careful consideration, but hard to know what he sees. ( can't get a read… ) ━ they flick back to Akira, pinning him too with a focus that seems so innate; but so easy to squirm under at the same time. interrogation lights in the way he watches you. " If you'd like, I can point out how I got my conclusion! But first, I'd like to know, was I right? " ( nerves hidden under the skin, and spotting them where the cracks shine through. he doesn't hold the gaze, glancing, out of confusion of intention; or fear? controlled breath like evidence; so he is afraid of you, or maybe he's just nervous, unexpecting of the question and your presence like a hawk in a henhouse; somewhere considered safe, right? that's the act, motions too practiced to be new here, safe behind the counter, safe beneath the radar. does he know you? good question, good question, good question. ━ he must ━ but maybe you're wrong. time to tell, time to tell... ) It's only guessing, after all. ( but it's so hard to tell )

quillheel asked:

"Obedience does not come naturally to you, does it?" // from Akechi to Akira! never listen to this man, now because he isn't intelligent enough to follow but because its funnier when its small shit <3

Meme Tag -- @quillheel

"What do you mean?" Akira returns question for question, opting to finish what he's doing behind the counter before glancing at the teen detective.

It's weird for him to just be there, sitting behind the counter, right? Akira can't help the dance of electricity over his skin, almost as if Akechi is the source of a livewire and he's standing dangerously close. Be cautious, be careful, chants around his mind almost unhelpfully at this point. It's not like being nervous about the guy is going to do anything helpful for him, just make him more nervous, and he tries to stamp down on the spinning thoughts with a small controlled breath.

Not that he's thrilled with the idea of having the detective just randomly appear at LeBlanc. Does he know? Or maybe he suspects something? And he pins Akechi with a questioning look, eyes mostly hidden by his messy bangs. Or maybe he means Akira's record?

open starter! // goro akechi

somewhere in the city, a white crow looms, deathlike, over the bones of mouse. feathers like ivory, eyes like blood vessels, mind like something hungry wing into limbs built for it, gravity taking hold, and catching air in asphalt claws. Akechi feels the same, for a blinding moment, and wills himself to be unflinching after finding an anticipation of one less step than there was as he goes up the stubby staircase of his office, only realizing his error as his foot goes through the space where the ground comes up to meet him, just in the wrong way.

his balance threatens him like gunpoint for a moment, and some minor shameful part of him shivers with the fact he'd have preferred that opposed to someone catching him like this ━ an angry thrum behind his eyes making them feel tense and pained and dull ━ but the rest of him floods in too fast by the time he's down the stairs properly, releasing held breath only when he's halfway down the hall, and reminds it that a little humility/humanity is a good thing, as that minor shameful part mumbles under its breath that perfection is a virtue, or at least, it used to be.

he finds himself navigating the office almost blind as sharp pain crackles along the seams of the skull like an electric board, shuffling mindfully in some of the more cramped spaces as the brain struggles to consciously process the outside world, so instead it reverts inwards, leaves him on autopilot; on memory. Goro is lucky that while he had not memorized the stairs, he has with nearly the entire rest of the building, or at least the route to his office. some coworkers try and catch his sleeve in conversation as he passes, but he brushes them off, social and sweet, that he's very busy right now, perhaps later! and the mission resumes. ( perhaps it simply does not occur to him of how rushed his stride is, how his knuckles turn into angry white ridges on the grip of paperwork, how one eye on the left side twitches; how this would be worrying if you knew him well enough, and sometimes, if you didn't. )

and when he does get into his office, he shuts the door, turns off the light, and sinks into the feeling of plushed-out fabric on a relatively cheap but not terrible desk chair that offers what familiar comfort it can, and what familiar discomforts he knows which he can avoid and which ones he can't; precise poise not enough, where he imagines he could stay for the rest of the day. ━ he'd rather be lying down right now, migraine lashing into him where even the modest sunlight drips in behind him from concealing blinds is too much, but he takes what he can get with two sharp hands, nails digging into it, and he accepts that this; in all likelihood; is going to be the best remedy that he has for the majority of the day until he can snag a bottle of painkillers on the way back home. resting the cool gloved back of his hand overtop the skin of his eyes. best just to survive, for now, he quietly decides…

… and the peace he craves does not last as long as he so wished it would. minutes or hours, he catches footsteps outside his door just before his doom comes, jolting alive in his seat even to the chagrin of the flesh of the brain as the doorknob rattles, he's lucky he can mask the pain with the squint of trying to change out a lightbulb in his turned off lamp as he peers over to the opened door ( although, he can't hide the twitch ) part of him begs to swipe at them with large heavy claws and rip out anything foolishly not nailed down from his rude guest, fingers poised at the neck of the lightbulb and dexterous enough to turn them even if he was blinded by the light from the rest of the station sweeping into his own little room like bleeding an infection, but he carefully tucks the impulse back. at least, in part, to know who he was going to be clawing at in the first place; not really out of unwillingness to be ruthless, perhaps cruel.

Akechi's head pounds. He finds himself unable to remember the shape of their shadow through the glazed window that otherwise he should've caught. He resists a wave of nausea that threatens to sink in. ( easy, now… )

" Oh, hi! I'm a little preoccupied at the moment, so you might want to take up your problem with someone else if you're looking for speed, but what can I help you with? "

@playedbetter // lyric starters; without mythologies by the weakerthans.

Maybe the scariest part of seeing Kim with a fever, hot-cold all the time and aching, was less about the fever itself; it was about seeing how that sickness pried back the composure on him like skinning a beetle of its shell, it was less the times he was asleep and more when he was awake; often irritated beneath a reluctance to engage at all and murmuring barely there mostly through the breath of wheezing, it was more about the times he murmured at all.

The Lieutenant's apartment is clean, and maybe it would've reminded you of the Pox if not for the fact you were allowed within it's walls where many weren't, and the various small details that filled itself in on it's own lived in qualities. Clean but imperfect, and unable to escape from the fact of the city you both lived in ━ Revachol whispering on the paint cracked window-sills as summer heat leaked in through them, on the smell of maybe something rotten. gasoline. vaguely something plantlike, like trees bending their leaves up to break up the noise.

There are exactly 11 trees along Kim's street. Maybe you would've noticed in the way here, or maybe not, since Kim invited Harry over after struggling; frustratingly inattentive; throughout the day on a case, and the first time Kim had handed over his place at the wheel of the Kineema so willingly since the beginning of it's service at the station ( it might've been the station's vehicle, one he was lucky to have been able to take with him when transferring over to station 41 after a major amount of string-pulling, ass kissing, and excuses about repairs, but in the end it was always Kim's baby ) to Harry. ━ so naturally, there were many other things to notice when one is entrusted with the golden ticket of a sick man almost begging him not to crash the damn thing than the amount of trees on Kim's street. But there are still 11 trees, and one way or another, you'd gotten home.

And in this home, Kim lays on his back on his couch, glasses removed and eyes covered with a cool wet cloth as a radio plays some random station quietly enough to be unintrusive but still filling a white noise ━ something classical, or at the very least, instrumental. the voices of the piece if you focused on it no more than a distant kind of cloud that wasps over hazily on compressed air waves ━ and occasionally he murmurs to himself, quiet and voice shot. this was the scary part, what he'd say. what it'd tell you. this was the scary part, to hear him through the softest electrical hum...

" si je pouvais, je ferais de toi une rivière déchaînée avec des rapides en colère alimentés en pluie, pour que tu puisses toujours serpenter et pouvoir toujours t'enfuir… " ━ breathe in. ( if i could, i would make you a raging river with angry rapids supplied with rain, so you could always meander, and forever be able to run away… )

sings to himself, rather, here. sings to you? the language hangs on his tongue, syllable after syllable.

" sans lutter… contre les mythes mal interprétés, contre la douleur… " ━ breathe out. ( without contending… with myths wrongly interpreted, with pain… )

he does, sing to you. the only person you can remember who would, regardless of intention. he breathes with the music, and with it comes over with the terror of an honesty so grandiose it becomes small again; marble-like; like an unfulfilled wish he offers out, downy feathered, anyways, because the sentiment matters more than whatever it is now. maybe he doesn't even realize he says it out loud to begin with, but he does, whispers in the gentle shuffle of the apartment's small spaces, composure a dream he hasn't woken into, rarely; rarely, a heart on his sleeve. ( like speaking in your sleep. like honesty when you don't realize it, laid back on the worn cushioning of a couch, allowing himself not to see, allowing himself to merely be, be there. to drive him home. trusting. trusting you. )

The shaken nerves permeate a little further instead of being settled in the uncertain taken-aback pause, and the more insecure, conscious part of him puts up it's hands for rejection to a heart bore honestly and puts forth the too-little-too-late consideration that maybe he should've waited. Maybe he should've, he considers it again, same as 'maybe he did' just in another skin, but this time the problem wasn't as vague as something being wrong, the problem was just him. him, so loud and urgent and lighthearted all at once, unanswerable, uncomfortable, putting her on the spot. he thought through it before, figured out the best way he could offer, but he always jumps the gun, doesn't he? when the pressure's on, he turns into a blazing thing that couldn't be contained, couldn't be accounted for, couldn't follow rules, couldn't do what they needed him to━━ Stop.

She didn't say no. He knew the freefall he was getting stuck on, and he knew how unhelpful it was. ( bite it back ) ;; Sure, maybe he should've, but he did, and in the end he loves her enough to fix it if it does need fixing the same way he would with anyone; anything else, ignorance not a crime so much as something he tries to mend, and tries not to fall into twice. ━ have a little patience. have a little faith. ( she's not gonna bite you for who you are. she never would. you found out that feeling like you did a broken leg, and it was a terrible one, but you know better. she's not the same. she never could be. )

anxiety was always like a lightning strike, like splitting dead wood, like the shiver of doing something wrong but his heart is louder, the side she brought out of him, and it rings when he realizes she's accepted, when patience pays off.

fuck whatever people wanted to assume. ━ this was what meant something, not rumors, not gossip, not assumptions on something he couldn't find in him to prioritize higher than he did her. maybe it'll bite him in the ass, when reality comes back to intrude, but the victorious feeling in his chest rings out like a bright brass bell and overwhelms it entire. too loud to hear, too loud to care about. ━ he'll handle it when it does ; always itching to move in the moment while he had it ; he'll take the teeth when it finds him, he'll take it because it made her happier, and that's enough for him. it'd always be enough. ━ maybe being called sweet adds fuel to that impulsive part of him, lit alive by approval & praise like a shock to the system. call it sugar-rush, but hell, he couldn't mind the feeling, not when it was from her

" Hell yeah!! " the words bubble out of him as partial agreement but mostly cheer, laced with a sincere elation that he couldn't help as dark eyes gleamed with it. but the blonde catches himself, aware enough to at least lower the volume, and tucks away his free hand into his pocket as an effort to contain his enthusiasm. his leg bounces with a better kind of electricity as he answers proper, grinning as he thinks for a second, and has to acknowledge that yeah ; maybe he's a little more out of his depths than he thought he was. ━━ " I mean- if you're cool with that! I don't know if there's some kind of shopping rulebook or whatever on if guys can come with, but I'm game if you are! "

" plus, " he adds, almost conspiratorially, like this was kind of heist and not just going to get a new outfit " I don't mind breaking a couple rules if you don't, neither, so why not? "

Sure, maybe he doesn't know the etiquette of how to refer more traditionally feminine clothes, and maybe he never really went out of his way to go pick up shopping things for Ann before, but you could never say he didn't have enough energy to make up for it twice over!

When her expression changes to one of surprise, smile vanishing, Ryuji can't help the pang of worry in his stomach that he did something wrong.

Maybe he did, a part of him murmured, you did just make a scene then proceed to ask if she wanted clothing coupons in public, you know? Maybe that'd be embarrassing for her, both in the ways of her disliking such attentions; her efforts to keep her head down royally dashed by sheer virtue of her befriending of him, not to mention the metaverse as a whole; and in the ways of what thoughts it might inspire. ( while Ryuji hadn't first known, hadn't first realized, the concept passed right by him entire until pointed out with pen and paper like an assignment he missed the date for; how many others shared that first unawareness? how many other people would judge her for it? their peers so often tore her apart as it is, a feeling Ryuji was so familiar with. was this feeding the vultures? was it baiting them in? if not appearance in one way, then they would always find another. they would always find something different, they would always find something. )

for a split second, his center of gravity shuddered just enough to make his nerves feel shaken, and he tries not to look too worried. it was just surprise, and if she did turn it down, really turned it down, he could give them to someone else; the sentiment, hopefully, not a bad one. not a lost one. ━ but he hoped she'd take them. he couldn't know what it was like to be who she is trying to outlive who she used to be known by, but he wanted to help, even if he couldn't. wanted her happy, even if it was fleeting. he knew that always, always, she'd deserve that much. ( so he hoped she'd take them. he really hoped she'd take them... )

but Ryuji almost gets blindsided by his own momentary past self as he straightens out properly with his breath regained, not expecting to be caught red-handed in his half-step falter of language; he should've, Akari was quick, quicker than anything, and he finds himself kind of glad for it, but also a little embarrassed at being called out

" Oh! Uh.. " the bleached-blonde falters, not untruthfully, and scratches at the back of his head, openly unexpecting of it, as the other arm he holds the coupons with bends & lowers only slightly in his thought, the offer still blatantly on the table despite the motion " Reason I asked is 'cause, well… I wanted to know if you'd wanna go together! "

might as well be honest! ( double down! )

" I don't really know how to style an outfit like you or the others, a-and I don't know nothin' 'bout girl clothes, " Ryuji bounces his leg by the tip of his shoe, scraping it against the ground, bluntness overpowering the anxiety beneath it " but I like hanging out with you anyways, no matter what we do, and you deserve something nice! "

Ryuji's conviction of the statement is honest, heartfelt, unhesitating. he doesn't even need to think about it to believe it, like it's just a fact to him, like simple truth. he waggles the coupons like it's proving a point, flimsy paper slips shivering in the wind " and if I gave 'em to Ann, I'm pretty damn sure her closet would explode at this point… "

By now, Robin really should've been used to preparing for all kinds of weather given how long he's been doing this thing. ━ Bruce had never really been a take a scarf kind of guy, though, more of a check you have the essentials type, so maybe the little things couldn't be helped as much as he 'should' or 'shouldn't' have already been ready for a surprising cold-shock this early into the season. ( he's pretty sure he's already spotted ice beginning to form on the skins of uncovered pools and rivers, even if snow hadn't come just yet )

That still didn't make the cold air biting at his nose any kinder, though. the handful of thin layers between him & the chill, gloved hands tucked into his letterman jacket and curled into fists in efforts to shake off the icy feeling, weren't exactly the most promising. the white eyes of his mask stiffen into some kind of wince at the intensity as they step out of the building they'd been in, chasing leads, finding dead-ends, as his breath turns into a fog the second they pass through the doors. it was the usual kind of work for Robin, though he was mostly accustomed to doing it alone lately.

Maybe that's part of why he's unexpecting that the comment made just after breathing a flame of swirling fog from his nostrils as though proving a point ( though mostly just for fun ) was answered with such an unhesitating response, unseen eyes snapping to look at Bart in surprise as he offers out his coat. He can't help but blink.

" Yeah, I like coffee, " Robin offers the answer as he, a little tentatively, takes the jacket " Learned how to make it pretty young, so you kind of get used to it either way after a while. "

" But what about you? " the eyes of the mask take a harsh squint, head cocking on an angle, he gestures a little with the jacket; not straightening it out just yet to put it on " You're going to freeze without it, or does it not effect you the same way? " ━ an honest question! he wouldn't be all that surprised if Bart's heartrate was innately fast enough that the cold didn't quite get it's claws in him the same, but he'd rather be certain before casting him to the chilly air, too. ( or at least, be able to plan ahead to right it later. )

@quillheel / Robin : I did not dress warm enough for this…

bart gave him a funny look, brows furrowed with a little frown . and in the blink of and eye, his own jacket is taken off his shoulders and OFFERED up .

❝ say something sooner next time, dude !! it’s freezing . ❞ bart didn’t seem bothered by the cold despite that fact . ❝ here, take it . we can get some coffee or something, too . you like coffee, right ??? ❞

He is an ant in the maw of a whale. a god in the mouth of an even bigger god. organic servos fizzle and hum and burn out centuries of ice; and he is a drowsy thing, still, in the mouth of something much, much bigger than him.

Drowsy is not the right word. Too human of a concept. It is atrophy in the way rigor mortis sets into a body, the way blood congeals after death, the once solid structure becomes soft and hard in all the wrong places. pulpy and calcified and off, but these are still viscerally, undeniably human concepts. ( organic concepts, he should say, biological concepts. funny, how on closer inspection, he is as much of a patient as he is a broken thing. engineering to medical, engineering to medical. ) he feels as though something has gone ‘off’ inside of him. rotten and wrong and disconnected. He could never call it a pleasant feeling.

Like the metal rods of a slow heating system, fossilized in it’s own inactivity, his mind begins to warm up again. slow at first, strings of processes and code raveled out onto a screen hooked into the ship as he begins diagnostics automatically, and in this way, begins to shiver & shake his way awake. the praying mantis shivering out of it’s molt, of it’s coma. like running those diagnostics, being the mantis, and finding limbs have been lost in the instar; lost in the transitioning. swathes of him, unseen, unfelt; phantom, in a way. ━ he never expected to wake up to feel them again, though. he'd question if this was death, but something deep in his being; still, persistent after anything, after everything; says he cannot die. refuses to let him. refuses to think. Many parts of him refuse to think, now, but the stoic rods hum to life as his little body crackles on the table with ice, with slate, with a millennium of things caught inside, and rendered their own kind of history.

The moment he is capable of processing what exactly that fills the screen hooked up into the ship, awaking from under a mountain range of warnings and errors and critical failures, he decides he hates it. they can see the decision made and string of interweaving terrible emotions in a series of technological languages he can only pray they do not understand, and decides he hates that too. a fast river of words and numbers and symbols humming down into the console. But it's when Kirk steps into his narrow range of vision, most of his sight destroyed over time by ice in the lenses and his Overseers nowhere to be found, that the screen speeds, and the body shifts.

The movement is a very small one, the adjustment of uncooperative limbs barely a half inch, wires and icy fabric fibers caught in the joints that, once, might've had ornate decoration carved into the metal, but the monitor screams past at a rate it's very likely no one expected such a small, broken thing to be able to input at all ( he does not see Kirk. he sees the people who were there before they were. the originals, the creators, the ancients. something in him buzzes with a terror unprecedented. he cannot stop seeing him for them. he cannot stop seeing them. )

━ until he does. of course he does. there are no masks, no ornate bindings, the frame too wide and the hands too straight; these are not the same. these could never be the same. ( your makers are gone, erased entire. you know this. there is no manner of living, and there is no manner of death, that can make you stop knowing this. ) but for a moment they seemed so similar, like caught in dreams, like caught in…

a pop-up appears on the monitor, and before it can be read or accepted, it vanishes; accepting itself, permission granted. the lights of his eyes flicker dully, barely there, old golden face-paint gleaming in 4 little dots above them reflecting like tiny lights in the overhead glow of the ship. ( an ant in the maw of a whale, a god in the mouth of a bigger god ━ and you just jammed your fingers into it's gums, didn't you? how rude to not ask for permission to their language. your terror has no need for words in this land of things so much stronger than you are. )

" Ppppllease━ " the voice that comes is crackled and broken and borderline incoherent, pitiably desperate, the screen flashing with an ancient, symbolic language. the pronunciation of every word is off, wrong in some way, as though he was learning it as he spoke. he was, of course. ( a frightened part of him insists that it's rude not to answer your host. you are a guest. don't do anything foolish. you shouldn't be here, after all. ) ━ it gets a little better as he speaks, between the glitching of an ancient audio system, and the fried wiring that connects it. he's… mostly understandable, so long as he speaks slowly enough. fingers twitch uncontrollably against the countertop as he speaks, a buzzing lowly humming from his neck. " rererrepeat what you. said? said. repeat. pleasse. I could not know━uunderstand you, administsts-strator. "

@quillheel asked ;

when making first contact, the planet looked entirely uninhabited. the ruins of cities looming in the distance and above, dangerous flora & fauna mixed with non-organic assets like hydraulics and oxygen-supported jets, giant superstructures lurching into the skyline where even more abandoned ruins were kept. strange golden things lurked just out of sight, but a feeling felt by every living creature, as snow plummeted down into a settling ice-age it seemed. The terrain showed considerable, terrible amounts of flooding; great pressures wreaking havoc, but in this it was probably good that they'd landed as late as they had, as the snow held back that overwhelming pressure, at least most of the time.

it's no different when finding one of those superstructures - incredibly advanced semi-organic supercomputers powered half with water and half with a liquid that ate through anything that touched it without a trace left behind - cracked open like an egg from time and wear. the building slowly collapsing in on itself, and a little robotic doll found inside, barely 4ft tall, hooked up to the rest of the building by a large metal arm long-since frozen to the ground, and the robot entirely inactive. It, seemingly the prior user of the miles worth of tubing and wiring that made it difficult to know what the machine wasn't capable of more than it was back in its hay-day, where starving organisms that acted like cell clusters that grew too large raged war inside the internals of the building.

When bringing the android back to the ship for analysis, after god knows how long of trying to find something that cooperated with the alien modules it used innately, it's not hard to guess that no one was expecting him to wake up. // from five pebbles! i very rarely do asks like this so i hope this is okay-!! feel free to change anything if not or if u have any questions!!!!

It's on planets like these , where danger seems to lurk around every corner and there's always that innate feeling that you're somehow being watched , that Jim's more on guard than usual. Leading the landing party by a small margin - phaser at his side and ready to stun , just in case. It's unlike any planet they have ever encountered before. Large buildings stretch into the sky , looming above them. A reminder that there was once a society that lived on this planet - and they were advanced , by the looks of it. The snow fell down around them ( and he would've liked it if not for the eeriness of the silence that snowfall often carries with it ) and he turned to Spock , who didn't seem too pleased with the harsh chill in the air. Neither did Doctor McCoy , for that matter. He was handling it a bit better , but the cold wasn't doing them any favors.

As they approached the structure , there was an air of hesitance as they neared the figure. The Enterprise never had the best track record when it came to robots of any kind ―― but it's inactivity was enough to pique their curiosity. He beckons Doctor McCoy forward , gesturing towards it. ❛ And what do you want me to do about this , Jim ? I'm a doctor , not a mechanic. ❜ The pointed eyebrow raised seared into the side of the Captain's face , and he just chuckled. ❛ Isn't there some kind of scan you can do , Bones ? Anything ? ❜ From the Captain's other side piped up the Vulcan Science Officer , who had neared the Robot , still and cold to the touch , for further investigation. ❛ I do unfortunately believe , Captain , that the Doctor is correct in this circumstance. Medical tricorders are meant for organic life. ❜ The doctor scoffs.

❛ Unfortunately. Like it's that hard to agree with me once in a while. Jim , why didn't you bring Scotty down here instead of me ? Lord knows he's got enough time on the conn to command his own ship by now. ❜

After freeing the robot from the metal arm and getting him back up to the Starship , Jim did take Bones' advice. Engineering was their best bet - to see if they could get any information out of the thing. Records of what the planet was like before it's ice - age. If there was , indeed , a race that once called the planet home. What they were like - what the purpose of those structures were. He noted the scarcity of food , not at all helped by the snow that showed no signs of showing. A pit grew in his stomach as he thought of all of the ways a society so advanced could fall ; plague , war , famine . . He quickly shook it away , turning back to Chief Engineer as he spoke up. ❛ Aye , Captain , you're not gonna believe this - but we've got the wee lad up and runnin'. ❜

Curious gaze fell upon the android , and he took a moment. Waking up in a foreign environment surrounded by people you've never seen before couldn't possibly be easy. And he doesn't even know if it speaks Federation standard. Slowly , he smiled , straightening himself up. ❛ Good morning , ❜ He began softly , gently. ❛ Can you understand me ? ❜

Rouxls knows that one day, his cowardice will kill him. Or perhaps it will be his bravery.

Bravery not as in dying for a good cause, bravery like an unused muscle suddenly being asked to handle a great weight, atrophied in the way it was never used at all, and when it was; never to the extent that could dream of carrying what one day might be offered. offered to him. a stake that proclaims he must try, but an inability that demands he cannot. It was easier to run. Always easier to run. ( drawbridge uncrossed, the hesitation in him like a weed he couldn't pluck out; maybe didn't want to. music as a universal language, but he still doesn't voice what part of him wants to. asks to. refuses to. ) ━ but it gets harder, he's found, to justify. flight was easiest when he was alone, and very often, he was alone. but flight becomes it's own kind of challenge, now, as people hang to his trailing coattails and latch to his legs and ask him to stay; his own kind of bitter medicine, in a way, only made moreso when he finds it in himself to want to stay, unasked, when the sentimental part of him finds a connection; however unexpected; and says he should, despite it all, says he ought to.

this feels the same, a quiet part of him recognizes, because it is the same. no one asked him to play, and yet, and yet… ( the drawbridge uncrossed, his courage a fickle thing, but still; he reaches out a hand. he reaches, reaches, reaches. the water below like a threat. the water below like a boundary. the water below like a promise of something on the other side. )

the Duke listens. mindful, pale eyes resting gently upon her in an attentiveness often forgone, unknown, as a nail traces the grain of the instrument, thoughtful… his harsh silhouette cast upon the dark sky shifts as he turns to her, face a little more considering, and maybe a little more understanding. he looks to the flute, as though his true care is to it and not she, a minor salve to his pride, as he answers.

" while I doth not have such stake in thy 'homesickness', thine testament is undersold in mine opinion, if i might offereth, " Rouxls begins, eyes flicking over almost nervously, before forcing himself to continue whether it was asked of him or not ( if he didn't, it'd never be said ) ━ " a 'musical teacher' such as thineself is no simple task! and nay either doeseth it forbid you from such fears. "

he places a hand 'pon his chest and closes his eyes, as though to emphasize dramatics as a savior. " Ne'er waseth mine intention to befall as the young prince's warden, and yet, such a surprise doeseth circumstance bring! but, ah… " Rouxls pauses, glancing off to the side, considering and perhaps uncertain, before his eyes go back to Dandie. he allows himself, if only for now, to become something a little more real. just for now, just for now... " with such roles, t'is… expected, for dread or doubt to findst thee. "

" all wish to avoideth pains, minor or major, to those inest our'n keep despite how oft there is ever something unavoidable. t'is… " he searches for the right words, or perhaps, studies himself to offer a better answer than the one he had ( he can't help but think back to Lancer's father, his own cowardice to stand for the right, how it all played out… ) " a most unique kind of hell, I must admiteth fairly, especially in such unfamiliar lands… "

Rouxls takes a breath, steadying himself for a sincerity part of him tries to wriggle out of, and looks at her proper. reaching out, reaching out, and under him; the drawbridge offering it's sturdy wood forward beneath his heel; he acknowledges that he doesn't have the answers either, but it couldn't stop him from offering what he did. " but while agonies may be most difficult to keep at bay, they know their capability, and in thee, they have a great ally. "

" And nor is their pains the fault of your own-! we... we do what we can, and it must be enough. But they art strong, they shall wage well on their own, and in doubt, they know who to turneth towards. They have thus far, have they not? " he offers what he hopes to be a reassuring smile. neither of them have the answer to this question they ask, maybe no one did, but he knows to trust them. it's hard, it's unbearable, but so is growing up. so is living, living, living...

and then it's as though something occurs to him, and the sincerity is momentarily edged back with a now nervous grin, eyes flitting. ( wriggling, still, but he means what he said )

" ━ Ah, although, mayhaps keepeth such faith between us, yes-? I'd prefereth not to have the purple one bite at me for such admittances, or worse yet, she begin to gloat━ "

𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐧𝐞 wasn't an odd thing between them, although it had been spurred by her bardic tendencies, in the past. it was in her nature. sharing an earbud, plucking a string. her voice was nigh always raised in some fashion of song.

it was little wonder why the duke might offer music to her, this time. to the lightener, it almost seemed like music was magical, all on its own. a universal language. a salve to weariness.

" that's--…that's true. " she eyed the little flute and in that moment felt a connection. the dark world felt so foreign to someone who only knew "music class" and "teachers' lounge" and "crappy apartment at home." but, darkeners knew music. they knew puzzles. they knew how to throw down drawbridges and cross gaps and hold out their hand, when they met someone that resonated with them. perhaps there was a measure of comfort in knowing that, while opposite to home, there were similarities in the reflection.

that wasn't to say that she hadn't noticed rouxls' hesitation on the matter. the attempt to cheer her with music was sweet, but his feet hadn't crossed that drawbridge. and, ever introverted, dandie stayed on the other side. watching, quietly.

" uh…i guess that's pretty transparent… " her thick brows tamped downwards. always prone to fidget with her dulled claws, when she was on edge. " …i think it's homesickness, in part. but the other, bigger part is just…making sure the kids are safe. "

it was something that made her a brilliant teacher, of course, but her mother henning also brought on a shade of worry. how could it not? children kris and susie's age were starting to try to find themselves, in the world. it was scary. it was hard. and being somewhere like this, though they seemed to thrive, she couldn't help worrying for their well-being.

" i'm sure there are times where you worry about lancer, too. and--…i know that i'm just the music teacher, in the light world. but i still can't help but feel attached to kris and susie - even ralsei, at this point. i don't want something bad to happen to them. " a pause. a mirthless chuckle. " i don't think i'd forgive myself, if that happened. "

If looks could kill, by now he'd be dead thirty times over, he'd imagine.

So maybe it's just dauntless pride in such a fact ━ or perhaps some fashion of exhaustion from seasickness, given how much running around, swinging, and jumping he's had to do lately, though he's been handling it like a champ ━ that the boy doesn't wilt away from her trite gaze, but the name ( or title, rather ) does get a displeased squint from him, thick brows furrowing in a mild irritation. he didn't much care for it, and such a fact he was not afraid to display, despite it all.

he huffs, looking off as he crosses his arms over his chest and puffs a lip only slightly in attitude, hair a tangle on the saltwater breeze. " as y'wish, captain, 'suppose I ought not tell y'what the crew broke on deck while y'weren't lookin, then. " ━ petty as ever, isn't he?

@quillheel : “ I see great rage in y'er future. ” // from WW link to tetra!

Mixed Starters || Accepting

▲☠️▲❝ It'll be in your future too if y'don't keep those comments to yourself, swabby. ❞

Ohhhh if looks could kill.

However unexpected, the question is not an unfamiliar one. ━ rather, the concept isn't. everyone was always looking for something, always will be looking for something, always seeking to shift the blame; be virtuous; be noble & right & effortfully effortless. it's an easy question; a common question; one he's been asked many times. his answer mostly stays the same through the ages, different enough not to be robotic, he supposes, and little else.

the specifics catch at him, even so, rarely implemented beyond the baseline & almost prying in a way. 'if not god, what else?' 'what do you pin blame upon?' 'what kind of reality do you live in?' ━ detail, a rarity, far and few between. surprising. It's hardly difficult to catch it in his eyes all performance like, as if anticipating a camera.

the Detective offers a small laugh; not in the way of mocking, just in the way of being confronted with something unexpected, hardly bad. what kind of answer would he lend himself to, give voice to, incorporate into the flesh of the mask until they and it were one and the same. ( and what does he most wish to hear? )

" Well, that's quite a question. " the tone is amiable, if slightly dismissive. he offers it the light of day, but deeper thought does not cloud his tone. Akechi smiles. " I try not to let those things cloud my judgement, as harsh as that might sound. Remaining impartial, or at least avoiding jumping to conclusions without evidence is a large part of my line of work. It'd be a little difficult to do that if it was as easy as pinning a ghost for murder, wouldn't it? "

sc. @quillheel *

" do you believe in anything greater than yourself? maybe not a god, but ghosts? faeries? who- or, what- do you blame the world's failings on, when no one person can take the blame? "

@yosukeh; for acedefect1ve, as i can't tag that blog yet :( // sc.

" hmf... " quick, bony hands hold tight the hilt of Iori's sword. a moment of thought, underestimating its weight when leaning it from it's post, then the scramble to adjust accordingly. Makoto shifts it; awkward, clumsy, straining on the might of lean arms and an underdone diet now many years in the making, & finds their feet braced to the floor harder than necessary with his own sword. ━ surprising to the boy, if only slightly...

his blade almost light in the way he used it. an extension of the arm, reliance on momentum, never more force than he needed, a practiced kind of way; one he'd been deft, fluent in the language of from the moment it was shoved into his hands; like second nature, like second wind; without knowing what he'd been doing at all. ━ all instinct beneath the cool dark eyes, just impulse. ( it's worked thus far, hasn't it? )

but this was different. Iori's sword, nearly as big as they, perhaps heavier too, something he finds more cumbersome to drag, not lift, than he expected in a moment of curiosity he'd permitted without thought to the reality of what it'd take to lift a sword like this, one he was now meeting. the boy cocks a head over his shoulder towards the other, be he caught in the act or watched as he tugged the handle in an effort to move it at all ( ... without, of course, ruining the floor. ), and offers Junpei a quiet,

━ " how do you lift this thing? "

@icyexecutioner // x

when the words left Shinjiro's mouth, he'd hoped that the more aggressively unwilling approach would've been enough to cause the other to withdraw, reluctant but refusing to force a hand so adamant about staying as it was, but if he were being truthful; he knew better. Mitsuru wasn't someone he ever expected his attitude to work on, like a null strike against her that while Akihiko's immunity came with time as he learned all the little quirks of his body language and the way he spoke to see through any bluff ( nearly any bluff ), Mitsuru always felt to him to be organically engineered to piss him off.

he stifles his irritation, half of it from a thousand years ago, when it was just them, when he could recognize their footsteps down the hall or clatter in the floor beneath and be able to tell who was who because it was only them, only them, and it's very hard to convince himself to be angry when a deeper exhaustion whittles at his stomach beneath it; one not from her. Nostalgia turns to nausea, an argument going for forever, and he pushes it down. ( a talent he's gotten good at. he wonders if his winning streak will break anytime soon. out of the frying pan, into the oven. )

the superior, winning tone did get on his nerves a little, though. endlessly, things were requested of him... ... Jeez, these two would be good for crime investigation, wouldn't they?

" Sometimes, you're just as stubborn as Aki... " Shinjiro sighs, snipping in that indirect way he so likes to; maybe hoping to get under her nerves. " I told you a hundred times, I'm not going back. It's not like they'd take me, anyway, so don't push your luck. "

Shinjiro hadn't been a terrible student, at least not in the years he'd actually attended. He was never as perfect as Mitsuru herself, as most were, but his grades would go toe-to-toe with Aki's. On the days he decided to stick around, anyhow. His habit of ditching had existed a long, long time, until it grew up and out and eventually he decided staying away was better than facing it head on.

Maybe he'd been a little bit right to do it, too. ━ he tries not to think about it.

" Plus, " he continues, perhaps as if it'd win him mercy, his guts in opposition of Mitsuru from so far back still holding strong even now. " The less distraction, the more I focus on fighting Shadows. That's why I'm here, remember? " ( he lies, as if it was the only reason. as if, as if. )

@icyexecutioner // x.

he doesn't like it here. ━ this realization comes as irrelevant. expected to him; no one likes it here, and he on some level knew what to expect, but it's a unique kind of dread that pools in the pit of his stomach as they traverse the endless passages, one that makes him antsier than he should be when not distracted by battle; tuning out his teammate's chatter with disregard on the inbetweens; and it's not to say he can't handle it, he can, but...

... his eyes flick off from their upwards stare, half mesmerized for a fleeting moment by the endless movement of the ceiling above them as rooms aligned themselves in impossibly different ways with every moment, but they lock to Mitsuru the moment she speaks, half disoriented & half like the child that got caught distracted in class. they only break off to peer around at an additional sound from far off as their leader scouts ahead that he knows always sounds closer than it is, shakes off the feeling of snippy tension, takes some comfort in Makoto and Mitsuru's unshakable natures...

" I know. " Ken nods, tries to use the comment to settle his nerves that despite how it felt, this was fine; better than fine, even, it was manageable. doable. ━ it's undercut, he quietly curses, by the part of him that insists the council president only notes it because he's young, and needs the reassurance, and a thousand other reasons he desperately seeks to prove wrong. ━━ ( he clutches his spear a little tighter. ) " I'm okay for now. Thanks. " his voice is a mumble as, perhaps paranoid just for now, his eyes catch the ridges of black shapes in the dark.

... it's a few minutes before he continues,, an endless hustle of movement as Makoto drives them forward, evasive & smooth, and Ken glances towards Mitsuru once more, cautiously, attentively. he feels the need to say something, and feels his throat dry up.

it's minor, but half of Ken's mind picks & paces an anxiety something about it being unwise not to break the cotton-mouth, lest he be unable to raise his voice in battle, so he does speak, peeking up at Mitsuru from beneath his bangs.

━ " S-so, how long have you been doing this, Mitsuru-san..? From what I've heard, it sounds like you've been coming here a lot longer than most of us... " ( one hell of a headstart for him to match... )

Things haven't been more promising in a long time. he knows, he knows he should be happy, but in a smaller, electric part of him it rumbles with a eroding kind of feeling; all sharp edges jabbing, focus like an afterthought, and it's something like...

" You act like Tartarus is just a walk away, not a 30-minute ride... " ━ jealousy.

━━ it could've been called a half-jest, or perhaps as close as Akihiko can get as a comment of plan to steal Mitsuru's motorcycle? hangs in the hollow flesh of his cheek, chewed raw and silvery when he runs his tongue over his molars, brushing the wall with it. he finds himself unwilling to spit it out, even if for the sake of something conversational, as that rumbling thunders on in his chest. all sat upon sturdy wood, legs shifting across carpeting, a pen and notebook in his hand under the dim green light that floods the dorm as his efforts to study were fruitless in how little he could keep his attention to it; he resists tapping only by virtue of how he holds the pen, spinning, between his fingers.

He's restless. Akihiko doesn't bother with the idea of hiding it, he figures Goro to be smart enough to read him either way in the time past spent ━ together, until they're not. the way the not has become bigger as time goes by. Goro improving, improving, improving while stagnation lives in Akihiko's ribs and strangles him. Unsurprising, then, why the feverish parts of him lashes so unwillingly even as his sides ache against the idea; painkillers never enough; the pattern, in a way, where Akihiko never gave up, never stopped, but...

... Well. Things change, don't they? it gets hard to keep up. It gets easy to falter. ( a thousand reasons to keep going, and two where it will never be the same. )

Akihiko studies Goro, in the way he's never been much good at studying anyone, and he supposes he respects it; the distance kept, the 'tough love' & 'learn by doing' kind of attitude, the way he imagines he watches and how it isn't quite him watching. He understands the grounds it's rooted in, uses it often himself, training a perilous thing and rarely something someone can hold your hand over, and yet; and yet...

restless. nervous. they're still new to it all.

" I can't blame you for not warming up to them yet, though. They're... " Akihiko shifts, perpetually uncomfortable no matter the way he sits, the last bones of his ribs achy and unrelenting. He smiles wryly, despite it. " New, and loud too. It's only been a couple days, after all. "

his eyes drift from Goro to the stoic TV, electricity cut during the Dark Hour aside from a handful of specially made lights; one currently propped up at the table where Akihiko sat to illuminate the paper under his fingers; before he sighs a haggard sigh, leaning back in his chair. resisting the urge to wince as the muscles strain and agitate the broken rib.

" I can't wait for the chance to get back in there... " a murmur, longing and forlorn and perhaps tinged with an uncharacteristically anxious undertone that's nearly parentlike in that way, and mostly to himself. he knew better than to ask if Goro would let him. even if he had agreed, he'd never get past Mitsuru on the first floor undetected.

... the boxer scrubs a calloused hand over his face. the time can't go by quick enough, and simultaneously feels to pass him by entire. ( jealousy. restlessness. anxiety. ━ he half blames the Dark Hour's atmosphere for it. )

@quillheel | Goro & Akihiko

❛ you’re completely out of your element here, aren’t you? ❜

      "That's one way of looking at it. I'm just not inclined to hold their hand while in Tartarus. Mitsuru asked me to go in with them but she never said anything about fighting their battles," Goro pointed out as he looked towards Akihiko with a flat look. "I've warned them to not linger for too long on the floors and that floors void of any shadows is not a good sign, so they would need to find the stairs quickly."

They'd only just gotten Takeba and Iori on the team along with Arisato and he wasn't that impressed. Well, no, that's a lie. He wasn't all that impressed with the other two second years, but Arisato was interesting if rather infuriating. He could use multiple personas and then there was the footage of his first time summoning. Orpheus and then other... the one with no name for now.

Regardless, as intriguing as Arisato was, it didn't mean that Goro would be babying them whenever they stepped into Tartarus. He would continue as he has been until it gets to the point where the shadows are stronger and the others have more or less caught up to him. They would gain no kind of battle experience if he simply went with them. The brunet could also just admit that he's not a team player, the last couple of years with Loki has mainly been him going out during the Dark Hour and fighting on his own. He's never relied on teammates in that sense.

      "I keep track of them with my navigational skills, Akihiko. If I sense that they're in trouble then I will quickly make my way down to them and get them out," The teen assured the other as he turned his attention back to his book report. It was his third report if he counted the other two reports about his findings within Tartarus so far.