02. most love like hunters

[worthy]

comment with a character and a month in your subject line. additional prompts or specific scene set-ups optional. receive tags. profit. ♥

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shouta, january.

[pulsecrush]

[ years, months, minutes—time has lost its value the longer reality stretched. it's gone so far as to become surreal, senseless, dull, yet lightning never rests. her mind is never stationery, like her feet, her sword, and her spirit.

the question is: is there anyone else that is the same?

is there anyone that remains? ]

( you're a ghost town i'm too patriotic to leave. )

[enforce]

[ Maybe one.

Whether he's the "same" is up in the air--time becomes no less precious to him no matter how it drags itself on. No faster or slower, in actuality, despite how a restless mind could paint minutes in all the same repetitive colors. A deadly collage, if you were to try to look at the whole picture. ]

You know, no one's going to hold it against you if you ask for some company now and again. Hey.

( the two too close to cold carved stones to move along. )

[pulsecrush]

[ a voice breaks her monotone unlike a shatter of glass but more like a dewdrop upon a frosted-dotted surface. the ripples expand and she turns her head, the blue in her eyes darkening like a plunge into the ocean. ]

You.

[ you. saying the word to something more than space is sensually comforting, and lightning feels gladness melt the invisible walls around her. despite the chastise, her subtle expression of surprise transforms into one of comfort and then into one of challenge. ]

Do you always get what you receive?

[enforce]

Yeah, but I don't like settling for less. Most of the time, anyway.

[ For all his usual brilliance and casual charisma--the weight of someone who doesn't take no for an answer, Shouta remains neutral, content to gauge and follow. Because when he watches her expression he thinks it's fitting that she is called Lightning; whether chosen or given to her, it's ridiculously apt.

(You could spend your whole life looking and you'd never catch all its colors.) ]

So, what's got you looking worse for wear? It's not like you to get bored.

shouta, august. rng knows me. also thank god this is the first plurk i saw.

[teamleader]

( it's another wrong-man-dies scenario. )

[enforce]

[ It takes roughly 60 rounds of major power factor ammo to super-heat a handgun to the point where anything metal on the thing is too hot to touch. At 100 rounds, the FP10 oil starts to smoke. Double that is enough to spike the gun to over 400 degrees Fahrenheit, at which a barrel's clamps will start to break loose.

Shouta should have that math memorized, the round to degree ratio. He should be conscious, if not careful, of what that could do to him.

BANGBANGBANGbangclickclickclick...

He isn't.

The basement is his today again, empty shells falling like summer rain at his feet. ]

[teamleader]

( The door clicks, locked down and locked in.

Souji doesn't follow much of the rules. Being told to stay away makes him want to go closer, put his hand between the cage bars and let the lions have a lick of his fingers. Guns and lions, dolls and murderers - the difference depends on what they do, if you reach out to touch them without fear in your eyes.

Mikami fears that Shouta is more of a lion and a doll, everyone does. Souji is glad if he is, but that's not something he's allowed to say.

The smell of smoke is almost comforting, but not by much. )

That's a bit of an occupational hazard.

( He's got his temper, but Souji's got his calm The basement is empty because when an immovable object meets an unstoppable force, it usually ends in bullets and carnage. )

[enforce]

[ Souji's voice is just enough to cut above the roar of gunfire as Shouta empties the remainder of his .50 clip. It's not a quiet conclusion; the last rounds to connect to the cardboard saw the whole thing into messy halves, debris and shavings joining a heap of others on the floor. A finale if there ever was one.

But even among the echoes like thunder, Souji's presence is just enough to keep the edge from consuming his eyes when Shouta looks at him over his shoulder.

He finally lowers his arms, smoke wafting freely from the Desert Eagles. There it was, his "That's enough." ]

Not one they tell you about in the rule books. What do you want?

your choice, july.

[terracanta]

She told the sun she'd smile every day it came out to play with the clouds, sprinkle the trees, and bake her pale skin until it was pink. She told the moon she'd murmur a lullaby for it to carry on through its cold, lonely, and dark nights. She told the earth she'd make every step she took a meaningful one, whether it was one that took her forward into unknown futures or took her back into nostalgic pasts. Then she told the people whom she cared for, into whom her love was planted and grew and blossomed into a bouquet she vowed to cherish all life long, so that one day she could be given that bouquet. She told this to you.

( loving you was like going to war, i never came back the same. )

[79]

[ Sometimes he feels like Earth is a distant relative. Beautiful, stationary, autonomous. Selfish. That trait wasn't its fault, entirely, but that was rare for someone like Amuro to think, being privy to none of that. Even if he was born on Earth, he grew up in the space colonies, fought against the uprising for the independence of those colonies, and was imprisoned on Earth as a result. Earth was a cage which tethered him in politics. Space was too infinite in its possibilities all calling for freedom. He should feel prouder than he does about that, but he takes comfort in much less than he accepts.

There are places where he finds peace and reprieves. Things that do more than just remind him of what it is he tries to protect by fighting.

Amuro wanders around the side of the white church with his hands stuffed in his uniform jacket pockets. The air is temperate and sweet, the real sun warm on his shoulders. His boots crunch in the green, impossibly green, grass. Around the side and towards the back, there it is, glowing like so many stars. A patch of flowers clustered brightly against the field, moving in the breeze like it's alive, like it's sailing across the hills.

All he can do is stop and wait and take it in. ]

They're making quite a show out of it.

( i promise thee roses but spare me the tomb. ) - and thank you!!

[terracanta]

[ the pews are desolate and dusty. it's been a while since any ministry had gone on there, but the white stone around it shines without need of maintenance. the flowers, however, live with more love than nature can offer.

the one responsible walks out from behind, a bow-tied watering can in her hands. she'd been close enough to hear his words, and she isn't startled by strangers (anymore). ]

Daffodils like to boast their happiness. I think they're right to.

[ she approaches, a gentle smile on her face, but before she says anything, she glances at the field, bright and yellow and melodious; then the green-eyed girl turns, relaying a message. ]

They welcome you.

[79]

[ Amuro still has the virtue to look surprised that someone was there, or that someone was listening. It seizes his posture for a fraction of a moment, but danger is so far removed from the things he senses here that he eases back into a smile in the same second. The watering can earns a glance before his attention shifts back to the daffodils reaching for the sun. ]

Do they? They seem gentle. [ Kind, like her. The sort of softness that should be preserved, treasured. ] Sorry if I intruded.

feferi; april

[pelagically]

some say an army of horsemen,
some of footsoldiers, some of ships,
is the fairest thing on the black earth,
but i say it is what one loves.

( maybe we shouldn't know where all rivers begin. )

[splashes]

"Come on, come on, come on! Are you being a slowpoke on porpoise, Finnick? There is not a minute to lose here!" Feferi's been goading and heckling him on the whole journey down to the beach, literally running effervescent circles around his much more relaxed gait.

"If you do not make good on your promise, I'll have a very difficult time forgiving you, you know," she says, her patience about as gentle as a sea urchin to the face. She giggles then, darting ahead of him. The air is soft and saline, that dull waking blue only present just before sunrise. That night had been long and moonless and now even the stars have melted into the sky as she leads the way to shore. On Alternia, it was only ever dark, the gloomiest of purples, or dim, browns and blues and grays that were nearly viscous. So Feferi has something of a undying affection for sunrises, that bright, dramatic turn of dark into light, of colors melted across the atmosphere. She's deemed it a good day to see this phenomenon up close, what with Finnick finally finishing his new ship. Made him promise that he'd take her out, pinkies and all.

(Even if her hand in the actual completion of the boat was limited to dubious moral support given from the warm sand and frothy surf.

"Your mast is crooked."

"Isn't that upside down?!"

"We should paint a guppy on it!")

But finished boats were much more interesting and useful than hunks of wood strewn about a baking hot beach. Finally she can see it, the dark silhouette lurching at its mooring space in the distance. She grins at him, eyes alight.

"Perhaps a race is in order, no?"

Spacebro! December

[jesus_is_gundam]

( shoot it through like the laser that beats in our bones. )

[79]

(ooc. aka quickest way to his heart is to admire his gundam? platonically??)

[ Amuro is used to all sorts of technologies. Now more than ever, on this journey that has exposed him to more pilots and suits and marvels that he thought he'd long forgotten how to be awed over. Humbled before. Rather he feels a sort of newfound admiration for those he has gone into battle with, matched by skill, ideology, and machinery from worlds away, with time and space and circumstance wedged between them. There was one in particular that had gotten into him like the others hadn't, run with his blood like the raw energy that he'd long since learned to wield to his liking.

Setsuna F. Seiei was like a Newtype, and yet so very unlike one at the same time.

Amuro stands in the hangar, looking up at the 00 Gundam when its pilot wasn't present. It's rare that he gets a moment to simply contemplate the time and skill needed to produce such a suit, appreciate the complexity and mystery of how it operated and what he thinks it could be capable of. Setsuna could be a bit heavy-handed in his idea of resolution, but surely... ]

Not a Psycoframe. [ He mulls aloud to himself, grasping a holopad and putting a hand on his hip. ] And no Minovsky particle emission. But that light...

[jesus_is_gundam]

[Setsuna never strays far from the 00. Even though he's been forced to ally with some of these individuals, trusting them is another matter entirely. Especially when he can't quite pin down their motives and desires. He doesn't know if they understand what it means to have a Gundam, what it means to be Gundam.

But then, there's this one that Setsuna finds upon his return.]

Amuro Ray.

[Were it anyone else, Setsuna would have probably pulled a gun on them. Amuro, though, is different. Its something Setsuna can feel, but can't quite explain. Instead, he regards Amuro with the same sort of scrutiny that Amuro shows towards his Gundam.]

[79]

[ He knew it was coming sooner rather than later, so Amuro isn't surprised by the sound of Setsuna's voice like a knife hurtling through the air. Granted he's not exactly intimidated either, given how much of a routine it's been smoothing over conflicts and tempers, even the most disagreeable. ]

Setsuna. [ Amuro shifts with a cursory glance over his shoulder. As if to mimic a surrender, he lifts his arms with a smile, holopad still in his grasp. ] I'm checking our available resources to see who's combat-ready and who could still use diagnostics. Just to be prepared.

[ Which was the truth, before he'd gotten a little distracted. ]

How's the 00?

eric bana :U

[prevented]

[Out of Dekim's clutches, Mariemaia can't help but feel lost in the world. She's not even a decade old and yet there's no one on Earth and space who doesn't harbor her some ill will. It's hard for a child to have no playmates, to feel absolutely alone. The lady who has chosen to try and be her mother is clumsy at best. She knows the woman is trying but...

It's just not fair. Why does she have to be hidden away? Kept behind closed doors without company besides tutors sworn to secrecy? The lady doesn't come to see her often. Once a month at most.

Please understand. We have to let things die down first. Soon, you'll have a new name. Soon, you can be out there again. Just not now.

There's only so much that she can bear. As another night falls, she decides to take fate into her own hands. Sneaking into the back of her tutor's car, she leaves the manor that has become her prison. When her poor mentor stops for gas, she bursts from the back seat and dashes out. There's a high-pitched scream behind her and the sound of a body hitting the floor in a faint. Mariemaia doesn't even look back. She just keeps running.]

( out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing. )

[argents]

[ Banagher senses something different long before he's consciously aware of what it actually is. No matter how many times he's been subject to the vague workings of his own mind, he's not yet really come to learn how to utilize it, recognize it beyond the feeling of being called to.

For him, it's dangerous to wander. In less kind terms, he is simply not allowed. It came with the territory of playing keeper to one of the most dangerous weapons of the time, and regardless of the fact that he has little will to use it to its end, he's a risk, plain and simple. But there are spaces of time where he manages to evade his keepers, and wander is what he does, slowly at first. Through warm evening streets lighting up to fend away the approaching darkness, past an assortment of milling people. Like being pulled by something--no... ]

Who?

[ Someone. ]

[prevented]

[The answer to his question soon smacks right into him, stumbling backward and falling. She gets up with fingers curling into bleeding palms to form fists, a casualty of hitting the rough asphalt. With red hair kissed by flame and an icy glare, the little girl bites back a sob born both of pain and frustration.]

Watch yourself, idiot!

[She was meant to rule. To lead. To govern everyone and everything. Now, what's left of her? Her grandfather's words still echo in her head every single day.

We can always find another Mariemaia.]

[argents]

[ Okay, so he hasn't gotten the whole finding the object of his brain's whims down to an exact science yet. Demonstrated by the fact that he's physically cowed by their collision and his "Watch out!" falls just short of actually preventing it.

Banagher fumbles backwards without taking the fall she does, and once he realizes what he's unwittingly caused, he's down on one knee in front of her with his hands outstretched like he's trying to contain a particularly distressed little bird. ]

I'm sorry! I just... [ Well, nevermind what he was doing. Banagher reaches out. ] Are you hurt?

january; banagher ♥ I believe we have some catching up to do

[trendsetter]

—you can hardly expect me to let you out looking like that. [ It's a travesty is what it is, but—no no, no need to thank her. She's arrived just on time, and in the middle of a fashion emergency too, dear Celestia.

So you may be a little fashionably late for the party. At least you'll be going there in style. Just a few more touches, though? You've popped a seam here, and oh nonononono, that shade of red looks better tied around your neck—yes—oh, too plain? Never mind, magicking it out of the way for the purple gem-encrusted three-tiered silk bow with the lace trimmings.

Why is it three-tiered? Wouldn't you like to know…

She's still tapping her hoof on her chin—er, snout as she regards the final product, gesturing for him to turn around just so she can get the full effect of it. ]

Hmm, well, do you think a mauve vest would look better on that bear suit, or would the lilac one suffice? [ IT'S SO HARD TO CHOOSE… ]

oh my god. hello gorgeous.

[argents]

Looking like--h-hey, wait! [ I. HE. OH LOOK A BOW.

You know what, he's just going to turn as she instructs because she's the one with the power to magic things around as she fancies. Which isn't to say Banagher isn't totally, completely, comically at a loss as to why a real live white unicorn is so concerned with his taste in clothing, just that he's willing to do as she says.

...Because a real live white unicorn. ]

Um, I'm not really sure, Miss [ ??? ]--but isn't this overdoing it?

[ Just going to hazard a guess about purple on purple as tugs on the lace trim of the bow that is currently blinding him with its shine. Bows came with tiers? ]

hey yourself! or blame robyn BUT IT'S BEEN A WHILE BROSIS

[trendsetter]

[ Wrong thing to say, Banagher my boy, and that causes her to drop all the bales of cloth and sewing implements onto the floor at the very idea! ]

Overdoing it? There's no such thing as overdoing it where fashion is at stake! [ Don't mind her getting up in his personal space and squinting at him from beneath his costume, but all of that is as much for show. She's in good spirits despite his woeful fashion sense, after all. She's going to make it better— ] And you're going to make a handful of fillies very happy as well! I know it's a bit last-minute, but the show must go on and you— [ Serious again. ] Must help me decide—mauve, or lilac? Or maybe something in puce… [ Because clearly it's easy to differentiate between this shade of purple and all those other shades of purple. ]