05. bang bang

[worthy]

violinist • insomniac • paper aeroplane • dandelion seed • feather • she sings • a stolen ring • fairytale gone wrong • cliche • ribbon • cadence • 3:28am • icarus • hallucination • letters to the moon • silhouette • breathless • start running • astronomer • comet in a bottle • reincarnation • mirage • filigree • everyone was dancing but me • nameless • exhale • fortuna major • vices and virtues • gunpowder and gunshots • china teacups • pinkie promises • chrysalis • piercing • north star • kerosene • dark horse • vanilla • the cat meowed • blink • text message • smirking • firefly • daisy chain • doe eyes • "where are you?" • typo • no shoes in the rain • heterochromia • swallowing silver spoons • a spoonful of sugar • mistaken identity • twisted ankle • touching the clouds • i told you so • lump in the throat • shoulders • sunburn • ambulance • talking nonsense • perfect • bare branches • pale • everyone found out • not enough • i owe you • she won't say it • russian roulette • dried flowers • actress • tattered notebook • smell the roses • justice • all that glitters • the cat and the king • grudge • apathy • all dolled up • decadence • blush • too easy • healing • then, i changed • write to me • caffeine • rumpled sheets • close your eyes • message in a bottle • morphine • fahrenheit • fighter • i lit a candle for you • after all this time • newspaper • pendulum • soundproof • skeletons in the closet • nightingale • arms crossed • prologue • epilogue • bully • i dare you • arms outstretched • woken up early • we're all made of stardust • dancers • hero • blurry • aftermath • even you • whatever you want to believe • a dance with the devil • roses are red violets are blue • lantern • they kept their promises • live fast and die young • interlaced fingers • i wish i tried harder • don't blink • envelope • congratulations • just look down • wayward • when you say nothing • as you wish • runs in the family • fight like a girl • the bright side • skyscraper • sunshine • bye, beautiful • don't mess with me • fire at will • fire and water • peek-a-boo • don't die before i do • wanderlust

pick a character + prompt (or tell me what you want &or bring your own) and get words.

Comments

[feurig]

[ It's a hot summer's day. The kind that burns through your skull and leaves the asphalt blistering under the rays. Like every single day that Asuka has been alive.

But she still sees reason to harrumph and drop her weight onto the docks as if the sun has melted her limbs into a puddle, coupled with the painfully obvious exclamation of Damn, it's hot! She also sees reason to push the bowl filled with red-tinged ice cubes toward the other girl, picking one up for herself to place against the nape of her neck, coupled with Hey glasses, did you get heatstroke already?

What she doesn't say-- What she still refuses to admit is that their umpteenth attempt to retrieve Shinji has ended in failure yet again.

Better to complain about the heat. ]

Hey, say something.

[unarm]

[ Oh, spicy. ]

Weather getting under your skin, your Highness?

[ It seems as good a thing to say as any other. Mari can discuss the weather like any proper adult - she can not say anything about the reality at hand and instead comment on something innocuous and numbing. A lazy grin creeps onto her face, curling along its angles. Ice is perfect. It's then that she stretches her long, limber arms into the air, rocking back in her seat to plop down on the dock. ]

Or maybe that's too simple. [ Man, piloting really does a number on the shoulders. ] Don't mind if I do.

[ She singsongs, then reaches aside to pluck an ice cube from the bowl, setting it down between her collarbones with a shiver and a laugh. ]

[strataspheric]

[ Going back to school has always been a tense time for him. Which, by all rights, is a little bit strange. He's considered a genius, IQ qualifying him for certificates and induction into Mensa. Testing, research, homework—all of these things he excels in.

No, what really concerns him about this process is dealing with a whole new set of socializing. Some classmates would be the same, a small relief. The bulk would be different though, especially since he's still an undeclared major (and therefore stuck in large lectures). Not to mention dealing with fussy professors being the bane of his existence. It's hard correcting old codgers who use outdated materials to teach. And even harder when your peers decide you're a smart ass know it all.

Such is his life.

This leads him here, to the bookstore, where he's supposed to be picking up his newest textbooks for the upcoming curriculum. Supposed being the key word here. Instead, he's frowning at the book that's listed on his syllabus, because it has to be from a school of thought at least 25 years out of date. That's being generous. Sighing, he crouches down to the lower shelf, using the top of one of the offending books as a writing surface. Syllabus placed on it, he scribbles out a note to file an inquiry as to why he's spending money on a book that's so out of date it shouldn't even be considered valid (a great way to start the year).

As he's crouched, head half ducked under a shelf, a set of shoes appears a couple feet away. He realizes he probably looks like he's fallen asleep halfway into a shelf. Carefully, he slides out from between the shelves so he doesn't hit his head, before angling his face up to quickly take in whoever it is. ]

—Sage?

[enhalo]

[ Something about this should surprise him, he's sure. Then again, what Sage thinks and what he feels aren't always so aligned. That's been especially true as of late, and something he's just learned to deal with over the course of the last few years. They'd done it all before - gone their separate ways, held onto each of their views with resolute grips. Forever changed, and yet still bound to one another and the circumstances that forged their familiarity with one another. Whatever they think, they're not able to forget.

Which is why Rowen with his face shoved directly into a bookshelf does not, in fact, surprise him. ]

Don't we look angry?

[ A minor understatement. Sage's attention flicks briefly to the syllabus squared atop Rowen's pile of books. Him not being happy about those basically only meant one thing. The mortal confines of society were going head-to-head with Rowen's impossibly high standards. In some ways, he understands. In others, he's just amused.

Such is life, and it goes on.

Sage has a small folder and a few slim books tucked between the angle of his elbow and hip, and he shifts them casually, almost sympathetically. As long as they're on the same continent, they're going to keep running into one another. He's in no hurry anymore. ]

hysteria; dark warlord AU

[strataspheric]

[ Contrary to what some believe of him, he enjoys a good fight. Or perhaps even a bad one. It doesn't come down the physical aspect, not really. For him, it's the mentality, the strategy, the outwitting of the enemy and watching them fall. Rowen is a cerebral creature, taking more pleasure out of solving puzzles than using his hands (for the most part).

So when he's so close to pulling the rug out from his intended targets, he feels a sense of accomplishment. The battle around them all is chaotic, with the scrape and slide of weapons ringing through the air, in his ears, in his nerves. True to form, he's picking off what soldiers he can, arrow flying straight through helmets and weak spots. The dissipation of the trapped spirit is oddly satisfying to watch.

Even if that's the side he's batting for.

This is a charade, a long, drawn out, and elaborate scheme. He's here with the other ronins, playing pretend until he gets the signal not to. Sage is somewhere off to his left, no-dachi slicing through the armored dynasty warriors. His gaze turns to watch the seemingly effortless motion, analyzing and storing the information for later. Concentration is broken, however, when a dark laugh echoes close by. Unperturbed, he glances towards the source– Anubis has arrived, in full armor, chained weapon dangling threateningly from one hand. There's a sneer on his mouth that only grows wider as he turns to look at Rowen directly. With the barest of chin tilts, Anubis has given him his next move.

Said move is him backing up a few steps in rapid succession, arrow cocked and released within seconds towards the bearer of Halo. ]

[enhalo]

[ There are times when Sage Date is infinitely grateful for his guiding virtue. Because it's by grace alone that all his nerves go alight in time to figure out what's happened. A whistle in the air. A bright, terrible whistle. In one swift movement, he's carved his blade through the armor of a dynasty trooper, releasing its soul in a great cloud of dark steam. He switches his grip, bringing the sword into a low curve. Of the five of them, Sage has a firm grasp on the armor of Halo. He accepts its nature, its willingness to do battle - to wage war. That acceptance has kept it aligned to his wishes, to the fiber of his soul that would like nothing more than to lay down his sword.

Never has that dream seemed more far away than it does now. The armor's influence roars through him with the strength of lightning, its residual thunder booming through the sudden emptiness in his chest. Sage swings his no-dachi up in a tight arc, its blade streaking alive with brilliant energy. It collides with the arrow that's been sent flying for him. The sound of the weapons clashing is loud and horrible, like an explosion. At his feet, the ground splits. Wind roars past him, and he can feel the jolt of electricity in his skin.

The golden arrow spins harmlessly in the air and lands several yards away behind him, sunk into the soil. After that, things go quiet. He swallows and his throat is dry with the taste of metal and ozone. Halo hums angrily around him. It wills him to shift into a more confident stance.

But when he stands to face his attacker, he sees nothing but a friend. ]

Rowen!

[ Not a question. A demand for an answer. ]

( FORTUNA MINOR ) yang/blake, "interstellar" au.

[sizzles]

[ They don't call it an afterparty for nothing. It's late. Later than her agent is probably comfortable with, but Yang can probably sell it as doing important legwork for their label. Not that it looks much the part from the balcony-slash-lounge of the Equinox, a nightclub that sits atop one of the tallest buildings among the skyline. The place is a figurative crown - beautiful, reflective. Fit for royalty. Its neon lights spill over the dark spaces and music travels through the walls at a quick, danceable pace. The eyes of the city see it from miles around, but only few have access to its wealth of connections, vices, and lucrative opportunities.

Yang Xiao Long is one such lucky patron. Her band has just come off a successful month-long tour, and she's raking in the benefits of rising to stardom among her peers. Even if said stardom had been won with some notoriety. Drums weren't the only thing she had a reputation for beating, after all. Which is why the lounge is private, rented for her and her own. Smoke hazes out the washes of bright lights from overhead that sweep the floor in time with the music, and the drinks are icy, sweet, and plentiful.

What were managers for besides picking up the tab, anyway?

It's a packed space, and Yang is kicked back on the circular lounge build into the wall. Her arm is slung around someone - who even knows who. People have gathered here like moths to a flame, like butterflies to sunlight. Laughter echoes through over the beat of the DJ, and someone's handing her a drink, something on fire, when screams begin to pierce through the nightclub. Then shattering glass. A tremor of unrest thunders through the crowd, though the beat goes on. People just want to ignore it, go about their night.

Yang snorts, sitting a little straighter in her seat to take a look over the glass balcony. ]

Whoa. Someone party too hard, or what?

[ She blows out the fire settled atop her drink, but doesn't swallow it just yet. ]

[descendsfromshadow]

[Truthfully, there'd been no way in the world of knowing what kind of place Blake was going to walk into when she'd agreed to embark on this rescue mission... and truthfully it hadn't mattered at the time. With Yang missing things back home had been a shambles. Ruby was distraught and even Weiss, in her own way, had been just as worried. And Blake... well, after days of searching for any answers to her disappearance had turned into weeks even she'd found herself despairing. After all, she was no stranger to people simply going out one day and never coming back. Remnant had no mercy... not even for the strong.

And then, hope had appeared in the form of somebody claiming to know where Yang had been spirited off to and knowing a way to bring her back home. With only one person able to to there'd been plenty of discussion, more than a little arguing, but in the end it had been decided that Blake's particular skillset made her the right choice for the job. With that, she'd stepped out into the unknown not knowing what she'd find.

... So finding her partner's image plastered across billboards had definitely been a surprise.

Finding Yang's location had been rather easy, after being given the details of the nature of her captivity and infiltrating the club had just taken a quick change into the right set of clothes. Before long, she'd had Yang in her sights and aimed the device she'd been given to undo the brainwashing, pressed the trigger for just a moment... when her arm had suddenly been seized by the club's security and the device lost and smashed under a heavy foot. Fantastic, they'd been tipped off.

A split-second decision, then. Either abort the attempt and hope for another shot, or... well, after this she'd never get another attempt, would she? A twist of her arm and a shift of her weight and the guard ended up on a one-way trip through a glass table. In a flash, she reached back to where she carried her weapon and fired upward, the gunshots resounding over even the pounding music and knocking out a few of those lights.

Immediately, the club erupted into panicked screaming and confusion. Somebody was shooting! Immediately people started to jam for the exits... all except for one, that is. The lone, raven-haired girl making a beeline toward the blonde superstar and calling over the chaotic racket.]

YANG!

( SOUNDPROOF ) ryusuke/taira, "when it storms" req.

[abdominals]

[ Ryusuke told him not to smoke in his place. Taira is usually a pretty decent house guest - he doesn't leave his shit everywhere, he doesn't bum (all) of his drinks. He leaves the mags folded neatly on the shelves he got them from. He minds Ryusuke's guitars, because without his guitars Ryusuke is a vague echo of himself and with them he's a natural high. Egotistical, humble, quiet, and loud. Taira's seen it all, so Taira is a good house guest.

Ryusuke told him not to smoke in the house but today Ryusuke can shove it. In the fondest way possible.

It's snowing outside, and it's bitter cold. All around the fishing shack, the piles of flurries are quickly accumulating in the dirt, spilling over onto the concrete slab that serves as its foundation. Clouds roll heavily overhead, backlit a dim gray by the evening sun. Taira had been sent home because of road closures, and just beat the storm when he arrived at Ryusuke's for practice.

Seeing as he's the only one here, he can take a wild guess that the rest of the guys weren't so lucky. Outside, he can hear Ryusuke's colorful deluge of English cursing. A smile forms at one corner of his mouth, cigarette poised at the juncture of his bottom lip. He flips the page of his magazine and waits for Ryusuke to return from checking on his fish. There's a space heater going in the corner, hazing up the room with warmth and smoke. Still, the walls are thin, and Taira glances towards the door. ]

It looks like shit out there.

[ He reaches for his cigarette, pulling it from his mouth after a short drag. He shrugs carelessly, tapping the ash into an empty can nearby. ]

Well, then again. It looks like shit in here too.

Give me Yang

[wiltandblush]

You pick the prompt

hi remember me

[sizzles]

( FAIRYTALE GONE WRONG | 3:28AM | HALLUCINATION ) ...THIS IS THE ONLY THING I CAN THINK OF THAT'S FEASIBLE

[ She sees him all the time. In her nightmares, on the cusp of wakefulness that she hurtles towards constantly ever since the day that Vale, her home, cracked. Yang has come to despise that witching hour between night and day, where her skin breaks with sweat over dreams that are never quite dreams. Because he's always there. Red, and black — she had come to trust black, the beast. She had come to trust Blake, enough to fight for her, and this is where it's all lead to. Another nightmare, more red clawing through darkness. Through black. ]

You're...

[ Here, again. What, for her other arm? Yang feels lucid, but everything around her is hazy and thick. This must be a nightmare, because she can feel her fists clench. Both of them. ...Can't she? It burns, she's sure of that. Oh, does it burn. In her blood, through her skin. Enough to turn everything around her to ash this time. ]

You're a monster.

Prompt me, Mika.

[gripes]

morphine, i told you so, epilogue.

[sparsity]

I AM INDECISIVE throw anyone at me + vices and virtues

[oneirism]

sits here

throws this down, just au me cap'n

[praises]

[ A long series of months have passed since that eventful first day in Blanc's capital. Having gotten used to the way this world works, and how easily its power can greet him now, that morning seems so distant, when he thinks back on it. One constant in Allelujah's life since then has been Lapis. She'd been there to greet him then, and she's still there now, every morning, and every night. Really, he's grown inordinately fond of her, steady demeanor and amusing aversion to being called a friend aside. While it doesn't take much to win him over, her trust in him has soothed many soul-deep fears and worries that he has.

And she's also been an excellent partner to accompany him around the city in less conventional ways.

Allelujah stand atop one of the tall, compact buildings of Sparrow Town. A breeze rifles through his hair, cools his temples and neck. Night stretches over Caissa and yet the city is still so beautiful, aglow with many sources of light, both living and non. Had he never gotten to experience the city like this, he's sure he would regret it.

Tilting his heel against the ledge, he pitches forward over the side of the building. Using his gravity, his impact against the roof below is softened to a whisper of a noise, and he rolls into the motion, using it as a springing point to jump at the next sheer wall ahead of him. His fingertips catch on a ledge and he climbs up, alighting on the next rooftop. Turning around, he motions Lapis forward. This is their routine now, almost more than it is just training. To see Caissa from a new angle, and test the limits of their strength and agility, and their trust. ]

This way. [ It's quiet up here, and his voice travels easily. ] Take my hand once you're here.

no shoes in the rain; CC verse

[buildyourworld]

[ Just their luck, isn't it? Freezing in cold, damp cave. No boots, wet clothes and low mana and therefore, no fire. Life must love them.

Never mind that their mission has gone to hell no thanks to the freak storm that scattered pretty much everything, including their cargo and entourage. It's a miracle both of them survived, although not without almost drowning and Hallelujah growling through the whole ordeal. Not that Tieria blames him, really. He's pretty pissed himself.

It's a good thing he wore his boots and not the glass slippers because Tieria is sure they'll never survive the current. The state of his muds soaked and dirt spoiled boots that lay discarded on the cave floor is proof enough.

Hugging himself, he sighs, annoyed with their situation while the rain continue pouring outside. ] When is this damn rain going to stop?

[hackles]

[ Well. ]

This is screwed up.

[ Hallelujah does not like to lose, but even he knows a battle against the elements is pretty fucking fruitless. At least when the weather got shitty back home they had the Gundam containers or just, you know, going back to space to fall on. Here, lucky them, it's not so simple. Hallelujah looks towards the mouth of the cave with an expression that can only be called neutral. For him, anyway. He's peeled off his boots and the more sodden parts of his uniform and dumped them in a heap by his side, but even if they had magic, getting a fire started isn't gonna happen. Not with the icy wind and rain ripping through by the light of lightning.

Really, the fact that he's actually sort of quiet, mind hurtling through their options, is more telling than anything. Hallelujah is taking this seriously, which means he thinks they're actually in danger here. Even so, he huffs a quiet noise, a glimmer of a grin turning at the corners of his mouth as he looks over his shoulder. ]

Hey, princess. How's your pride feel?

gimme messer-kun

[axi]

• i owe you
• she sings
• touching the clouds
• lump in the throat
• not enough
• vices and virtues

or whatever

a messer-kun for kaname-san

[axiality]

[ He's been here before. At this cusp between sleep and wakefulness, where a weight coalesces deep in his body. It takes root and burns away everything but strength and dull panic, the fear that this time, he won't come back. This feeling dogs his every movement, his every thought, and were he a more nihilistic sort, had he less to lose, he'd think that was fitting for him. Maybe a little ironic. As he is, there's too much he risks by not fighting. That's why, even with safety on the horizon rather than the enemy, with a life less wracked by this burden a possibility, he couldn't do it. He couldn't leave.

He still can't.

Fighting through it is different, this time. Like clawing his way through fog and darkness, rather than fire and light. It's slower than he remembers. From the corners of his mind, he taps into what's always brought him back, every single time. A song. A voice. Faraway now, but unforgettable, ringing like an echo against the base of his ribs, welling in his throat.

Where is she?

Why can't he breathe?

Finally, he feels his fingers flex at his sides. His body finally responds to the battle within it, and his jaw is stiff, his ears ringing, when he finally forces out a gasp of breath. Messer wants to rip himself awake, throw himself into the momentum he knows, but the only action that he seems capable of is opening his eyes. It's bright. Cold, sterile. A medbay? He still hears singing, but for a long, dull moment, he can't distinguish between what's all in his head, and what's actually around him. Where, where. ]

Kaname...

[ He manages to shift, to look aside; oh, sh — ]

...san.

Smell The Roses - Yang

[ryujin_no_ken]

[Once again, the world has fallen into chaos. A single night was all it took. Well, a single night with likely weeks of planning and careful maneuvering. Whatever hairs one wanted to split, however, the result was the same. Vale's academy gone, the city standing but damaged with its people huddling in fear, seeking some semblance of security and safety.

It was all people like him could do to provide even the smallest measure of that. Resources and Huntsmen were stretched thin but it was their duty to do so. Still, when a call came out from an old ally asking for his help, Genji could not refuse.

His target tonight had been easy enough to find, the trail she left in her wake was clear as day, and it was just easy to predict where she'd appear next. So, Genji waited, up above the empty nighttime streets until he at last heard the sound of an approaching engine. Straightening slowly, he watches the lone headlight approach and then steps off from his hiding place to land on the ground without a sound.

... Directly in the approaching motorcycle's path.]

[sizzles]

[ So much more had fallen into chaos than just the world. Yang is a thrill seeker. When she's not gripped by adrenaline, by the strength of her own fire in her nerves, she's not alive. At least, that's what she always thought. Live fast, and all that. That's why she tries to tighten that grip in whatever ways she can now that she's been cut adrift to an existence that's been turned on its head. No, not even that. A world that's been torn apart, thrown down, its peace shattered. It wasn't the world suffering, but the people in it too. Whatever Yang wanted to seek, it wasn't that. It wasn't this.

Her gloved hands grip the handlebars of her bike as it roars through the broken streets. It's unsafe. She's heard it. Seen exactly how it got this bad. It rings in the back of her mind as she swerves and skids past cracked pavement and debris, not yet cleared from Vale's streets or the minds of those who stayed. If anything appears, she'll take care of it. Who cares that she was told it was dangerous, or pointless. She can still fight. She promised herself that.

Up ahead, she catches it. A flicker of movement she thinks is going to just be there and gone again, like any one of the other monsters around here.

So when it doesn't, Yang's eyes narrow through her goggles. ]

You'd better move it, buddy. Or you'll be losing it.

[ She kicks the throttle, not liking the look of this at all. The motorcycle's engine blasts through the streets on acceleration towards this weird figure just hanging out right in her line of fire. With intentions of stopping clearly not on her mind, she frowns into the wind. ]

[one_for_all]

[The Symbol of Peace. That's what the people called All Might. A steady and progressive drop in crime rates could be directly linked to the debut of this ever smiling hero. It was this title and his reputation as the world's greatest hero that had brought him here today. Strange monster known as Saiark's had been on the prowl here and it was his duty to assist those that had already taken up the call to defend this land from their wicked clutches. He looked forward to the opportunity to shake hands and fight alongside these "Pretty Cure".

However, one could not fight the good fight on an empty stomach! ...Even if secretly he didn't have one anymore. Regardless the giant of a man descended from one of his great leaps to land by a picnic table in the city park. The ground shook just enough that someone lose their balance but he was happy to see that no one fell.

He let out a bellowing laugh then took a seat on the ground beside the picnic table.]

Ha-Ha-HA!

Have no fear citizens, because I am here! ...To enjoy a light snack!

[And so the world's number one here pulled out a tiny container of rice and set it down in front of him.]

[eatery]

[ Yuko is definitely someone who wobbles a little on her feet, glancing about with a tray full of food to find the source —

...oh! What a presence. Then again, there are a lot of people here today. Her family's restaurant is holding an event where people can eat a whole bunch of their prized croquettes, on the house. There's also rice balls, candies, assorted bentos. All sorts of fun things to help promote a second location's opening. It's a big day. So it's only natural a big person might show up, right? Right? (It all makes perfect sense, to her.)

Because it's impossible to not catch the declaration, Yuko has no problems with flitting right over. Nevermind that it's not really the place for hostessing, but generosity runs in her veins! ]

Hello, sir! Your rice looks delicious. Would you like a famous Omori croquette to pair with it? It's guaranteed to fill you right up!

[ Though he might need the whole plate. ]

Big Spoon, Little Spoon.

[switch_over]

[Some idiot had created a giant ice cube monster and it wasn't Alexandra.

Alexandra might have been cool with the idea, she might have even liked the thing if it hadn't managed to leave her trapped in an ice cream parlor with Harper Sutherland of all people. Everyone else had managed to escape before the frozen fiend completely covered the building in a thick sheet of ice, cutting off all the power in the process. Her and Harper had been caught up in one of those hero/villain stare downs at the time.

The monster may not have been hers but she couldn't just admit that to Harper. That would mean admitting that she was just as stuck in here as the other girl, which would seriously damage any villain cred she currently had.

So instead she decided to roll with it. She struck a dramatic pose and pointed toward Harper.]

L-looks like it's just the two of us.

[Okay. The pose was alright, but she could feel her teeth start to chatter]

[duette]

[ This is utterly ridiculous, even by her standards. Not only had this icy abomination ruined the holy grounds of Harper Sutherland's favorite ice cream parlor, but it'd also made a complete nuisance of itself by being difficult to kill and disobedient of its master. Or so Harper assumes, if her current face-off is anything to go by. Part of her isn't even surprised to find Alexandra on the other end, and another part of her is already incensed by her reckless antagonism.

On a school night, no less!

So here it has come to be that Cure Rhythm faces down Eas. In the dark. Shivering. Dressed like the most fancy of ice cream cones. ]

Th-th-that's right! [ ...okay, so she'd intended that to come out a little more forcefully, but the teeth-chattering has already begun. She huffs, watching her breath cloud. ] No thanks to you! C-Couldn't you have chosen s-s-something a little more, ooh, I don't k-know, convenient?!

[ Sheesh. ]

[crow]

[ Well, this is slightly a problem. A small one. Just one little wrinkle that needs sorting. Such things happen on important jobs such as being sent to kill the last surviving Ferelden Grey Wardens.

It's but a tiny detail, really, that one second Zevran was directing setup for an ambush and the next, well. He'd blinked and found himself somewhere else entirely.

Is this the Fade...? Was he killed without his notice, a marksman of exceptional caliber amongst the Wardens' number? Or a mage, perhaps, putting him to sleep before he had time to sense the heavy, chalky taste of magic on his tongue.

It certainly feels as though he is dreaming. He stands among ruins, lit brightly like lyrium. Overhead, a magic battle rages between sleek and polished beasts. Demons? They are unlike any Zevran has ever heard of in all of his travels. It's certainly a wondrous sight to behold either way. Entranced, the elf wanders closer to the battlefield. It isn't as though he has anything better to do, finding himself spirited away in the middle of a job. Here he is all dressed for an assassination with no one to kill.

Ah, well. At least this will make a grand story if he ever makes it to the other side. Taliesen will find it most interesting over a flagon, surely. ]

[axiality]

[ This is more than slightly a problem. Then again, Messer tends to take these corners at full speed and as severely as possible, so there's precious little room for idleness. (Meaning, no room.) The Fasolt ruins are burning brightly, and the skies overhead reflect that: streaked with smoke and gunfire, air cut by the roar of Siegfried and Draken aircraft. Around the ruins, a constant barrier of disrupted fold resonance accumulates. Strange things are happening. A keen eye and a pull on his sensors alert him to something extremely odd within the ruin's spires. ]

A person...! [ Civilians were have supposed to been scarce. Only an idiot would stick around in something like this. ] Even without cover...

[ Messer wheels his plane into a nosedive. Straightening it on descent after a pulse of its engine slows his fall, if only marginally. The drag in the air allows it to unfold into its battroid mode as it falls within range of his target. Rescue missions aren't his forté, but... he's here, so the cockpit hatch on the nose of the plane flips open.

Messer's face is similarly obscured by a layer of glass, until he hits the button on his helmet to lift that too. ]

You! [ Hovering, the fighter craft tilts, engines roaring. ] If you don't want to die, come this way!

[apresapathie]

[ So it eases: flake on frost on bite on water (turned) on pale velvets on the tips of his blushing fingers. 'Snow'. The first wave of it comes down well past morning, between breaking fast and the hour of vagabond cats that traipse in looking for treats before lunch has even drawn. The second snowfall's in the afternoon, thick enough to coat the window sill til Tsugiri — huddled on his knees inside — can spy it close.

Then there's the evening snow, and Tsugiri's protest that it's absurd to expect three coats of white thing imposing on his roof and his windows and his doorway (if he walked outside, if he cared to). But then, Enju's not here to listen, Enju won't return for a despairing two days' while, and he won't deliver Tsugiri his second and third and fourth blanket, either. There's a legion of them in the one nook and cranny Tsugiri hasn't searched tonight, he's certain of it. For now, there's only the obnoxious 'snow' and his obnoxiously thin and too-short sevice blanket and the single other obnoxious source of heat the house can offer (grudgingly).

He has never cuddled a trapped large owl on his lovely window-side sofa-seat before.

Ne has never quite cuddled a large owl anywhere before.

He thinks owls might not be entirely designed for cuddling, but he finds he'd rather test the practice than the theory, clinging on to Myoubi with both arms bound, crushing white feathers and white fluff and pointedly not likening them to snow. ]

Shouldn't this be more comfortable, now that you're so — fat?

[alichino]

Do you not think this should be a more grateful affair? [ What a rude boy. ] I do not recall submitting myself to you.

[ Myoubi cannot recall distinctly denying him, either, but that's neither here nor there. His fingers carve into the ample down that lies beneath her silent, combing feathers, and she flares to greet him. Warm, unkind, disobedient softness. Owls are not known for their down, but Myoubi only bears the ancient, glaring face of one. Anything else is left to her whimsy, the practicality of her simple form divorced from the complicated aesthetics she keeps. Claws and lace, fur and fright. She contains chill enough to shame the snowfall beyond the window, and also the heat necessary to destroy it. She could bestow it upon him, if he wished for it.

But no, he hopes. Just as she hopes, full of bizarre somedays that force them to endure these things that they both hate.

She is warm as Tsugiri is warm. Not to themselves, but perhaps... ]

Just as you do with my warnings, hm?

[ His touch is full of childish memory. Power. Delectable swirls of it that heed to no one.

Save perhaps Enju, but Enju controls the snacks, as well as the bedding. ]