piers | 05. bang bang

Entry tags:

open post

05. bang bang

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.

Threaded | Flat

[ 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.

[ 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?

[ 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. ]

[ 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. ]

[ 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.

You pick the prompt

sits here

[ 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?

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

or whatever

[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.]

[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.]

[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]

[ 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. ]

Edited 2016-07-04 19:29 (UTC)

[ 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?

Threaded | Flat

no subject

no subject

hysteria; dark warlord AU

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

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

Give me Yang

Prompt me, Mika.

I AM INDECISIVE throw anyone at me + vices and virtues

no shoes in the rain; CC verse

gimme messer-kun

Smell The Roses - Yang

no subject

Big Spoon, Little Spoon.