[ Generally, one does not expect to last stand aboard the lead ship in the Arianrhod fleet in one moment, and next open eyes onto a blue sky, inhaling forest. For that matter, one does not expect to wake without remembering choosing to rest. Vidar, newly and once more Gaelio Bauduin, certainly expected neither.
That preoccupies as he sits up, white gloved hands on white booted knees, and peers up, around. The trees too sparse and thin for a canopy of leaves overhead, yet the sun dapples. With the shocking scent of green and soil, mulch and the sun's warming, the dirt and dead leaves beneath his legs, and the startling sight of all this in contrast so the astringent ship, the cold metal of space, Gaelio believes he is dreaming. Then, necessarily: he braces for the nightmare.
One minute, and another, but no blood, no long familiar voice gone cold and brutal, no searing agony, no last words. While waiting, he comes to notice the addition set into his collarbone. Yanking open his collar and the flap of his coat, he tries to inspect the signet, and does yank at it, curious.
In this moment of his loosened collar and half-open coat, enough of the back of his neck too, is exposed. The odd, ugly protrusions at the base of his neck, where spine's nubs begin. With the signet, it looks almost as though a piercing slants clear through his neck.
Ein, he thinks, unaware that he projects it after the vibration, is this your dream?
Gaelio cannot remember knowing such a forest. But, there cannot have been on Mars. Then what...? ]
B.
[ After the boarlet snuffled through a bush, others followed, one of such girth and fury that it could only be the mother. Gaelio, closer to seven than six feet of bewildered rigidity, reacts too slowly, his reflexes better honed for handling a gundam's controls. Throwing himself only just in time to the side as the beast charges past does make this feel more real, which presented an intimidating set of problems.
Most of which would need to wait for the most pressing: how to survive a wild boar.
Without time to cast about for a makeshift weapon, he crawls, scrambling -- but the trees are all too thin to climb, the branches wouldn't bear even his firm grip. If only he could hide. Trees too thin for that, too, and now it's got his scent, nostrils flaring, eyes fixed, this beast with which he has no quarrel.
If it is a dream, then let it pass him by, this beast with which he has no quarrel. And then... it does. Confusion and rage without focus muddle it, and the creature circles, sniffing, protesting. Eventually, giving it up, and clambering away.
Of course, unused to having the power to craft illusions, Gaelio's entirely unaware that to the boar, he had disappeared completely.
Which, really, makes it again more likely to be-- ]
What a strange dream.
[ Murmured as he straightens, gazing into the last rustling of the underbrush. ]
E.
[ Not a dream. So they claimed.
He might cut a strange figure, sitting far from the bonfire, the items of his knapsack laid out in front of him: too small clothes, shrimp, a toothbrush, a hand axe, a deck of cards, and a small rubber handball. Though his height is less pronounced from his seat, the unevenly chopped violet hair or jagged scar across half his face might be notable. Or not, in such a place.
Ignoring the object, he reads again over the letter. Already having questioned the woman called Genette at some length, he wrestles with the enormity of it, and the enormous impossibility. A witch, magic, other worlds, tasks to complete until he could return. When, finally, he had stood before that man, and finally, he felt unwavering conviction for what must be done. And Ein, was Ein still with him? He must be, he can feel him, can't he, or can't he, or...
Frustrating. A muscle in his jaw tight, tighter.
Illusions, huh. He thinks of fire. He thinks of the paper smoking. He thinks of heat, burning through the fabric of his gloves. And the paper bursts. Startled, he drops it, watching it flutter and curl and blacken to the ground --
blink, look again.
Unmarked, but for the explanation already inscribed. Unburnt.
It doesn't make him feel anything but insane. Strange, then, that he smiles faintly at the paper, eyes empty of the sentiment. Gaelio reaches for the bag of shrimp, plucks one, and takes a bite while eying the handball.
Swallowing, then mildly, a question, ]
Do you think the boars play fetch?
H.
[ this is just to prove i can write a short opener ok oh my god Never mind the name inscribed on the door, somehow for the sake of his standing in your, yes your beach house, he missed it. So, he stands. The ceiling less than a foot above his head. Having had to stoop considerably to even get inside.
Yet, his expression's stolid, without hint of misgiving. Not even as he looks at a cot which is clearly way too small for him to lie fully straight. Turning to the shelf, he picks up your macguffin, just beginning to reflect on whether or not this house was, in fact, unclaimed, when the door opens. Should probably say hello.
Gaelio Bauduin (Vidar) - Mobile Suit Gundam: Iron-Blooded Orphans
[ Generally, one does not expect to last stand aboard the lead ship in the Arianrhod fleet in one moment, and next open eyes onto a blue sky, inhaling forest. For that matter, one does not expect to wake without remembering choosing to rest. Vidar, newly and once more Gaelio Bauduin, certainly expected neither.
That preoccupies as he sits up, white gloved hands on white booted knees, and peers up, around. The trees too sparse and thin for a canopy of leaves overhead, yet the sun dapples. With the shocking scent of green and soil, mulch and the sun's warming, the dirt and dead leaves beneath his legs, and the startling sight of all this in contrast so the astringent ship, the cold metal of space, Gaelio believes he is dreaming. Then, necessarily: he braces for the nightmare.
One minute, and another, but no blood, no long familiar voice gone cold and brutal, no searing agony, no last words. While waiting, he comes to notice the addition set into his collarbone. Yanking open his collar and the flap of his coat, he tries to inspect the signet, and does yank at it, curious.
In this moment of his loosened collar and half-open coat, enough of the back of his neck too, is exposed. The odd, ugly protrusions at the base of his neck, where spine's nubs begin. With the signet, it looks almost as though a piercing slants clear through his neck.
Ein, he thinks, unaware that he projects it after the vibration, is this your dream?
Gaelio cannot remember knowing such a forest. But, there cannot have been on Mars. Then what...? ]
B.
[ After the boarlet snuffled through a bush, others followed, one of such girth and fury that it could only be the mother. Gaelio, closer to seven than six feet of bewildered rigidity, reacts too slowly, his reflexes better honed for handling a gundam's controls. Throwing himself only just in time to the side as the beast charges past does make this feel more real, which presented an intimidating set of problems.
Most of which would need to wait for the most pressing: how to survive a wild boar.
Without time to cast about for a makeshift weapon, he crawls, scrambling -- but the trees are all too thin to climb, the branches wouldn't bear even his firm grip. If only he could hide. Trees too thin for that, too, and now it's got his scent, nostrils flaring, eyes fixed, this beast with which he has no quarrel.
If it is a dream, then let it pass him by, this beast with which he has no quarrel. And then... it does. Confusion and rage without focus muddle it, and the creature circles, sniffing, protesting. Eventually, giving it up, and clambering away.
Of course, unused to having the power to craft illusions, Gaelio's entirely unaware that to the boar, he had disappeared completely.
Which, really, makes it again more likely to be-- ]
What a strange dream.
[ Murmured as he straightens, gazing into the last rustling of the underbrush. ]
E.
[ Not a dream. So they claimed.
He might cut a strange figure, sitting far from the bonfire, the items of his knapsack laid out in front of him: too small clothes, shrimp, a toothbrush, a hand axe, a deck of cards, and a small rubber handball. Though his height is less pronounced from his seat, the unevenly chopped violet hair or jagged scar across half his face might be notable. Or not, in such a place.
Ignoring the object, he reads again over the letter. Already having questioned the woman called Genette at some length, he wrestles with the enormity of it, and the enormous impossibility. A witch, magic, other worlds, tasks to complete until he could return. When, finally, he had stood before that man, and finally, he felt unwavering conviction for what must be done. And Ein, was Ein still with him? He must be, he can feel him, can't he, or can't he, or...
Frustrating. A muscle in his jaw tight, tighter.
Illusions, huh. He thinks of fire. He thinks of the paper smoking. He thinks of heat, burning through the fabric of his gloves. And the paper bursts. Startled, he drops it, watching it flutter and curl and blacken to the ground --
blink, look again.
Unmarked, but for the explanation already inscribed. Unburnt.
It doesn't make him feel anything but insane. Strange, then, that he smiles faintly at the paper, eyes empty of the sentiment. Gaelio reaches for the bag of shrimp, plucks one, and takes a bite while eying the handball.
Swallowing, then mildly, a question, ]
Do you think the boars play fetch?
H.
[
this is just to prove i can write a short opener ok oh my godNever mind the name inscribed on the door, somehow for the sake of his standing in your, yes your beach house, he missed it. So, he stands. The ceiling less than a foot above his head. Having had to stoop considerably to even get inside.Yet, his expression's stolid, without hint of misgiving. Not even as he looks at a cot which is clearly way too small for him to lie fully straight. Turning to the shelf, he picks up your macguffin, just beginning to reflect on whether or not this house was, in fact, unclaimed, when the door opens. Should probably say hello.
Does not say hello. ]
I.
[ Wild thing?! make my heart sing!!! ]