spellgrinders | ( TDM #7 )

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&tdm

( TDM #7 )

TDMs can be used for anyone interested in the game and/or testing out a new muse.

Test Drive samples are encouraged to be used for your application sample, though they are NOT a requirement.

Feel free to use one prompt, multiple prompts or make up your own!

These threads can be considered game canon upon game opening if you so choose.

Telepathy and magic can be used at any point in time on the TDM, from Prompt A to your wildcard prompt. A specific prompt exists, however, that makes sure all characters have an equal chance to use this mechanic within the TDM. You're encouraged to have characters use telepathy and their magic accidentally or even purposefully on any TDM prompt.

If you aren't set on your character's power yet or want to try out a few, you're still able to use the test drive. Maybe your character is a late bloomer and hasn't fully unlocked their intuitive drive yet. In the case of multiple powers, only prompts that contain the power you choose for your application will count as potential game canon threads.

While only one character can be apped or reserved during a cycle, feel free to post with more than one character if you like! This is for those who are uncertain of their first choice or who would like to try out different characters within the setting.

IMPORTANT: This world is low-frequency. No canon powers or abilities are allowed! Also check out the setting information for more info about Shehui.

You blink and that's all it takes. At first, the picture doesn't come in clear, like you're waiting for a screen to fully load -- more aptly, it's like you're waiting for a camera to focus so you can find image clarity. Before you happened to rapidly close your eyes and open them, your life was normal...well, normal for you, anyway. Fighting an alien, making a quesadilla, dying. And then that blurry picture suddenly takes over.

There's a lot to take in here -- you feel weird, your surroundings are weird. Everything is just weird. For starters, there's that new piece of jewelry inserted in the space above your chest. That certainly wasn't there before you opened your eyes.

aren't

GAME NAVIGATION

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ The festival is nothing more than a distant discarded incident now, much like the fireworks from the night — brilliant and eye-catching but fading all too fast from sight the next; existing only in time, a brief moment of utter brilliance cutting through the darkness, shattering against the barrier of the sky, then nothing. Maybe they're all nothing more than sparks that shiver into million fragments of dust against the restraints of society that made them. But if that's all they could amount to be, let them shine. If that's all they can be, let them remember.

Mikazuki has a delivery to make, from work. It's for some kind of preparation for another event, a holiday of sorts, and they hand him an address and an armful of stargazer lilies and tulips. It's not that hard to find, they told him, just follow the direction to the Tower straight down. He tucks the flowers carefully into the crook of his arm, getting pollen all over the shoulder of his coat, and starts off.

It's like he feels Orga's presence before he even sees him — like there's an invisible sort of line, a pull of magnet that directs his gaze straight towards the other as he stands less than a hundred metres ahead. There's no need for double-checking or to confirm the fact that it is him; they've known each other too long for that; Mikazuki will know him even in the dark. There's a curious sort of thundering in his ears like being submerged in water, like the empty echo of space, and Mikazuki stops walking — but only for a moment. Maybe it's his pulse, the beat of his heart quickening, but Mikazuki doesn't think about any of that. What he thinks is, ah, finally, and something in his chest loosens, the tension slackening. ]

Orga, [ In the dawning light of the morning the streets are quiet and Mikazuki barely has to raise his voice. He steps toward him, and for all the likes it could be streets of Saisei, some quiet lane in Chryse, not a place miles and miles away from everything and everyone they know. But here, the faint connection catches alight, sparks growing into fire that gleams in the gaze that fixes themselves so unerringly on the other boy. ]

[Everything that was beautiful soon faded.

The ice flowers that had bloomed off of the bow of their ship, sent to mark their grief and symbolize their simultaneous feeling of loss and appreciation for those that had given their lives so that the rest of Tekkadan could continue forward—they had been beautiful in an instant before they had faded, leaving them to the cold and silent void of space. So too had the lives that they had honored, flashes of vivid determination and courage that only youth could provide, snuffed out in singular instances of violence, noise, and steel.

Orga had thought it useless to hold a funeral—such a thing had never been allotted to them, for when a member of the third group was ever killed in action, they were disposed of as industrial waste indicative of the loathsome nanomachines that swum in their blood. But it wasn't just about him and his own perception of it—to send out the thoughts, hopes, and sorrows for those that they had lost into space had done a lot for many, and he had seen it in their faces. It had humbled him, made him realize that such a thing was, despite his own feelings on the matter, his alone to bear. It simply wasn't his way. Orga mourned in his own way, carrying the name and memory of each and every person they had lost along the way close to his heart, the weight of them weighing down his shoulders.

And then he marched on, ever forward, eyes ever upward, searching for the loftiest place they could ever hope to achieve. In his mind, that was the only way all of their sacrifices could be worth it, that all of his decisions which had led to them could be redeemed.

That, or they would burn bright. And then fade.

Something he can't quite define shifts in the atmosphere around him, even before the voice breaks out over the relatively low hum of the sound of the city. A quiet instinctual recognition that seemed to understand and agree, yes, that this would be how it would have to go. That in the middle of these thoughts, thinking of all of those names and fearing that more might be added to their number in the wake of his sudden and unexplained absence, that no other voice but Mika's would cut through noise both external and internal alike.

He turns towards the call and Mika is there. Suddenly it's as if that weight was no longer there, the soaring relief of seeing him causing a smile to break across his face like the sun rising at dawn. Before he has time to think about it he's moving towards him, a walk and then a jog, the Tekkadan jacket thrown across his shoulders streaming behind him.]

Mika. [He says it when he comes to a halt in front of him, still beaming with a happiness and relief that felt palpable. He reaches out to clasp his shoulder with one hand, grip tight as he held him steady—though also to ascertain and prove to himself that it was really him standing before him.

Someone else might've said you have no idea how happy I am to see you, but he knew he had no need. Mika would know, just as Orga knew he felt the same.

He merely tightens his grip for a moment.] Took your time, huh? [His laugh is a quiet rumble.] I've been wandering around this place all night. [And now the sun was about to rise.]

[ There's no way that Orga isn't real, Mika has no doubts about it. He's known that even before the other started towards him, and Mika looks up at him with the corners of his mouth quirking up, the morning light glancing off the piercing gaze, softening for a moment. It's good to see you. I missed you. There is no need for words like that. The strength of his grip on Mika's shoulder, the look in his face is enough — that's the way it's always been. ]

I've been waiting a month.

[ Mika raises his good hand, clasping around the others wrist in a loose grip — grounding them both, somehow, to this place.

He tilts his head slightly, moving his focus over every little part of the other's face that he can see; it's not to commit his face to memory — Mika had done that already a long time ago. The freckled petals of the lilies swing with the motion, the breeze picking up. ]

You took your time getting here.

[I've been waiting a month.

The expression freezes on his face as the realization hits him like a wave of cold water, bringing with it first shock and confusion that causes the smile to slowly drop off of his face. Instead his brow knits, the line of his mouth falling into a frown as he rapidly processed the information.] I — [it was difficult, it was like his mind was purposefully wiped blank for the moment,] I just saw you, a few hours ago, back on the ship. We... we were talking about Takaki, about...

[The words trail away as he becomes aware of Mika's hand around his wrist, loose and almost casual, and the usual clear keenness of his eyes. He closes his mouth, teeth grinding for a moment as he realized that the words had almost seemed like dissent—something almost blasphemous when he knew Mika would never lie to him.

One month... How?

Orga's grip on Mika's shoulder has softened by this point as well, just something to keep them linked together, that they not be for some reason drifted apart once more.]

I'm sorry, Mika.

[Even if it wasn't within his control. He didn't care. His life was one of dozens of overlapping promises, and all of them had with them the implied oath that he would always be there for him. That they would never be separate or separated, because they were a family forged of iron—something stronger than blood.

He sighs, shaking his head. He'd had enough time with regret and remorse to know that the feelings were natural, that they were even indicative of a good leader, but it was also the mark of a good leader to not dwell upon them. To make an example and lead the way, to allow others to move beyond it all as well.] Well, I'm here now. And I'm not going anywhere.

[ The apology is met with one of Mika's usual reactions; a furrow of brows, quizzical turn of his head like he doesn't understand why Orga should even apologise at all. It was through powers beyond them that brought him here first separately to the other, even though it seemed impossible to consider; the knowledge that they could be separate, that someone could somehow sever their bond so easily through this thing called magic. It's a disquieting thought that'd stayed with Mika the past few weeks — if Qri has power enough for this, what else?

The possibility that Orga may not remember the same things as him had not escaped his notice, from the conversations he's had with people here. McGillis and that other man, they seem to remember different things, things further down the line than what Mika is aware of. It's with a strange sort of relief that he lets Orga talk, the transition of disbelief to apology.

His fingers curl around Orga's wrist a little more securely in the next breath. A slow breath, a sure grip. ] No, you're not.

[ They were here now, together, and Mika feels, for the first time, that he can breathe a little easier. A little breath of a laugh escape him, a sound barely audible. ]

You're stuck with me again.

[Orga's response is silent as well; a slight smile, delicate to the point of feeble, which persisted just long enough for him to roll his shoulders in a shrug. It might not have been anything he could've controlled, but he still felt badly about it, imagining Mika being here on his own for a full month. Not that he couldn't handle it—he was constantly put into states of awe at what Mika could accomplish, whether he had been instructed or not—but it seemed an unnecessary stress on him.

Others couldn't see it as clearly as Orga could. Mika's mien was usually so flat and stoic, he might seem unfazed by nearly anything one could throw at him. Generally, that was right, but there were a few things that got to him after a while. Idleness was one. Loneliness was another. He'd been able to tell this years ago, and it was why he tried to keep the guy as busy as he could—and never too far from his side, if he could help it.

Mika's fingers tighten slightly around his wrist; he smiles, giving the boy another light shake at the shoulder as he spoke.] "Stuck?" [He sniffs, as if offended.] Please. I wouldn't be the same without you around.

[They'd been together so long, and Mika had been so intrinsic to what Orga had shaped himself into (for who and what he needed to be), he barely knew who he would even be without him.

Something catches his eye, something which until this point he'd not noticed, be it due to the dim lighting or everything else they had discussed. His hand leaves Mika's shoulder, moving to catch his chin and angle his face a little so he could scrutinize his left eye — or, rather, the light pattern of fading bruises that were evident there beneath the skin.

He clicks his tongue, letting him go and tracing a line under his own eye to highlight it.] So. What happened here? [He lifts his chin slightly, expression stern — he leaves him alone for one month and he goes ahead and gets into a fight? It doesn't surprise him, he has to say, but... fuck, he just wanted the guy to keep himself safe. He'd had to let go of many of his worries a long time ago, knowing that Mika would always be fighting, but usually only when he asked it of him.]

The other guy better look a hell of a lot worse.

[ It's amazing how easily things fall back into place. Mika has never been someone to play much attention to that sort of thing - he's always had that natural instinct about the other people, intuitively sensing what they were feeling, but when it came down to himself Mika barely had any idea as to how and why. The heaviness in his chest that had persisted every day for the last month lifts, dissipating like smoke in the crisp morning air the longer he looks at Orga, the gaze catching the slight smile returning back to the other's face. Of course, he was missing him. Of course, this was something akin to happiness. ]

You're always the same to me.

[ Is that because he's always been around, been there beside or before Orga? But in Mika's eyes, the other hasn't changed one bit from when they had first met all those years ago. There's that same fire inside him, driving them forward, the heat of it enough to be felt even like this. There's the same ironclad resolve in his tone of voice, the slight shake given to his shoulders like a sound of gunshot, like a signal.

He'd tried to keep himself as busy as he could, getting used to this city that was softer and kinder than their own. He'd written it off as just some kind of strangeness at first, the fact that nearly everything here were so foreign to him to warrant any sort of proper understanding. The feeling of displacement, of curious hollowness in his gut - he understands it all now. The gears are starting to shift again. He is moving again. There's some kind of focus to his existence now, like a knife having a hand to wield it, like a beam of light passing through jagged angled glass. ]

Got into a fight.

[ Stating the obvious, as usual, but Mika had all but forgotten about the bruises there. He shifts slightly, the shoulders barely moving under the jacket in a shrug. He doesn't really know the extent of the damage he'd caused Julieta - but from her tone before she'd left, and from how she's left him well alone afterwards, speaks volumes to him than anything else from her. ]

She won't come back again.

[It was as easy as breathing to him. Perhaps nostalgia and affection had warped the memory somewhat, but he believes he'd felt it the first time he saw Mika crouched against the wall in a dusty Chryse alleyway, body small and coated in dirt but with blue eyes so clear and sharp it seemed they could cut through steel. A sense of belonging and togetherness they fostered that made it seem fated; that they had just picked one another up and began to encourage one another forward until a point today in which he can't even remember what he'd been like or who he'd been before he met Mika. There was only who and what they were, both individually and together, here and now.

A grin spreads across his face at Mika's response, and at first his reply is a singular laugh. He shakes his head.] That's because I can always rely on you to be at my side. [From their rough first few years struggling in the streets to joining the CGS to forming Tekkadan to establishing themselves as a force to be reckoned with in all interplanetary space. Every step of the way he'd had Mika at his elbow, ready to break down any obstacle Orga saw fit to direct him towards.

It was the way they both best functioned.

They both knew better, though. Orga had had his few moments of doubt, times where he had come to a watershed and needed to find out how to move past it in one piece. Mika had been there to keep him on his path, to remind him who he was and who he needed to remain being. Orga was only the same as Mika had ever known because he had made sure not to let him falter.

And he should've been here to make sure Mika didn't fall into his own missteps. An unchecked brawl definitely counted; try as he might, he couldn't keep Mika from occasional bursts of violence, though he had to admit that most of them were typically in the defense of someone else. That softened the responsibility, though it didn't remove it. Orga sighs.]

Well, [there was no sense dwelling on it now,] from here on out, try to check in with me before you throw any more punches. Our situation might call for more diplomacy than that.

[Diplomacy: Mika's least favorite subject.

So he changes it, indicating what the boy was holding.]

Next question: what's up with those?

[ Mika nods, completely accepting of the fact, as placid as anything as if he hasn't got a half-scabbed over cut at his temple and mottled fading bruises to prove otherwise. It made complete sense to him to fall into step beside the other now that Orga was here; it's always been that way, Orga guiding him in directions that he deems fit for them to head towards, and Mika pushing them past all the obstacles and interference that would snag at their heels.

He has no illusions about the way he fits best against the other - he has no grand ideas about the place he holds in their plans, or in the greater ways of interplanetary politics that Orga tries to navigate them through intact (or as less damage as they could take). If he could answer Orga every time he call, if he could ask what's required, for him to be able to hand over all that and more to Orga, he's satisfied with that. ]

Alright, Orga. [ Easy, even tone of voice, no shred of doubt in it. Whatever he says, goes. Even if it might be beyond what he's capable of, he will get them both there.

The attention shifts to the flowers still resting against his shoulder, tucked into the sling, and Mika looks down towards it before redirecting his gaze back up to Orga once more. ]

I was working.

I'm supposed to deliver these.

[The request was accepted readily, as he knew it would. It was no mean feat to harness or disarm Mika when he had risen to a challenge and accepted it; usually it was something that he would determinedly pursue until it had come to its (usually violent) conclusion. The ability to calm Mika down and take him out of that frame of mind was an ability unique to Orga, and a responsibility that he held just as closely as the similar one which stood to say that Mika would carry out whatever order he gave. Neither were things he handled lightly or flippantly, either; regardless of how Mika saw himself, he was no tool to be used. He was human, same as any of them — just the one who by far had the most aptitude for crashing through obstacles.

Orga tilts his head to one side at the response, at first a little shocked but then that is supplanted by a slow smile that spreads across his face. It was something thinly veiled, that he was interested in Mika showing interest in other things. A job wasn't exactly a passion, but he was proud that he was out doing something, even if that thing was delivering —

It takes him a moment to even recognize what they were. Not something they had in abundance on Mars. He thinks he only really remembers them when they were at that beachside compound, after having met Makanai for the first time.]

Flowers, huh? [He looks back up to Mika, slipping his hands into his pockets.] Well, I don't want you to be late on a delivery. Where's it supposed to go? I'll come along.

[ Indeed, it's hard to get Mika to be actually interested in things. Half the time it would seem like he's just going through familiar motions like eating and sleeping, mostly because it's become a habit to him rather than things he care about necessarily, arising out of familiarity rather than some kind of personally-invested motives driving him.

That's only ever really been reserved for Orga — ever since they were young (younger), it seemed like the one thing that made Mika look more alive and more awake than anything else had been related in some way or form to the other boy. Nothing or nobody else made Mika sit up and take interest.

But flowers — it was something different to his usual. Growing things, creating something out of nothing in a soil that was actually not preordained to arid desolation, earth that actually smelled and felt like life, it's something new to Mika. Some other possibility, some other purpose to his life, but ultimately meaningless as well, if it lay opposite to the direction that Orga wanted to head towards.

His gaze is faintly questioning, the tilt of his head more so than his look, but Mika says nothing of any importance of concrete remark otherwise. Pulling out the address written on a slip of paper, he hands if over to the other. ]

It's not too far, they said. Just down the road.

[Mika had always been a creature of extremes; his range of intensity went from practically nothing to so intense it seemed scalding, and depending on the situation he could shift with such alacrity that it could startle the uninitiated — hell, to this day Orga still got surprised by certain topics in conversation he interjected in or certain things he got himself interested in trying out.

Orga's perspective on him would always be skewed. The Mika that he saw was different than the one presented to others on a day-in day-out basis; when he looked to him, he always found those clear, sharp eyes ready and waiting for whatever next he had to say. In a way, it made it novel to see him in other situations — he fondly remembered stumbling in on his lesson with Kudelia, watching the younger kids tease him as their make-shift teacher offered help. It reminded Orga that the Mika he so often saw, deceptively placid with an underlying intensity that kept him on his own path forward, was someone slightly different than who he was all the rest of the time. Both of these facets of the boy were important to him. He simply wished it was easier to reconcile them.]

Alright. [He nods, starting off in the direction that Mika had indicated, hands in his pockets and not even bothering to look — he knew that the other boy would follow.

As they walk, they eventually pass the woman Orga had spoken to the moment before, working on setting up more of the decorations.

He looks to Mika.] You heard about what all this is? [A quick cant of the head serves as a gesture to where a group of somber flowers had already been entwined around a lamppost.]

[ Orga has no reason whatsoever to think otherwise - of course Mika follows him, always a half step behind, eyes alert. Even a month apart, nothing has changed. Mikazuki might be multi-faceted, some aspects winking in and out of sight like distant light of stars in the blackness of the cold space - his interest too, waning and waxing like the moon (of the past, not the wreckage that it's become in their world, but Mika can't imagine the moon looking any other way), but like how it rotates around the earth, so does he.

Even a month apart, everything fits back together seamlessly, nerve endings sparking and fizzing with newly found familiarity, like feelings returning back to a limb. A ghostly, constant presence, finally solidified. A tether that grounds him, an axis upon which his world turns.

He glances at the woman and the decorations that Orga indicate toward, but without comprehension or understanding; he isn't familiar with this place yet enough to know, hasn't been paying attention to the customs and the traditions of this world yet. ] No.

What is it? [ asking, assuming that Orga would know whatever he didn't. Or maybe he can hear it from the barest inflections of the question. ]

[It was a truly unique level of familiarity which allowed even the stagger-step feeling of Orga having just seen Mika with conversely Orga having been absent from Mika's perspective for a month to fade just as quickly as they turned and started off down the path. Even when he assigned the younger boy to some task that took him away from his side for an extended period of time, he couldn't say he felt poorly about the decision, that it pained him or caused him to question anything. The youth inside of him still worried over that tiny kid he'd taken under his wing, but the Orga of here and now knew that there were few forces in this solar system that could stand between Mikazuki Augus and doing what he had promised to do.

And there was still a part of him that missed that faithful presence at his side, which felt hobbled as if he had one arm tied painfully behind his back, but he could always tell that part that he knew Mika would return when the job was done.

Flowers. He looks up to them as they pass the decorations. They weren't really part of a Martian person's symbolic vernacular, for how rare they were. They hadn't known they were meant to be dedicated to those that were lost or gone. He hadn't realized how they represented the brightness of life until he had seen Earth.

It was a strange dichotomy; so beautiful, but so short-lived. That was why Tekkadan was a flower forged in iron, one that would never wilt or fade.]

A day of remembrance. Of mourning.

[He knew it was still a novel concept for a lot of them - a group of children who had grown up knowing that they would one day be piled into shallow graves, thrown away like industrial waste.]

Like the funeral we had, on board the Isaribi.

[With all the others they had lost, he felt like they were due for another one. How many more would they have to have until their fighting ceased? Would the need to mourn their dead ever leave them?]

[ there were a few forces, indeed, that would ever stop Mika from clawing his way back to the other's side. There were only a few things that could stand in his way once he set out to do something, especially if that request came from Orga.

They walk past the woman. There's faint grass-sweet scent from the flowers wound around the lamp post, slightly sweet, slightly earthy, smelling of life and death and everything else but Mika isn't familiar enough with it to recognise them all. To him, it's an odd scent; to someone who hasn't ever known what it was to be really restful.

There's a quick gaze upwards in Orga's direction, catching sight of the expression on his face, speaking more without words. Something like that has become largely unnecessary between them, like the time they spent together reduced each and every gesture to certain meanings, understood only by them. ]

Okay. [ they will hold one, for everyone they lost along the way, everyone else they will lose; Mikazuki remembers all of them, the same as Orga. ]

We'll help them forget.

[ but they never will; there is no way they would, not unless they wanted to sully the memory of these kids who lived and died chasing the same dreams. they will remember in place of those who were gone, and maybe that will help them shoulder some of the pain that the dead have suffered, as well. it was a cycle – maybe when someday when they were gone, someone else will remember for them, as well. ]

I'll help you, so they can come back to someplace better.

[ someplace that orga was trying to create for all of them. ]

[There was a sort of richness to the air that was almost dizzying; he'd thought the same during their time on Earth, though that had eased once they had gotten to Arbrau (Makanai's little hideaway in the Oceanic Federation was quite a different story). It seemed to be an acquired taste. Orga had grown up breathing an atmosphere that had been artificially manufactured rather than naturally-occurring, clean in its sparsity (and only in that), broken by dust and the baking sun. Strange that that and the tinny, recycled air of the spacecraft would feel more comforting than this. But then again, Earth had always done its best to remind them that they were outsiders.

He wonders if this place would do the same.

He nods at Mika's words. He had arrived to Earth after the fighting, and even then things had been too hectic to worry about sending off those that had died in that unnecessary, blind war. Tekkadan was never without lives lost to honor and remember.]

Alright.

[The well-timedness of this particular holiday wasn't lost on him, but he keeps the observation to himself.

He glances to Mika, wondering which avenue of meaning he chose for the words. As far as he was aware his friend wasn't any more of a believer in the somewhat common belief of reincarnation as Orga was - it had never seemed to apply to them. But if some of the other kids thought it was true and it helped them, well... Orga made concessions.

But, no, more likely they should focus on the world they were making for themselves here and now.]

Sounds like a plan. [Said with a small smile. Altering the fabric of the world didn't seem like a tall order with their combined efforts.]

So, [brief change in topic,] I take it no one else has found their way here, other than us?

[That's the feeling he gets, but he might be wrong.]

[ Mika shakes his head in answer; was there really any need to say it in words? Nobody at all, here. Nobody he'd consider 'family', in the sense of the word Orga had used before.

He wasn't someone to believe in afterlife or reincarnation — rather, it's like something like that doesn't belong to them necessarily, something that was reserved for human beings other than what they were. It doesn't seem quite real, not like the dirt under his nails and the blood in his veins do.

But they are still — something more than what the world has labelled them as. That's what they'll make them see, here and now. That's important. Not so much for the comrades they've left behind, more for the ones who's left them. ]

Ah, [ his steps slow momentarily, and Mika blinks, the gaze flitting past Orga's head to scan the street numbers quickly. ]

There's that guy. Chocolate's friend. And some girl.

Nobody else.

[Orga frowns as Mika shakes his head, looking away and initially only responding with a tch. It is, of course, nothing within either of their control. But that's why it was excruciating for him in particular - as boss, Orga was used to having complete control (or at least knowledge) of the location of various members of Tekkadan. Even separate from that, they were all members of the same family. It'd take some getting used to, being without Shino's joviality and determination, or Eugene's sharp tongue and dependability. To think that they were suddenly cut off from all of the others that had been just as instrumental to getting Tekkadan to where and what it was today was a disjointing experience.

But at least he had found Mika; without him, Orga would've been even more lost. For now he'll hold fast to that.

Not privy to the address for the delivery, he's just following Mika along. He pauses as his companion's pace slows, though drifting attention is drawn back when something else seems to occur to him.]

..."Chocolate"...

[???? Mika, what the hell -

He gives a single, rough, slightly long-suffering laugh.] Mika, [The tone isn't admonishing so much as lightly cajoling. He, more than anyone else, has dealt with Mika's idiosyncrasies enough to know there was nothing one could do about them but work with them.] Can you be a little more specific?

[ that laugh is probably something Mika has heard a hundred times before, and the quick, knowing glance sideways in the other's direction may indicate it as such — although its, as always, non-apologetic, matching the light cajoling tone of the other, somehow. ]

...Gali-Gali.

[ that was ... close enough, right?

Mika's eyebrows draw together a little, an almost frown; he's never been good with things he didn't have a slightest bit of interest in — this too is one of those things. The scars on his face is real, the disdain and the bitterness from Gaelio, it is real, but to Mika, it's got nothing to do with him. It has no meaning, in the path they take. ]

The Gjallarhorn.

[It took years of careful study and rigorous practice to be able to follow some of the trains of thought Mika took (and still sometimes he makes a mental leap that leaves Orga scrambling to follow), and even now he feels completely stumped. His gaze is just as blank and devoid of recognition as Mika trots out something else that sounds like a nickname, and one that doesn't really match anyone he can think of.

Certainly it's no one from Tekkadan or even the Turbines; Mika tended to remember things that he either found interest in or at least the vaguest sense of respect. When he finally continues to clarify that it was Gjallarhorn, though, it clicks into place. Of course, that would be someone he wouldn't immediately remember the name of.]

Oh.

[Orga's sense of recognition of the peacekeeping force and then the slow backslide into frustration was a visible journey on his face. Depending on which Gjallarhorn it was (because there were many of them, remember, Mika?), this could be a huge pain in the neck.]

You don't mean McGillis, right? [Instincts tell him no.] Another one of them?

[Honestly, McGillis was one of the only Gjallarhorn people he'd ever spoken with at length... His perspective on this was narrow.

He continues, a sound of annoyance catching in his throat.] They haven't caused you any trouble, have they?

[ More like, has he caused them any trouble... It might be a little funny, how Orga continued to see him as he is now — and also how he had been before, an orphan child off the streets to be protected. Maybe that was still the truth, if only partially; there might still be something of that nature in Mika, that childish obliviousness to his surroundings, blind towards everything else but what he's focused on. ]

He was with him, before. Not now.

[ Not now, not here. There's something different. Even Mika can see that. ]

It's fine.

[ it's not exactly an answer to what Orga has asked, not a clear yes or no, and it might show. Mika doesn't make any indication of it though, continuing on at a slower, but even pace down the street. ]

[True, but... Orga likes to believe that Mika wouldn't do such a thing, and that if he had to resolve something with violence, he would have good reason, but...

Well, let's just say that he might be a little too mentally forgiving of the younger boy.]

Hmm. [Honestly, that doesn't help much, but Orga's knowledge (and, by extension, his opinions of) that particular branch of Gjallarhorn was limited. There had only been his dealings with McGillis - or Montag, as he had known him during his masquerading days. As they had been simultaneously harried and supported by him and those attached to him, Orga's thoughts were complicated, which made trying to make a snap decision about someone merely affiliated with him (and now not) even more so.

So he doesn't.]

Well, [he rolls his shoulders in a shrug,] we'll deal with it when we need to, then. Can't say the politics of it matter much here anyway.

[Without mobile suits and other weapons to muster, suddenly the stakes felt a lot lower.

He peers at Mika out of the corner of his eye, discerning. He doesn't call him out on the vagueness of the answer, though.]

I'll talk to 'em soon. [He indicates the house they've idled in front of with a nod of the head.] This it?

[ the politics of the Gjallarhorn, the internal conflicts and the undercurrents of methods and motives for their actions doesn't matter much, no, not in this place — the intergalactic peacekeepers they are supposed to be, but that's in a different time and place to now.

And he'd been helped by him — by that man, when he clearly didn't have to. Whatever truce had been struck between them all had only minor effects and influence on Mika; it was something that had more to do with that man and McGillis.

The scar, the bitterness running under surface. The funeral.

The hand extended toward him in snow. ]

Even if Orga didn't talk to them, [ Mikazuki continues to carefully check the street numbers off as they walk, finally coming to a stop in front of a particular door. This must be it. ] —they won't bother us here.

[ a child comes to the door to answer the bell, and Mika shifts to ease the flowers out of his hold, handing it over. ]

[In a way, it was a relief. Orga was no good at politicking; occasional guidance and commentary from an array of make-shift advisers (be it Naze or Kudelia or Merribit) stopped him from some of his more boneheaded ideas, though it was clear to him at least that his strengths lie on a battlefield.

It put him in an odd situation, then, when he felt so adrift in situations that were technically safer for those that he should probably be trying to keep alive. The catch-22 of the leader of a mercenary company, then.

To Orga, though, none of it should apply to Mika; if they had any complaint about what the boy did, they should take it to him instead. Barbatos did not deploy unless Orga gave the direct command.

So those will be discussions he will need to have. Fine. He prefers have them directly regardless; all of this running around and talking through channels and liaisons back home was starting to grate on him regardless.

He smiles at Mika's response, choosing not to answer. He thinks speaking to them is an eventuality, but regardless of how it shakes out, they wouldn't be able to touch them. Let's just say... they don't particularly scare him in-person. He idles on the street corner while Mika makes the delivery. He's waiting for him when he returns.]

So what's on the docket for the rest of the day? [Asked with smile slightly askew.] Or are you off the hook?

[ Discussions, topics that will eventually come up, but not just now; it's not like Mika has stirred up too much since he'd been summoned here — apart from the little run-in with Julieta, he'd tried to keep to himself most of the time.

Not for the first time since he caught sight of the other boy, Mika wonders if this is his doing, somehow. Geir had said that the witch had ways of bringing a few people from the same world, people who had some kind of an important bond or connection between them.

He had just been — not waiting, but trying to find his way back to Orga, to help him get to where he wanted to bring them to. Did his efforts only succeed partially, working in reverse to tear Orga from his rightful place instead? ]

I'm done now.

[ Mika doesn't quite smile, but the tilt of his head mirrors the line of the crooked smile on Orga's face. ]

That was the last of the delivery.

[ It might be seen as selfish, if people had all but known that something inside Mika has settled by Orga's presence like ripples across the surface of the water growing still to reflect the light of the moon. It is selfish, but Mika doesn't stop to think about what kind of an emotion that spreads in his chest; some kind of peace, some kind of solid reassurance that Orga always exudes, some kind of confidence in his belonging, to this place, beside him.

Now that Orga was here, whether it be through his own wishes (fault) or not, Mika was going to do what he always has done — everything and anything that Orga wants. ]

What next, Orga?

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counteracts - 2018-01-10 09:44 (UTC) - Expand

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