#sy: sihnon

[syxjaewon]

‘worth it’ a solo

it’s jaewon, in case you’re wondering. he’s the one who fires the first shot and causes the ensuing chaos.

and of course he does, of course it’s him, of course he cannot stand to watch his crew trade itself like batting cards, argent’s words ‘two for the price of one’ still floating around behind his eyes like petulant phantoms, sneering and snarling and scratching at every edge of him, the lilt in that tone still mocking him despite the five hours since they were spoken, despite the kilometers traveled since then, despite the tense atmosphere and all the guns in the room aimed at him. it’s those words that sit on his chest nasty like a goblin, like a snake, like a spider threatening to weave him inside an iron-webbed trap, and he watches sonmi and neo approach while kafka steps away, his skin a thin film to encase his fury.

but for all their time spent watching the solar flair captain, they haven’t seemed to learn anything, haven’t noticed the way he stomps over webs and coils, plunges headlong into the maelstrom, catapults his way into danger, big black combat boot thundering against the catastrophe of the whole verse around him; he knows that space is cold, space is spinning out of control, space is unforgiving and hungry and greedy for blood, willing to drink him dry if he lets even a single drop of himself fall. he is a whirlwind of scars and devastations, more battles between his fingers than the ages of his crew, more ghosts tied to his ankles than the populations of entire planets, and if he can survive being shot point-blank in the chest by a girl he once loved, then what is this triviality? what does this argent have, what is he made of? thin and wraith-like, a presence like the devil himself, the man burns in jaewon’s irises, all coy and smiling, but the captain already knows he’s going to win-- what is the devil in comparison to hell itself incarnate?

the bullet launches from his gun, firing strategically towards the biggest of the lot, the one holding what jaewon gauges as the biggest, most powerful automatic machine gun in the room, finding a home square in the man’s temple, and a second later the enclosure erupts. jaewon is forced to duck, roll, spin out of the way as bullets and blasters flood into the two sides, screams and shouts ricocheting off the walls, some from his people, some from argent’s, but he does his best to keep the ratio in his favor, cutting throats and embedding bullets quickly and efficiently. he helps who he can, well-placed gunfire and knives, his practiced aim indenting into the enemy’s forces as deeply as possible, but he knows this isn’t enough and they will need to retreat eventually, especially since argent presumably owns this whole skyplex and reinforcements are already on their way. he can hear them all howling through the hallways beyond, hear the onslaught, hear the cries of dead soldiers in a valley somewhere, begging him to save them, begging him to bring them home, begging him to not let them all die here. he won’t let them all die here.

and then he catches a manic chuckle, the tut-tut-tutting of another machine gun somewhere from just beyond the corner of a crate he is crouching beside, the tune familiar enough to prick his senses, lift his fury to seething, his blood to boiling, his atmosphere on fire, and he re-fills his guns and decides he knows what he has to do, to ensure the safety of his crew, the safety of their exodus. this is going to hurt, this could incapacitate him, this could break him open and leave him stained against this foreign metal flooring, never to set foot on his own ship again, but he is a sun in the midst of the black, he is a perpetual burning man, he is a tower of stardust and rage and kalidasan heat, vallurian born and sand-scarred, the hymns of a thousand incense prayers lining his vertebrae, the scent of spice scorched into his bones, branded and bought, and he’d rather be dead than carry on with this tail threatening over their heads. freedom is what he fought for, freedom from every type of thumb, from every type of greed, from every type of asshole.

argent is standing on a high crate, his vantage point giving him a better eye-view of everyone in the room, unprotected except for the semi-automatic clutched in his arms, raining a hail of bullets down on anything that moves, a grin splitting his face in two like a horror story, and jaewon recognizes it as a stationary dare, the belief of invincibility making him stupid, that enough bullets in the air will keep everyone and anyone from even attempting to shoot at him. and if he were up against someone smaller, someone weaker, someone with watering eyes and self-preservation, someone who doesn’t blaze from every pore, hair and eyes and skin smoldering in effervescent sunshine, someone who doesn’t fill their lungs with meteors and gravities strong enough to rip planets to pieces and spaghettify atoms, he might have had a chance.

as it is though, this is yang jaewon, captain, sergeant, soldier, pirate, murderer, thief, blackened, seared, vulturous, and just as relentless as the spin of the universe, so he turns around the corner of the crate, all six feet of him on perfect display to the whole room for the four-second, suspended moment he needs for this task; teeth bared in a snarl, gold eyes shining, black boots, black coat, right arm long and outstretched, the gun in his palm cold and heavy and somehow a part of his hand as he aims, fires, feels the vibrations, the shock-waves echoing through his muscles. he catches one bullet in the thigh, three in his side, something grazing over his back, ripping at his clothes and his skin, a sharp, formless surge crashing into his shoulder, but the cartridge still leaves him half a second before all that and flies straight into argent’s neck, the spewing blood and damage ending his onslaught and giving jaewon enough satisfaction to last him the rest of this fight.

just before he takes another blaster surge to the gut and collapses.

worth it.

[neosy]

interlude: wage this war

berate me, belittle me, make me seem weak; tear my name from the walls of my successes and make me another fucking pawn.

his teeth dig into the gag in his mouth so hard he can feel his canines prodding from each side, almost shredding into the fabric with the working of his jaw, the grinding of his skull. 

on his knees with a gun to the back of his head he becomes aware of his position as the victim, as someone who was caught, a mercenary not of much use as a hostage. he's fucking embarrassed, frustrated, and angry, so fucking angry it whites his vision, it vibrates under his skin, it makes him almost shake, his wrists fighting his restraints, body restless as he forces it into his submission, to remain as still as possible. he fights his will, not to be subservient, but to exemplify his patience, his understanding of the situation. 

he might not trust jaewon entirely, suspicions always prodding at his mind, but watching him press a gun to kafka’s head was almost humorous, he could almost laugh, cold and bitter, disdainful. he wouldn’t disturb the captain’s plan because he wasn’t fucking stupid, but something about the thought of being used as leverage for the little thief of all people pissed him off. he didn’t like being the ass end of a trade, he didn’t like the idea that he could die in the place of someone else just because. he wanted to cause pain, destruction, a storm inside of him brewing so powerfully he felt like being possessed, losing control in the waves of his misery and ire. 

so simply pushed to his feet like cattle, herded forward towards his crew like fucking property.

the tension in the room could kill, and he could feel the intensity of it mixing with his own, a cocktail of disaster and chaos, every singular being damp with it, soaked in the preface of catastrophe, trigger fingers heavy. they say you can feel when a storm is about to break, the air chokes you, the atmosphere crackles and shakes with electricity before lightening is ready to strike. just the same, he tenses, he feels it like a shockwave and then there is the boom of what could’ve been twenty guns going off almost at once.

neo ducks immediately, slamming his body into whoever has their gun to his head, shaking them off and finding a cover, everything moving so fast he almost finds himself struggling to keep up, if just for a moment. the blasting of guns, the yelling, kafka cuts his wrists free and neo doesn’t bother to thank him, not even turning his direction as he pulls the gag from his mouth. 

as soon as the restraints are gone, the rooms energy hits him hot with adrenaline, and he sets off like an animal. ducked behind the crates he grabs the closest body he sees aiming it’s gun at his crew mates and drags them back with him, arm caged around their throat to cut off their oxygen, letting them fight. neo could’ve escaped in that time, he knew he could’ve, but he refused to be one of the people to leave the battlefield without spilling blood; a hostage he barely stomached, a deadweight he refused, knuckles whitening as the mans hands pressed against his face, brute force hitting him and trying to get away. neo attempted to pry the gun from his left hand, while the right caught him in the face, a hard pressure as he seemed to try to grasp at neo’s jaw, pressing under his mouth. the gun fires wildly in a random direction, the flourish of bullets firing nearby masking the sound, the yells of direction and the sounds of bodies and tearing flesh. 

so neo does what any man would do, and angles his head to dig his teeth into the skin, ripping in so forcefully blood pools in his mouth, teeth almost hitting the bone of the man’s pointer finger as he rips away as if he is feral, knee digging itself into his side, swift kicks to knock the air out, when finally the gun comes free, but he doesn’t use it. he tosses it to the side momentarily, the spat hidden by stacks of crates as he waits for his fight to dwindle, the energy to lessen on the man in his hold before releasing his throat, climbing on him with heavy breaths, and slamming the man’s head into the ground. once, twice, three times, over and over until it caves in, a piss poor excuse for a skull, blood over his hands and chest, dripping down his chin and staining his teeth, body covered in chunks of what must’ve been brain and matter, hideously stained red and black. he wasn’t as invested in escaping in that moment as causing pain, burning anger, his roots of violence and torture singing songs in his veins, skipping through the playground of his bones and muscle memory, making him insane with it.

he knew he only had minutes to spare, grabbing the gun and using cover as he withdrew, firing through the beginnings of his escape.

the crackle of the machine gun rings alarming, every body in the room hiding for cover and he sees several things happen at once; he sees crew members escaping back to the ship, bodies cowering and falling on both sides, he sees their captain walking out into the gun fire like he’s the fucking messiah -- he sees chaos in it’s most potent form, blood and flesh and there’s something almost cathartic, welcoming and disastrous. 

then jaewon, their captain, their leader, their fucking jesus christ reincarnated does what he always does, no matter how bitter neo is to admit it, he pulls through. it’s like he’s dying for their gorram sins, his fucking disciples watching with bated breath as his bullet meets it’s target and the boss battle ends, the highest vantage of danger falling and leaving leeway to a much safer escape, a less daunting trek home. neo doesn’t think much of it, pretends he doesn’t feel much about it either, but he finds himself at least somewhat hoping jaewon doesn’t die. the fucking cockroach that he is, neo doubts that he will, but finds comfort in that fact that even if he does, by some miraculous occasion, drop dead, well, at least it looked really fucking cool, didn’t it? 

he let’s the destruction flood itself, lets mina and other members of the crew cater to the fallen as he’s simply just far too self involved, too baited and angry to feel concern, to go out of his way for them the same way they did for him. he returns to the cargo bay intact, of course, with the exception of his pride.

later, after they safely escape, he considers packing his things.

[serenitykrp]

             We must have                                                         bloody noses

Two members of Serenity have been kidnapped, two more were almost taken! There’s little to no clues as to who the perpetrators are, or why they’ve done this now in the midst of Sihnon’s worldwide celebrations, or what they could ultimately be after. Read the crew’s experiences HERE, HERE, HERE, and HERE

To stave off panic and keep everyone remaining calm and safe, as well as protecting anyone else from being taken, the captain brings back all his crew and passengers to the ship, sending out distress signals and comm missives to get them all to return, to regroup and answer questions about any details they can recall about the incidents. VULPECULA CANON, Octavia, is being treated by the doctors, and the captain commands his hackers to check all frequencies involved in the black market for any matching descriptions of their missing crew or anything that can be connected to those who took them.

Given what is known about the Alliance and their Paladins on Sihnon, the possibility of the government acting in such a way is unheard of, so at least everyone can agree these are not officials, despite how they were dressed in grey synonymous fashion. This is not a lawful crackdown on the renegade regulars of Serenity, because if it were, these would be public arrests during the daytime, not secret abductions carried out as soon as the sun crept low along the horizon.

                                                            and crack’d                                                  crowns

They don’t need to wait very long before the ship gets hailed through an unrecognizable source, its origin untraceable, its designs unclear, the only header given is that it’s meant for the captain, as obvious a marking as any that this is some sort of ransom demand. The captain accepts the missive, opening the line of dialogue between himself and the other party, allowing the ensuing conversation to take place on the bridge, in front of whomever wishes to witness it.

To read this exchange, go HERE.

In short, it is a trade, blood for blood, two for the price of one-- OPHIUCUS and AQUILA, in exchange for our VELA CANON, who has a history much darker than he lets on. Coordinates are given for the site of the intended transaction, and five hours as the time limit.

After the communication is finished, the captain instructs his engineers to get the engine running, his pilots to bring the ship out of port immediately, and for all his mercenaries to gather every weapon and firearm they own: its going to be a bloody fight. For any of the canons, crew or passenger, if they know the risks and are ready to step up and take back what belongs on this ship, they are welcome to join in. If not, they’re at least in for a wild ride.

This is obviously a trap, but instead of avoiding it, the plan is to go in guns blazing anyway, to get back their stolen colleagues. No trade. Just a battle.

                                         WELCOME TO PART 2 OF THE SIHNON EVENT

This event is meant for all members of the rp to find ways to react and participate! Threads, scripts, headcanons, and solos are all welcome in regards to this highly stressed situation

This is Part 2 of the event! It consists IC-wise of preparations being made during the five hours it’ll take to get from Sirius, on Sihnon’s surface, out to a floating skyplex on the other side of the planet. For the two canons being held hostage, you’re allowed to either post solos or thread with each other about the situation ( feel free to write them interacting with their captors! )

This stretch will last July 1st to July 8th, midnight CST, a total of one week, for plotting and posting starters, but again, threads are allowed to be continued on after the given date

Please message the main if you have any questions about anything

Please continue to tag your posts sy: sihnon

Have fun and good luck, crew! Keep your boots tight and your gun close…

[syharper]

let’s go drunk in the night

@syxnine​

somewhere amidst all the festivities and spending time with people despite not really wanting to, harper finds herself starting to enjoy herself. no longer alone amidst the sea of people finding joy in the celebration of a new year, harper finally feels a little like the days of old again, when days like these brought her warmth and joy, spent in the presence of people she cared about and filled with the things she loved to do.

so when she finally manages to free herself of the captain and his gorram on-point suspicions, she finds herself wandering around the place trying to find octavia again. or one of the other people she can be herself around. in order to drag them out to spend a fun night with her, share a drink, perhaps even enjoy some dancing. there’s plenty of things to do on this seemingly never-ending celebration.

she doesn’t spot any of the people she’s looking for, however, but when her eyes land on one of her fellow mercenaries, one who has quite recently returned to them, harper can’t keep herself from going up to him. and the mere sight of him, the thought of the fun she can have with him without ever being questioned about her sometimes dubious moralities or any other strange quirks she might just let show on the surface, causes her to be in high spirits instantly.

“niiiiiiiine!” she therefore exclaims happily as she approaches him, an arm automatically being put around his middle, as she drapes herself against his side. “it’s good to see seven hasn’t eaten you yet, my friend.” sending him a bright and happy grin, she then allows her gaze to wander over their surroundings, until she spots a stall a little further up ahead that’s serving the most delicious drinks.

“let’s go get ourselves something to smear our vocal chords, shall we?” she instantly suggests, tugging the other mercenary along with her like there’s no question on whether or not he will go along with her. “you look like you need to get some fun in your system. let’s get drunk tonight!”

[hanaxsy-blog]

Ceremonies and paths re-traced | Jaewon & Hana

@syjaewon

There had been a time when Hana reveled in the festivities on Sihnon. When every lantern, gown, and fawning adoration of spectators brought a rushing high. But times change, and people change. The noise and laughter no longer a fatal attraction for a curious young girl, but rather, that to be avoided by sights tainted through time. It wasn’t the crowds that drew in the ex-companion, whose name is often muttered with nostalgia and lust, but rather the silence of the forest that comforts her. 

A simple crop top and a leather jacket now sufficed. A drastic change from the embroidered and decadent downs she used to don this time of year. But Hana had long traded in beauty and constraints for that of comforts and freedom; traded in adoring gazes for the bliss of blending in. 

Plus, she’d already done due diligence by dressing up on the first day, and as the forest awoke with light and sound, so did she. After bathing at a waterfall a few minutes away from her hidden hideout in the cave, Hana began her usual routine. Consuming tea before all else was a habit that stayed with her, even after she forgave her contract to the guild. And so she brought out her small wooden table, a sitting mat for her knees, and her tea-set. The familiar song playing softly on the speakers to accompany the symphony of the forest, a stomping of footsteps collided with the click of the water brewing. From the corner of the eye, Hana could make out a stumbling Jaewon. 

“my my captain, not here to break another tea set right?” Her voice mused aloud, a chuckle following suit. 

[syxnine-blog]

Of fortunes and spies

@syjaewon

"Hello Captain." Nine greeted Jaewon. "I did not expect you to be interested in fortune telling." Nine shifts his gaze back at fortune teller, and stared him down. 

There was a karambit buried into a card on the table, and said fortune teller was shivering, his eyes looking at Jaewon pleadingly. “I believe this person might be spying on us.” Nine continued, pulling his hand out from under the table. The tablecloth had hidden his arm up to his elbow, and now revealed, a gun in his hand. Nine scratched his nose with the gun, before moving it back under the table pointed towards the fortune teller.

“He said I am usually emotionally unavailable, and had difficulty understanding personal relationships.” There was a red flush on Nine’s face. “To think after I escaped from Harper here, I found myself in a spy’s nest.”

“Captain.” Nine blinked slowly. “Let’s torture, and interrogate this person.”

Nine grinned.

[sylynx-blog]

𝚂𝙸𝙷𝙽𝙾𝙽 𝙴𝚂𝙲𝙰𝙿𝙰𝙳𝙴 | ‎한이슬  ( moodboard 003. )

                                              i’m   𝓈 𝓉 𝒶 𝓎 𝒾 𝓃 𝑔   u p                                                i  don’t   𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖓𝖆   come                                               𝔻𝕆𝕎ℕ from  your  love                                               we’ll get 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝 together                                              ｌｅｔ   me   ｆｌｏｗ

[syxjaewon]

                                             |  yang jaewon  |

                 sky-high and lost in the middle of sihnon’s capital city for the new years celebration

[neosy]

The fireworks have started, large and loud and booming bright kaleidoscopes across the sky, a mesmerizing sight to anyone watching, except your muse, who seems distracted. He’s noticed that he’s being followed by someone for the past hour, no indication of why, but instead of enjoying the celebrations, your muse decides to take matters into his own hands and get the upper hand of the situation. He lures his follower into a secluded space behind a tall building, before rounding on them and catching them off-guard.

What your muse isn’t expecting however, is that they aren’t alone and the stakes become one against three. They attack your muse, all of them wearing grey sleeveless outfits, tattoos and piercings on display, but your muse manages to take them on, bloody fists and the sound of gunshots hidden behind the roaring of fireworks in the distance. Two of them go down before the third one gets behind your muse and stabs them in the neck with a syringe, the liquid stinging as it enters the bloodstream, forcing unconsciousness to overtake him.

When he wakes up again, he is tied to a chair, sitting across from AQUILA CANON, in the middle of a stone-bricked room. There is no door or windows, only a single hanging light.

the night bled into him with a swirl of color, air crackling with energy as he spread himself over the span of the festival and beyond it, never staying in one place for too long. it rang a familiar nostalgia, a chaotic participation in all activities from planned to illicit. he used to be known for it, used to show his pale wrists and see it running blue through his veins, the spontaneity, the elevated aggrandized narcissism and indulgement, borderline gluttony, of self-satisfaction that anyone specialized in psychoanalysis would have a field day with. the masturbation of his ego and charisma, peaking at his worst as he shuffled through crowds and made friends with deviants, tossed around money he didn’t have and possessions that didn’t exist, rolled the die and cracked a gratified smile; for the first time in years he felt rejuvenated, familiar. 

he could taste the adrenaline in the air, the twisted comfort inside those around him as a frugal man became a demon on the poker table. the beauty of the city was nothing if not just background noise, the lights and the events becoming nothing but a setting to the real show that went on under the layers of pretty dresses and fat wallets, and neo was center stage. he attracted attention for more than his pretty face and smiles, but most of the people who looked had no idea what they were really seeing, what it was he truly got up to, when unleashed on the planet – a thunderstorm whose sound boomed too far after the lightning had already struck. 

his erratic movement made it easy to spot, took too short a time to notice with only slight looks over his shoulder, not paying much attention until he was given no other choice. he was everywhere, like a shadow trailing him everywhere he went, face covered and shoulders hunched like someone who didn’t want to be found as he stalked him, turning every corner he did, watching the figure slide into rooms and alleyways just as he did. it put a bitter taste in his mouth, fingers knuckling at his sides. at first he tried to lose him, weaved in busy areas and left through different entrances, made himself as snake-like as his body would allow as he moved through crowds as if he were liquid, but the man didn’t falter, steps just as quick, just as agile and his obsession festered into something hot. he begun feeling like a caged animal, momentary freedom infringed upon and he felt his pistol grow heavier in his clothes, weighed him down as he made a decision.

he excused himself from his new group, parted ways with every individual besides his crew that knew his face. he liked dealing with things where no one else could get in the way.

he found somewhere nice and secluded, the darkness in the sky dotted with bright stars and tall buildings, cast dark shadows that required his eyes work just a little bit harder, focus with just a little more precision. he faced away from his pursuer, his hand reaching into his shirt before he turned, his eyes analyzed everything in his radius for movement, for the man he knew he was somewhere hidden behind him. he smiled. 

“don’t be shy on my account. step right up.” he said, fingers closed on the weapon as he spotted something, a quick pull of his gun as he pointed it at the blur of the other man, teeth sharp like razors as they finally made contact, both firearms drawn and pointed from opposite stances, but there some something different about the other’s weapon. a whizzing could be heard in the distance before the crack of the first firework of the night, dazzling the sky and deafening his ears. a perfect cover, too perfect timing. “there you are. have fun watching me? i know i can be awfully entertaining.” he tsked his tongue. “i should warn you though, you pull that trigger there’s going to be consequences, and i’d hate for us to start off this relationship with punishments.”

it wasn’t a normal gun nor blaster. the barrel was thicker, stretched out further, and neo found he had no fucking idea what it would shoot. it was a frustrating and alarming realization.

do one better, baby, count the bullets in your gun.

those gunshots fired for fun earlier in the day brought a certain lightness to his hand. if he counted properly he estimated he had about a good four bullets left in his chamber.

there was a long stretch of silence and neo tried to view as much of his peripheral as he could, not breaking the eye contact as they stood locked in a standoff of sorts, but neo couldn’t help the feeling that something was off, the way the man stood, the energy he emitted. another loud crack rung overhead. he spotted another shadow on the wall behind him and he felt the heat seep in, not like panic but instead like a warning shot straight to his trigger, so he pulled it and dropped down as quickly as he could, felt a body collide with his as he rolled out of the way. three bullets left. he heard the mysterious gun shoot and looked up quickly enough to see it was not a bullet that was fired through the air. it was long, part needle and part barrel, and he suddenly realized they wanted him alive.

that was somehow far more jarring.

his own bullet hadn’t met his target anywhere important, a graze in the shoulder that left a nasty wound nonetheless, bloody and open. he didn’t falter, twisting his body with the new attackers sharply, legs twisting painfully around his waist, a struggle with heavy breaths to wrap his arm around his neck in a choke hold, cutting off oxygen as he tried to use the body as a shield against the first attacker. then he heard another pair of feet.

there was usually a moment in every fight when it came down to realizing that perhaps you fucked up, that your chances were slim to none, that it might be best to surrender. 

however, neo didn’t have time for those moments.

he shifted position again, just as quickly, arm still locked around one mans throat to block the first attackers angle as he fired two shots at the third. one missed but the other found itself lodged into his stomach and he crumbled. one bullet left. he turned away from him and tried to twist into a better position, sitting further up as the second man cracked his fists against his arm, trying to escape and neo felt his energy slipping. he put his gun to the man’s head and put the last bullet into him, throwing the body to the side and standing quickly. empty. he tried to dodge fire as he pulled the trigger one last time to ensure it clicked empty before flinging the pistol as the armed man’s face as hard as he could manage, hearing a pleasing crack of a nose being crushed by the weight of his barrel and the strength of his pitch before reaching towards him quickly. 

he took the distraction as an opportunity. he threw a leg over the first man’s arm, squeezing his elbow between his legs and effectively forcing him to his knees and pulling the gun from his grasp before emptying two tranquilizer darts into his body, one in his head and the other into his chest before dropping him, taking a few steps back with heavy breaths, chest heaving. he thought he was safe, mistook it for over but in the rush he’d forgotten about someone. the fireworks were too loud, too bright, and he didn’t see or hear him coming, a hand held over his stomach and syringe in hand.

that was a mistake.

attacker number two, the resilient little bitch, caught him by surprise. he felt a sharp sting in his neck, a choked noise leaving his mouth as the world tilted and swayed, and then nothing.

wake up, see the world around you, see how it morphs.

nothing came as painful and head-pounding as waking up with the remnants of tranquilizer. it stung it’s way through his system, his body aching from more than just the physical exertion. it hurt like hell, something of a groan leaving his mouth as he squeezed his eyes, forcing them to open and adjust in the light of a room the most unfamiliar, tried to move his stiff body just to find it restrained.

the situation wrapped around his hazy mind quickly, fought through the exhaustion and the pain as he blinked into the single light, arms tugging on the ties around his wrists, eyes shifting before falling to someone similarly bound, squinting. it was a girl, a familiar face no matter how little he saw it.

“sonmi?” it was a question that came perhaps too roughly, a little too abrasively in a way that could be contrived as threatening, though he hadn’t really meant it that way. it was more shock than anything else.

it was with that that he had another realization, how frustrating and alarming as a gun he couldn’t recognize; this wasn’t about him. it was about serenity.

[serenitykrp]

— HEADS UP CREW,

For the next phase of this event, we’re going to need a few volunteers! The first FOUR canons who like this post will receive a message in their inbox from the main, a prompt detailing an occurrence that will drastically affect their muse, and change the course of their experience at the festival. The four who are chosen must publish the submission with a long or short solo connected to the end of it, of their muse responding/reacting.

This is an advisory: there may be a slight bit of godmodding in the submissions, to help contribute to the plot, so please be aware of that. I know I’m asking for a little bit of trust here, but I hope you all know already how much I love and admire each and every muse, and would never do anything to disrespect them. It’s all in good fun!

Are you interested?

- Admin Solar

[syharper]

in the name of being honest

@octaviasy​

admittedly after running into both the captain and her little baby consequently, harper is in higher spirits than she was right after completing her mission, and so as she makes her way over to perhaps one of her most favourite people in the verse, it almost seems like she’s gliding through the crowds. octavia is not that hard to track down, considering some people around still know her from her early days on sihnon, so harper soon finds her in the midst of all the crowds, and heads straight for her.

arms slipping around the other woman’s middle, harper easily leans in to leave a tender kiss on the back of her neck before even deciding to speak. she easily rests her chin on octavia’s shoulder, glancing at what it is the woman is doing exactly before tilting her head ever so slightly so they can temporarily make eye contact. a smile blooms easily on her features at that very same act, and she happily nuzzles the woman’s cheek too.

“there you are, my butterfly,” she drawls, chuckling happily right after and allowing her amusement to settle on her features as well. she slowly lets go of the other woman then, straightening up so she can properly move to stand next to octavia instead. “tell me what i have missed when i couldn’t be within your presence. and please don’t say that you have already had your fill of food because i found the most beautiful cupcakes a little end from here and you need to try one.”

she beams another bright smile at the woman, easily reaching out to take hold of octavia’s hand, lacing their fingers together and allowing herself to melt into her friend’s side as if it’s no big deal to do so in the middle of a crowd of people like the one surrounding them. “there’s pink ones with hearts,” she pipes up right after, as if that is going to be the convincing factor.

[hanaxsy-blog]

I hear the firecrackers cackling; hear the laughter of love

                                                                  FEEL the caress of your fingertips.

                              I wonder why you chose not to save me

                                                             leaving me to DROWN in this BOTTOMLESS abyss.

| H A N A . K I M | F L O W E R S  NEVER SMELLED SO SWEET

[syxnine-blog]

.rocket lantern

Perhaps it would be a weird sight to see a man digging the ground under a moonlit night. Yet, Nine was doing exactly that, exposing a shallowly buried box under the ground. Opening the box revealed a pair of rocket propelled grenades. 

They were part of an elaborate setup of weapons hidden close to the main streets of Sihnon, especially the main escape route from the festival back to the Serenity. After all, many forbade Nine from bringing much larger weapons, hence he left the ship earlier to hide them all. 

Nine had learned that the quicker his lantern rose, there was a much better chance of it coming true. Maybe some kind of spectral space god might read his wish first. While the flames within the lantern would prove a fuel efficient method of lift, it did little for speed.

Attaching the rpg onto the lantern should help compensate for speed, Nine surmised. He paused, a knee on the ground, just before removing one of the explosive weapon. “Should you not be enjoying the festival?” Nine tilted his head, blinking at the approaching female. 

@syxjiyong

[syxjaewon]

‘burn to ashes’

@hanaxsy

he sits in the hallway, various compartments and wall panels ripped from their seats in serenity, the wiring and pipelines exposed ugly, fearless, alarming, and jaewon’s countenance is dark, dark and immutable, his hair tumbling against the fringes of him, eyebrows shading over fierce golden eyes, his attention wholly on his work. his search for signs of a tracker in this part of the ship have so far amounted to nothing, which only serves to frustrate him more, but he’s got one of his hackers and his engineer scratching away at other points on the ship, as best they can do with her still in flight towards the skyplex, and he knows he’ll have to land her somewhere quickly to do a full, proper sweep, locate wherever the hell their little bug is.

it’s frustrating to say the least, but his mood only blackens the more members of his crew bother him by walking past or breathing too loudly down the hall, their nervous energy upending his equilibrium, capsizing his tenuous hold on his temper as it is, and by the time hana’s honey-suckle scent wafts near enough to him, he’s already clenching his teeth tightly, his face coiled in a scowl darker than all the space surrounding serenity. his eyes used to be black, deep and dimensional, a wormhole through the sharpened, shattered knife blades of his personality, even his friends back in the alleyways of valluria had told him they were strangely somber, his natural-born tilt, the drive of his presence, the force of his stride making them seem all the more pointed, but now… now they only blaze, only burn, only ignite and feed off everything the light touches, scorching and heavy and unnerving.

she approaches him and he ignores her, no time in his schedule for her questions or observations, her sly lips or deceptively calm demeanor, he has work to do, he has a tracker to root out, fingers that beg to bleed, bullets that beg to be fired.

[syxjaewon]

‘we are the jack-o-lanterns in july’

@syharper

it takes quite a while for the captain to simmer down into a quieter sort of fury, the edges of him still burning and singeing everything he touches, the searing heat of his atmosphere felt from across rooms and hallways as he passes them, but he’s no longer burning holes in his ship with his eyes, no longer snarling answers to questions asked in innocence, his voice curling into a more control state of frustration. five hours is a long fucking time to wear on his nerves even as they scorch across sihnon’s sky at top speed levels, the stress and anger boiling to hatred seething uncomfortably through his ship and through his blood, his marrow, his nerve-endings, and he’s already fought with enough people in his crew already, that he’s beginning to carve in on himself, etching the responsibility into his chest along with the craters already imprinted there.

it’s the helplessness that scratches at him the worst, tugs on his shadow, at the ends of his hair, at the corners of his mind, this seething inability to do anything to help the ship fly faster, to ensure a victory, to ensure his crew’s safety-- all of his crew, even the passengers this argent asshole seems to think jaewon should care less about, the tracker apparently not very intuitive in gauging jaewon’s motivations apparently. which reminds him, once this is all over, they’ll need to perform a sweep of the ship, dock it on some moon somewhere so that everyone can fucking check over everything, find whatever tracker this boat has been infected with.

he already starts in on that a little bit, pulling out the operational panels along the walls of the main hallway, exposing the wires and circuits and buttons that help hold serenity together, having already instructed lynx and his engineers to get to work on other pieces of the ship as well. he’s not as knowledgeable as henry is and thinking about it, it would sure help a lot if henry were here to help fix this, but he’s not a total backbirth either and he’s lived on this ship for much, much longer than anyone else currently alive; if anyone would be able to spot something foreign or out of place, it would be her captain.

he’s halfway through the main hard-wiring when harper comes into the sphere of his hearing, her footfalls heavier than usual with what he hopes and assumes are guns and knives she intends on using to expense on their new mutual enemies. jaewon does intend on gearing up as much as possible himself, the plan to take out as many of these bastards as possible already branding its way over his thoughts, but they’re still a few hours out and despite pushing dex to fly faster, he doesn’t think they’ll be hitting any momentum surprises anytime soon. “you don’t happen to have any grenades on you, do you?” they’ll be landing on a skyplex, grenades might make for a good distraction.

[syharper]

slightly red dress

@syjaewon​

it takes her very little time to complete her mission, considering all the obstacles involved. but she makes it in and out of that particular place with little to no effort, leaving in her wake the ruination of whatever grand scheme the woman she has stripped down to nothing but skin and blood had been on the verge of accomplishing. she doesn’t linger on thoughts like that very long, having decided a long time ago that the consequences of her missions are not her burden to bear.

and so she calmly makes her way back to the festivities.

her hair has come undone ever so slightly since she left serenity behind, a few strands framing her face now, but not so much that it can’t be written up to her having been in the midst of enjoying herself at the festivities. still, it’s not necessarily her goal to try and blend in, she just wants to make her way back to the ship and forget she even left it at all today. with the luck that no one but octavia would realise she had ever been anywhere other than her quarters for the entire night.

but luck seems to be suspiciously far from her side when it comes to avoiding acquaintances, because as she attempts to join a group of people near the edges of the hustle and bustle, an all too familiar face suddenly pops up near her and for a split second she almost loses her control, wishing she could heave a deep sigh and roll her eyes. rather than doing that, however, she folds her features into a perfect expression of happy surprise, grinning brightly at the captain the very next second.

“fancy meeting you here, yang,” she tells him, her words and tone of voice much like she always speaks, standing in direct contrast with the way she’s currently dressed up for the occasion. “don’t tell me the captain is actually out to enjoy himself tonight?” and as she allows a chuckle to follow those words, her expression already shifts into the to him by now more than familiar flirty one. “please do tell me i’m not too late to get my hands on you while you’re in such exuberant spirits.”

she descends on him like it was always her plan to find him, like she has been a part of these festivities all night, rather than having been off on some unholy mission. like she didn’t just come from the side where nothing’s going on, rather than having been here all along. her hand automatically comes to a rest on his lower arm, those simple touches a part of the way she always puts herself closer to him than she really is.