thatonesakudere

[thatonesakudere]

@badtrigger

As much as Mayu enjoys the freedom of flying around on Uzume, she knows that this trip is beyond her (and her Ikran's) current capabilities. Perhaps it shall change sometime in the future after they embark on a few longer flights together, in an environment that isn't entirely professional… Alas, nothing about her chest being pressed against Mac's back, arms firmly wrapped around his waist, is for leisure, no matter how it may seem otherwise.

For one, they aren't alone; flanked by Mansk and Leiko on either side, with the pest — whose name she refuses to think of — on their rear. Then, there's the matter of their cargo (her laptop, filled with Excel sheets, excavation reports, and headache-inducing amount of paperwork to fill out) and destination (a westernmost RDA mining facility in the region). And lastly--

There's a fucking storm.

Yes, the dark clouds and pelting rain might be a good few kilometers to the north, but judging from the wind whipping at her hair (she should have kept it tied), cold and violent, it is coming in their direction and fast. Mayu can only hope they'll out-fly it — and they must, surely, with the way the banshees are cutting through the air like a knife through paper, the Pandoran jungle down below a mere smear of green — lest they get swept up by a force not to be reckoned with.

On Mayu's left, Leiko flashes a cocky grin and a brief thumbs-up gesture, as if sensing her worries. But she doesn't get the expected eyeroll nor even a headshake, because seconds later a bone-chilling screech reverberates through the sky, followed by a sea of curses and one singular whoop.

A shadow descends upon them; the shadow.

And a raging storm suddenly seems the lesser of two evils.

[thatonesakudere]

a drawing of mine and my friend's characters because fantasy romance is gripping me by the throat still 🌹

he burns bright, she shimmers forevermore

[thatonesakudere]

"Can't be scared," instead of (rightfully) calling him a cretin, Mayu echoes the so-called tip, the delicate arch of her brow poignant enough to express a wordless criticism — as though she'd even show up here if she were scared. "Uh-uh," she continues, voice drier than a desert wind and twice as cutting, a drawl pulling on the vowels like one would on the teeth of their enemy. "I'll keep that in mind."

Nonetheless, Mayu is soon trailing after him, mindful of the narrow, uneven ground beneath her feet. Only partly does she pay attention to what he is saying — that the ikran will not go without a fight which, all things considered, is not particularly surprising either — the rest focused on the rookery itself, the waterfalls and foliage, and thick moss-covered vines. The sight is as alien, as dangerous, as it is beautiful, the banshees' screams cutting every so often through the whipping of wind and the sound of rushing water. 

And then she feels it; a pull of sorts, that is hard to describe and harder still to ignore, somewhere beneath her ribs and the slow-beating heart (despite everything, she's calm, an icy mountaintop, a rock amidst the roaring sea). A void she has not felt before, that compels her to be filled. A missing piece, though not for long, not with her here. A bloodlust that's not quite hers yet connected to-- No.

Directed at her.

Her eyes — golden, so different from ash and steel — raise up to meet those of the banshee's, her banshee, wine and amethyst come alive. The beast is perched atop a ridge high above until it isn't; taking into the sky with a dreadful shriek. She's been chosen. She knows it in her blood, her nerves, her bones, and, in this very moment, Mayu understands that here is the place she (or, at least, this body of hers) will meet her doom if she does not succeed.

"I won't," Mac's question is dismissed without a second thought, an impatient motion of her hand demanding he moves along.

When has she ever failed?

　　　Mays braces against Heineken's queues as the banshee prepares to land; her body rears up and her wings beat against the wind to slow her momentum. They land with a heavy THUD. Then her wings fold upward in the same way Mays imagines a lamborghini with gullwing doors would if it was sentient and capable of flight (maybe, in a funny way, these banshees are the lamborghini of Pandora.)

　　　"Tips? Uh… Well, you can't be scared," obviously. Mac helps her off his ikran's neck before they start toward the roosting ledge. The journey there takes them through the narrow ledge behind the same waterfall the Phoenix Squad had passed through only weeks prior. Retracing his squad's steps is easy enough when he's also got the help of a hundred squawking ikran to guide him in the right direction.

　　　On the other side of the waterfall, Mays recalls Quaritch's kid having laughed at them and mentioning the taming process requires tying the banshee's mouth. Fuck, you'd think he'd have been prepared this time.

　　　"The ikran will try t'fight you. One of ours almost got bitten, so you might need something to tie its mouth shut." His yellow eyes search the mossy floor, the rocky wall beside them as they go. Attached to it are thick blankets of vine; he tests the strength of it but the plant breaks away too easily. That won't work. His gaze searches and searches -- the ground, Mayu, himself. The orange wrist restraints secured to his belt won't be big enough. But what about the belt itself? Mays hums indecisively. His fellow soldiers had handled their tames just fine without the need of a tie -- can Mayu do the same?

　　　"You think you'll need anything?"

[thatonesakudere]

"Did you need to be so cruel?" // mansk for mayu

@badtrigger

"Cruel?" A light flickers, somewhere above her — frosty, and frigid, and fake, artificial like everything else around. It's a synthetic world they live in, surrounded by the towering walls of Bridgehead, a marriage of plastic and metal with little to no organic materials despite their abundance in the wilds. Too expensive, too time-consuming, too damn high-maintenance.

For most, at least; because with high position, there comes power, and with power, privileges. A stairfoot desk is one of hers. Not as good as mahogany, mind you, but Mayu is not as unreasonable as to demand a mahogany desk be imported all the way from Earth for her. Local flora shall do.

And Mac... Mac is a lot like that stairfoot desk. If she doesn't take care of him, he may just crack, sending splinters all over the floor, or rot away, crumbling into a pile of punkwood. She has to varnish it-- Him. Built up the protection, so that he shall not suffer any damage. Coat by coat, layer by layer. None shall peel off.

"I'm jealous of the world you live in, Mansk, if you think that's anywhere near cruel," she scoffs, turning away from Mac's shrinking figure, his shoulders slumped, ears low, tail hanging down — a sorrowful sight come reborn. Guilt has no place is her busy life yet Mayu feels it all the fucking same, its claws digging into her heart.

He's making her soft.

"There are worse things out there than being a recipient of a few harsh words. If anything, I'm doing him a favour! Mac needs to grow a thicker skin... He's a sweet guy deep down, you know that as well as I do. Tell me, what happens when I'm not here for him, hm? The sharp to his soft. Nothing good, I say," she looks up at the Recom, neck craning — damn their ridiculous height — spine straight, balancing on the red stilettos like a ballerina in a wind-up box. Tiny and delicate. Stern and unyielding. And though her face is a slab of stone, of hard, sharp edges, there's something soft and incredibly raw amidst the grey ashes of eyes.

"I'm cruel because one of us has to be. I wish I didn't, but-- Wishes are for babies and fools. One cannot sustain themselves with dreams only, not in the long run. And words-- Words are wind. I've learned that a long time ago; it's about time he did too."

"Sticks and stones, Mansk. Sticks and stones."

[thatonesakudere]

doodles of Mairien based on some plot points I had thought of + her backstory (under read more, as it's somewhat long) in the Silmarillion AU 🧵💎🌹

𝕸𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖓

Born in Y.T. 1377 in Aman, she knew of the Middle-Earth only from tales and songs, the perilous journey to the Blessed Continent but an abstract concept, a past long-gone. The life of an upper nobility was a comfortable one, days spent on improving upon her embroidery — a craft chosen out of the love for all that's beautiful, shimmering and shining, but also selfish motives of vanity — and bettering her aim. 

Though the act of hunting — the chase and pursuit — brought her enjoyment, the surrounding festivities a gratifying way to spend time, neither were the priority. No, to her, there was no greater joy than that of an arrow hitting its intended target; the more challenging the shot, the better. A tangible proof of her skill, deft fingers, and keen eyes. 

But all was not idyllic, the relationship with her parents slowly straining over the years. Her father, a master gemologist, jeweler, and metalworker, was set on teaching her his craft. And while she had followed his wishes at first, her heart simply wasn't in it, no matter how skilled her hands were — much to the man's immense but much ignored chagrin and disappointment. She did what she was told to do, neither more nor less, and with an expression often pinched into a sour pout. Yes, she had interest in gems and jewels, and metals of various sorts, but rather than slaving away and making them, she preferred to use the finished products; incorporating them into her embroidery projects. 

At the same time, had it not been for the nearly forceful insistence of her father, she wouldn't have discovered the world of alchemy. A fascinating subject, one she took like a duck to water — though, again, her interest in it, while not lacking in passion, was somewhat vain. Dyes, polishes, solutions, all to aid her endless pursuit of beauty. But also poisons and toxins, if only out of morbid curiosity.

Her family's somewhat close ties to the House of Fëanor as relatives of Curufin's wife, meant she was less trusty of Melkor than most other Noldor — the prince's suspicion and uncharitable view of the Valar bleeding into her mind through the grapevine. Yet, the woman was not immune to the rumors of injustice and stolen birthrights, fanning at the flames of her ambition and further fueling her interest in lands never seen. It was, amongst many other reasons, why she chose to follow Fëanor on the quest for revenge and glory — stirred by his beguiling words, blood boiling at Morgoth's treachery. Her parents, however, disapproved, choosing to stay in Aman rather than follow after their new King. She cursed at their cowardice, the lack of loyalty and indifference to Morgoth's crimes, before storming off — never to return. Later on, the prideful elf would come to regret her hasty departure; mourning the loss of her younger brother, who had no choice but to remain, and the missed opportunity to bid him goodbye. Forever bitter about her parents' decision.

Actions were rarely greater than words, and it was no different this time. The kinslaying, the curse, the burning of the ships. The grass was not any greener on the other side of Belegaer; trampled and dead, under the feet of soldiers and orcs. The war efforts turned her hobbies into duties. Sewing wounds shut instead of embroidering, crafting dyeing solutions for armor rather than gowns as well as various medicinal cures and remedies — a domain she'd ultimately choose to focus on — and occasionally visiting the forge, the irony was not lost on the elf. Her fascination with poisons, venoms, and toxins proved useful as well, vital even, as their enemy was fond of such tactics. 

Later on — after Fëanor's death, capture and subsequent rescue of prince Maedhros, and the relinquishment of his claims —, having no close family of her own, she'd leave with Curufin and Celegorm's host, eventually settling in Himlad.

[thatonesakudere]

I've been thinking about the Silmarillion AU i have for Mayu and I simply had to draw her embroidering 🎀

I've also settled on a different name for her after consulting with a friend, whose knowledge of the Silmarilion's lore (naming conventions, language, etc.) is far better than mine 😅 Mairien which comes from Q. mairë, n. “work of high and beautiful art, the process of producing a work” + ᴹQ. -ien, suf. “daughter” 💎 And wrote a short blurb about her backstory! 🥰

refs used for drawing under readmore 🌸

[thatonesakudere]

It is fascinating to witness the connection first-hand — his subtle physical response, back-muscles flexing, face betraying the pang of unease. To share one's senses with another creature seems a concept so foreign... Nevertheless, here he is, doing it. And here she is, bound to do it soon.

Mac seems unaccustomed still, a fish out of water, able to breathe, to trash in lieu of moving, yet helplessly flapping its fins all the same. Neither dead nor fully alive. However, unlike the creatures of the deep, forever cursed to remain under the surface, humans can adapt; haven't they conquered both sea and air? Reached the stars and traversed beyond them? This is but another step in their endless evolution, and — despite the strained relationship between them, the red string worn by time and circumstance (how any of it remains, she is not sure)— Mayu has faith in Mac. Faith that he too has changed in the brief (for him) time between then and now, appearance notwithstanding. Has overcome any silly notions of being less instead of more. Faster. Stronger. Better. From boy to a man. A folly of feelings, perhaps, brought forth by a past she's hoped to shed, like a snake growing out of its skin; him with it, by necessity or happenstance. In reality, only time will tell how it all plays out. 

For now, she must gamble, the price worth its risk; must see him as nothing else than a sightly step-ladder to use. Try, at least.

"For the sake of his rider, I hope he will. I don't fancy ending up an expensive splatter on the floor, and you shouldn't fancy dealing with the consequences. Trust me," she hums, taking his hand and using his foot (how gentlemanly) to climb atop the ikran, a sharp edge to her smile. Feigning confidence has always been easy for her, so much so it's hard to tell where lies the truth and where the falsehood. And with her back pressed smugly against his front and his strong arms on either side of her, it's hard not to feel confident; in herself or in his skill.

"Suppose I'll have to settle for your singing, then." Disregarding the general lack of safety that comes with mounting a life animal, the flight itself is rather peaceful. Who knew soaring up in the air — clear sky above, a sea of grew below — could be so relaxing? The prospect of bonding with an ikran seems sweeter by the second. 

It doesn't take long for the staple of Pandoran landscape to appear — the floating islands of the Hallelujah Mountains. She's seen them before, of course, with their mossy beanstalks and dazzling waterfalls, but it feels different somehow.. More impactful, grand even, trepidation and exhilaration bubbling beneath her skin. Because this is no mere sightseeing trip. Because she's about to do something crazy, quite frankly. 

Then the banshees appear, some gliding in the sky, others lounging, grooming and otherwise staying on the rocks. And the reality of the situation punches her straight in the gut, though she refuses to wheeze. Chin held high, shoulders square, Mayu climbs off Heineken with the help of its pilot once they land; resolve twice as strong.

"Got any useful tips, ikran-whisperer?"

　　　Heineken warily eyes the stranger her rider has brought to her, puffing air from her nostrils as of an agitated horse. Such is the natural temperament of these creatures, he's come to learn. Mays runs his hand down the scaly smooth length of her kuru until it comes to the sheath where inside her neural tendrils are hidden; his other hand reaches back to pull his own braid over his shoulder and then he makes the connection. He grimaces. The muscles across his back flex with discomfort as he braves the massive influx of information and perception now being neurally shared between the two. Still not fully used to this.

　　　Bonded now, the ikran doesn't complain as Mays wordlessly persuades her to allow a second rider to mount.

　　　"He'll be friendly," he reassures Mayu -- though he doubts she really needs it. The recom lifts himself up over Heineken's strong shoulders and then reaches down to bring Mayu up next (taking her hand and letting her use his boot as a foothold.)

　　　"Sorry, no radio," Mac flashes a fangy grin. He takes hold of the ikran's kuru and then they're up in the air. The IFF transponder on his vest allows them to soar past the automated turret defense system without issue.

[thatonesakudere]

Obsessed w these fucking babies!!!!

Kenny is mine, Risus is @thatonesakudere

[thatonesakudere]

KRYSTAL JUNG @ 23th BIFF red carpet (231004)

[thatonesakudere]

"Sooo---- Should I make a charcoal grill?" While from anybody else the question might seem like a tease, a playful poke at the supposedly "subpar" equipment, Cyn is nothing short of serious, scratching the back of her head, lips pursed in thought. Flabbergasting though it may be, the offer is entirely sincere and, given her track record, rather plausible too. Born from a place of genuine desire to help..... And eat even better hot dogs!

Which doesn't quite seem possible — these are already so so so tasty, with a crisp layer and a squishy inside, like a well-done marshmallow but MEAT. Meatmallow. Mashmeat- No, no, that sounds like meat found on a swamp, and that's not very appetizing even for her! Meatmallow it is — but she trusts Mansk's words. The recom doesn't seem like the lying type, otherwise Mayu would have warned her about it, again and again, the good best friend that she is! Always looking out for her, even though she doesn't need to at all.

Speaking of--

"Maaaayu, do you think there's any charcoal around?" momentarily splitting her attention away from the dogs — and not-so-subtly trying to look over Mansk's shoulder — Cyn addresses her friend, trying to recall what else she knows of charcoal. Her father sometimes made her eat charcoal pills for stomach or use charcoal paste for tooth-whitening (it only made them more black). Would it make the hot dogs easier to digest? Or maybe good for one's teeth?

"Doubtlessly," hums Mayu with an amused curve to her lips, a plate with half a serving of a hot dog (the other half being relegated to Mac) in front of her. "There are trees about, ergo it can be made," Masa chimes in, legs swinging, face sporting a bit more colour than usual behind the perspex faceplate of an exopack; he looks extra-tiny amongst them.

"Sweet!" Curiosity sated, Cyn's focus shifts back to the dogs (not the furry type), the grill and the recom manning it, tail swishing in excitement. "Sir, yes sir!" she beams at Mansk with a playful salute, "I would be honored to learn from the grillmaster himself."

@thatonesakudere // random asks // always accepting

　　　The Pandoran breeze carries smoky wafts across the outdoor rec space -- rich, full, and enough food to fill the stomachs of his and his friends. Mansk scrapes his spatula under the steaming hot dogs and turns them over to singe the other side. He watches the way the meat hisses and bubbles, tail flicking absently behind him. This reminds him of those hot July days back on Earth grilling for his then-in-laws.

　　　"How do you make such heavenly hot dogs, seriously? Like, what is your secret — years of training?? Some sort of special--- Hot dog mix??? I promise I won't spill it to anyone else, I'm like so good at keeping secrets!" a pause. "…..Mostly because I end up forgetting them. But I won't forget this one, I swear!"

　　　Mansk looks over at Mac, unsure if he should laugh. Mays grins behind his can of beer. Cyn is either an airhead or they're a generation short of her sense of humor. And if it isn't a joke, well, then, he's surprised she likes the hot dogs; these ingredients are all the more artificial than the artificial crap from Earth he's used to working with. The RDA can slap a promising label on anything but that doesn't make the idea of these 'meat' flakes any more appetizing. Maybe the tools an artist is given is less important than the years of experience he can draw from. Devin adjusts the dial on the gas grill.

　　　"Well, they're a lot better over a charcoal grill," A lot better. But with years of practice he's found that, gas or charcoal, his method tends to yield a crunchy bite with a soft, tender interior all the same.

　　　"There's a lot to be desired with these ingredients but a good technique will at least give your dogs a good texture. If you want, I can show you how to grill the next batch."

[thatonesakudere]

what kind of tragedy are you?

doomed from the start

there was no way of winning, and you knew it too. but you still tried. you tried again and again and again to change it. you fought tooth and claw to change your fate, but she cannot be easily manipulated. it’s not your fault. the game was always rigged against you. from the moment you entered the narrative, your fate was sealed. you didn’t stand a chance.

tagged by: nobody i invented this one :] tagging: @badtrigger @bereavedconcupis and anyone who wants to do this ♥

[thatonesakudere]

you are not unlovable. there is always something to love. // mac for mayu.. sniffms

@badtrigger

Without the alcohol coursing through her veins, perhaps Mayu would have cared more that he has caught her at a truly low point; half-slumped on the rug, a bottle of wine nursed n her arms, mood spoiled like a month-old basket of berries. Mac's body barely fits in the space between the coffee table and the couch, but he tucks himself by her side all the same, steady and warm. A dry rock amongst the storm. A bleeding, still-beating heart. An idiot who doesn't listen when she tells him to go away; and does listen when she drivels on, fizz in her brain, wine on her lips. Everything spins. Her vision, her thoughts, her words — a downward spiral that has her leaning against his arm, eyes closed tight, fingers clutching the material of his shirt.

"You are not unlovable. There is always something to love."

Who started this topic? Him? Her? Why? She cannot recall, stuck in the now with no concept of past and future — heavy limbs, heavier head. "Easy for yu t'say — az easy az it'is to be lovd when y--- Yu're you," lose her tongue may be, Mayu trips over it again and again, stumbling gracelessly into an argument that bears her vulnerability for the world to see and further proves her point — instead of doling out a simple 'thank you', basking in the comfort so freely given, she bites and snarls, a caged beast. "'nd I'm not yu."

What is there to love about her? The scowl, near-permanent on her face? The way she kisses at his skin with poison dripping from her lips ? The heart, like a tart shriveled apple, fed to him piece by piece yet never filling? "I know, i 'now, yu're goin'to tell me that m'lil broth'r lovs me. 'Course he does, I'm like mom to him, no, i AM a mom to him." 

"Or that yu lov me, 'n well--" she tilts her head up and looks into his eyes — once the calming blue of the sea, now the burning gold of a sun — the very same eyes that near beg to be hurt by bitches like her. Not unlike a crawfish that had found its way onto her plate, Mac is all tough exterior and vulnerable innards; a soft heart, so easy to crush and rip and devour. And her? A whetted knife slicing into his tender flesh. "Maybe yu should't."

Even the sour tang of dry wine cannot wash out the bitter aftertaste of truth. 

"Yu should't," she repeats, murmuring the words into the skin on his arm — a quiet confession to whichever one of his tattoos is the closest. "But yu do... 'nd I lov yu too."

[thatonesakudere]

and the second is "be yourself"

[thatonesakudere]

[thatonesakudere]

After-Action Patch-Up starters

"Hold still, [name], this might sting a bit." "You're lucky it's just a few scratches. You need to be more careful!" "Don't be such a baby. It's just a flesh wound." "I can't believe you jumped into that fray without thinking! What were you trying to prove?" "Here, let me help. I've had my fair share of battle wounds." "Ouch! Warn me before you start cleaning those cuts." "You're a mess. How did you even get into this situation?" "I never thought I'd see you so vulnerable. It's strange." "Let's patch you up before anyone else sees you like this." "You really need to work on your combat skills. I can't keep playing nursemaid." "I've got the first aid kit. Sit down, and let me take care of those injuries." "You did well out there, but you're not invincible. Let me help." "I told you not to charge in without a plan. Now look at you." "It's nothing serious, just a few cuts and bruises. You'll be fine." "I can't believe you're complaining about a little pain. You should see what I've been through." "Hold on, I'll get the antiseptic. This might sting a bit." "You're surprisingly fragile for someone who fights so fiercely." "You really know how to ruin a perfectly good day, don't you?" "I never expected to see you in need of my care. Life is full of surprises." "I suppose I should thank you for saving me, even if it means playing nurse now."

[CLEANS] The sender takes a cotton swab and gently cleans the dirt and blood from the receiver's wounds. [BANDAGES] The sender carefully wraps a bandage around the receiver's forearm, securing it to protect the cuts. [SCOLDS] The sender scolds the receiver, shaking their head as they tend to the injuries. [REACTS] The receiver winces as the sender applies antiseptic to a particularly nasty cut on their cheek. [COMFORTS] The sender reassures the receiver, offering comfort while tending to the injuries. [DISINFECTS] The sender pours antiseptic on a wound, causing the receiver to inhale sharply at the stinging sensation. [INSPECTS] The sender inspects the wounds, noting any deeper cuts that might need more attention. [LECTURES] The sender lectures the receiver, advising them to think before acting to avoid future injuries. [SMILES] Despite scolding, the sender smiles reassuringly, trying to ease the tension in the room. [COMPLAINS] The receiver complains about the pain, prompting the sender to roll their eyes and continue their work. [WORRIES] The sender expresses worry, sharing their concern for the receiver's well-being. [TREATS] The sender skillfully treats each injury, showcasing their competence in basic first aid. [ADMONISHES] The sender admonishes the receiver, emphasizing the potential severity of the situation. [ASSESSES] The sender assesses the overall damage, silently noting the toll the fight took on the receiver. [DISAPPROVES] The sender expresses disapproval, stating that putting oneself in danger is not acceptable. [ASSURES] The sender assures the receiver, claiming that despite appearances, the injuries will heal quickly. [HESITATES] The receiver hesitates as the sender reaches for a needle and thread to stitch up a deeper cut. [SYMPATHIZES] The sender sympathizes with the receiver, acknowledging the pain while praising their efforts. [SCANS] The sender scans the receiver's body for any hidden injuries, ensuring nothing was overlooked. [GRATEFUL] The receiver expresses gratitude to the sender for taking care of them amid the discomfort.

[thatonesakudere]

EVERYTHING EVERYWHERE ALL AT ONCE (2022) PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue from the film, adjust as necessary

in another life, i would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.

the universe is so much bigger than you realize.

maybe we would have been better off if we had never gotten married.

why are you dressed all stupid?

you're just very bad at explaining.

how did i die?

he who loves the most regrets the most.

why would anybody want to kill me?

it's the way you look at me.

how do you think i feel?

you can either come with me and live up to your ultimate potential, or lie here and live with the consequences.

do you still want to do your party?

you are not unlovable. there is always something to love.

you think i'm weak, don't you?

can we just stop fighting?

you're capable of anything because you're so bad at everything.

i'm tired. i don't want to hurt anymore.

i still want to be here with you. i will always, always want to be here with you.

if nothing matters, then all the pain and guilt you feel for making nothing of your life goes away.

we're all small and stupid.

i wasn't looking for you so i could kill you.

so what? you're just gonna ignore everything else?

i will cherish these few specks of time.

i've been on this earth just as many days as you.

i know better than to ask to help you.

so we'll talk later... like this afternoon?

you look really pretty right now.

you took everything away from me.

we're all useless alone.

i don't know what i'd do without you.

i only made enough food for three people. i'll have to cook more.

i always learn something when i hang out with the elderly. old people are very wise.

everything i do, i try to make things simpler, easier.

maybe you can audition, too.

i don't know how to be any fucking clearer.

i didn't mean that. it was a joke.

the only thing i do know... is that we have to be kind.

i know you see yourself as a fighter.

that's not a very funny joke.

actors are very poor.

it's nice to feel needed.

i was thinking, maybe after this is all done, we can go on a trip.

if i have to think about one more thing today, my head will explode.

you may be in grave danger. there is no time to explain. hold this.

can't you see how wonderful it'll be? we can make our own way.

i'm here because we need your help.

sorry, very busy today. no time to help you.

i have spent years searching for the one who might be able to match this great evil with an even greater good and bring back balance.

i know it's a lot to take in right now.

i can see where this story's going, and it doesn't look good.

you're always trying to confuse us with these words.

i know you. with every passing moment, you fear that you might have missed your chance to make something of your life.

don't let anything distract you from it.

our time here is up. they are going to kill us.

i may be old, but i still know how to negotiate.

[thatonesakudere]

"I'm looking for Mays." // mansk for mayu or masa or both

@badtrigger

Masa knows not when exactly the mess hall has become his refuge, a place he finds himself lingering at whenever his body doesn't feel as though made of lead. Here, he's free. Free from sterile sheets, from half-empty pill bottles and deafening silence, from hours stretching into days, years, millennia, and from the bottomless gulf of his restless mind. It's close enough to reach on his own, and for Mayu not to worry, and-- It's public.

No matter the hour, people mill around, talk, eat; RDA employees of all kind, from officer workers to scientists, laborers and marines. The Recombinants come too, whenever off duty, blue and tall and loud. Ironically, they never make him feel small — perhaps because they dwarf over everyone else as well.

He sticks to corner tables and slinks into the shadows, a spectator in a video game, a conductor in a music hall — there's an order to this chaos, to the coming and going of workers like the rise and fall of notes on a stave. Crescendo and diminuendo, the bellow of an orchestra followed by a soft pluck of the strings.

Day after day, the piece turns more familiar, rhythmic, but never quite the same. Watching as others chat and laze around, with a worn notebook in his hands, Masa finds that he enjoys it all the same, even if he rarely participates. 

The consuming loneliness cannot reach him here, where bodies and sounds fill the emptiness till no space is left. And that is enough.

He pointedly ignores the fact he craves more still.

"I'm looking for Mays."

"I thought he was my babysitter, not I his," a quiet hum is given, amusement tinting Masa's tone as he eyes the marine intruding upon his quaint little bubble. Mansk, he recalls, brain wracking for what little he has on the Recombinant. A squadmate of Mays. Quiet, but not stupid. Owns a huge gun.

"Haven't seen him today," he shrugs. "You best ask Nee-san — he tends to trail behind her, from what I've seen." Like a dog, ever so loyal, Masa muses in his mind, idly moving the pen between his fingers. "Try her office, she has no meetings planned for today." Mayu always informs him of her weekly schedule, in case of-- Anything, really. It makes him feel like a baby sometimes, but he listens nonetheless, makes sure to memorize it. She has enough to worry about as is; he doesn't want to add to her load by acting childish.

"Just--" A pause, teeth chewing on the inside of his mouth. "Make sure to knock first," he hurriedly adds, the grimace of discomfort on his face rather telling of the possible horrors waiting behind the sturdy doors. As much as the boy likes knowing things, he can absolutely do without certain knowledge.