nothing more and nothing less
Chapters
Chapter 01: Bart/Billy ✨
Chapter 02: Perceval/Wulfric 🫖
Chapter 03: Kallian/Dunban ☂️
Chapter 04: Malos/Egil 🐈⬛
Chapter 05: Klaus & Pneuma 🌻
Chapter 06: Taion/Noah 🌟
Chapter 07: Mòrag/Brighid 🌃
Chapter 08: Shulk/Reyn 👍
Chapter 09: Doug/Lao 🌅
Chapter 10: KOS-MOS/Elma ⚡️
Chapter 11: Shion/KOS-MOS 💠
Excl my absolute goat
Billy shines his guns just about more carefully than he does anything else, soft cloth on porcelain filigree until silver fringe reflects in the cream-colored surface.
Bart, then, watches just as intently, feeling the scarred eye weigh with concentration just as much as that free.
He can tell - he's not stupid nor cavalier in matters such as this - that this is a nicer implement than Billy's ever had, that battered steel is much more like what he's accustomed to.
It's not as if the pirate prince of Aveh trades himself in any fine repair - Old Maison is surely the best-dressed on the Yggdrasil at any given point in time, and Jessie, the not-so-old coot, while certainly not doing anything additive to the collective average state, doesn't exactly stick double-jointed thumbs out too far.
But it's not about that. It's about taking hold of something that, oh, actually means something, don'tcha see?
If Billy should look up from his occupation and catch a glint of something else far more mischievous than he's felt in years, if not again ever, in eyes jasper blue, and smile, sheepish but genuine and oh so free...
Well, Bart wouldn't mind becoming accustomed to that himself.
(it's the [new] teapot emoji)
"No no, Wulfric, you must pour - like so."
Just as his lips and jaw do not move when he speaks, so too do Perceval's hands seem to jump, to slither, to vanish and reappear sleekly yet obliquely across the table surface, such that his finger might attempt to affix themselves about the teapot's handle.
Attempt, that is, because Wulfric jerks his own arm back, and Perceval, being a Blade of great sensitivity and integrity, does not continue to seize upon ceramic and effect a cataclysm of cracks and shards.
"Perceval. Friend. Do not assume that I do not know how. It is just an issue of..."
"Of the doing?"
Wulfric nods, yet is so inscrutably unshamefaced, the both of them exceedingly stark among the soft blues and purples of the Garfont camp's backdrop.
"Ah. I see." Craggy, monstrous digits aren't well-served for the elegant, nuanced motion that is tipping a teapot's contents into waiting cups, so the impression is more that of tipping the tea out through the lid.
"But I am...pleased. That you would sit here with me nevertheless."
Perceval smiles - except he doesn't, do you see?
"Of course, friend - I should call you that as well, hmmm?"
for Miryyy <3
"Dunban, you'll catch your death of cold out there."
Kallian is usually a very direct person, but in his haste and worry he omits the antecedent of the "there": Eryth Sea, ashudder with storms. Even the archipelagos themselves shake with undue stress. Starshowers may come soon, but right now the sky's eruption is focused downward, and hardly so graceful as it would be when casting glimmers down upon the Bionis's head.
Dunban, also direct but always very much so in a different way, turns back at the same time as he is turning on his most disarming smile. His target falters, successfully met.
"I can think of worse ways to go. And, well, I can think of better, too. Would you like to come with me?"
"Tch." With a toss of his cape, the High Entia moves to now actually catch up with the Homs, and once arrived to approximately the same position steps back to gauge the other man's state of dress, cravat and all.
"We may both be wearing capes, but I'd never enter the rain without suitable headgear."
"Ah. Well, down in the colonies we use something called umbrellas - do you happen to have one of those?"
you WILL read B's thing
"You're...quite tolerable, all in all."
"What, that's the best I get? No praise? So much for co-cat-dads, or whatever Mythra tried to call it."
For Aion and Yaldabaoth, tentatively separated from each other by the space of thigh-height to couch cushions, Malos would prefer their relationship kept tolerable at best, cagey at worst. If it comes down to do it, yeah, he'll watch that fight, just because he knows he won't have to - of course Aion'd win with collar high above all the competition. Easy.
But as for Egil himself? Malos doesn't play "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" to lose. He has to win, really, and the only way to win is to be at the very least on par with Egil. He's got to admit it, smugness-free. Being called tolerable? There's some snobbery lurking.
Meanwhile, amid all of Malos's grim, distracted stewing, Egil's unbothered reply: "I think that's apt."
"'Apt'. 'Tolerable'. Do you have your head up your ass or what?"
"They say to keep your enemies close. If so, what does that make you?"
Malos snarls, and the two don't break eye contact as they hurriedly move to snatch their cats from each others' laps.
i was gonna do Logos & Galea at first but i didn't want to because i had forgotten that it would be a new character tag but then i had a genius moment o_O
Sunflowers turn toward the sun, to survive and thrive and grow. It's definitionally admirable. Even Klaus, jaded as he is, can see the sheer wonder that comes baked into such a literal phenomenon.
This flower will not accept the tragedy of not being alive, of having the sun so near but simply not having its eyes open to receive the giving rays.
Beautiful. Not even ethereal. In fact, very real. Too real.
And since the rest of the solarium adjoining the greenhouse on Aoidos is empty, Klaus turns away and starts walking back to work. One can only look at flowers and their fight for so long before it becomes almost gruesome.
The Trinity Processor is not yet at a mature synch rate - in fact, it's only about halfway there.
They are not children, not his children; no, he respects them far too much for that (and perhaps that will tell you something about him, if you want it to).
They are strange creations, strange creatures. Quite.
Klaus peers distractedly into the emerald terminal, collects himself with a shake of loose blond mane, and mutters with only the barest traces of reverence coating his intonation, "Hello, Pneuma. How's life today?"
i do it for the fans
Even off the battlefield (but not far away from it, never very far away), Taion is desperately eager to prove himself. Oh, he doesn't show it, he keeps calm and cool as always, if a little overenthusiastic, but Noah, who usually considers himself to be only average at matters of perception (despite any actual level of skill), can so easily tell.
They're lying flat on their backs, soles ninety degrees from the ground and arms practically splayed in anticipation of dust angels, and he's still talking. He has a nice voice, but now?
"See that one, there? It's called Apus. Others say it's the bird of paradise, but if it were up to me, we wouldn't be able to see it now if that were true."
It's a sick thought. We shouldn't be able to see paradise up there if it's not down here. But if it's not up there, then where is it?
Not that Taion's actually bothered about that. He moves on: "There. Over the Giant - do you see it?"
Noah gives a sound somewhere between a grunt and a groan.
"Noah! Pay attention, I'm showing you Horologium!"
"Taion..."
Sigh. "Yes?"
"Just shut it and hold my hand."
you simply can't beat the wives in the city
We can make all the jokes we want about Brighid literally walking around with her eyes closed and Mòrag accomplishing much of the same by having a hat brim so sturdy that she manages to remain ineffably pale despite years living and breathing and running and fighting in the hot, arid Ardainian sun, but the truth of it at the end of the day really is as follows:
Mòrag stares wistfully out the window at a freer life beyond the palace walls, and Brighid can only watch worriedly. It's not that they're penned in, either of them, they can go where they like and do what they want so long as it reflects well upon the empire, and of course they don't ever dream of not doing so, so--
So what. So actually, maybe, that's not true. So maybe she, they both, wish they could be more publically representative of the ideal partnership between a Driver and Blade, and maybe they're right for it.
"What are you thinking about, Lady Mòrag?"
The world outside glistens. It's nighttime. Mòrag turns, eyes warmer, and trains herself on the only standard she'll ever need to meet.
"You, Brighid. What ever is there else?"
reading this one i wasn't actually sure if the emoji was part of the request at first but goofballs do as goofball does
It always starts as a wave. Started, rather, because they've been doing it since they were kids. Dickson was never the type to encourage Shulk to get out from behind his legs and say hello, so to Shulk, waving was something he did with Reyn - happy, nervous hands flapping back and forth, little legs scrambling as fast as they could to get to friends.
Not that Shulk calls Reyn his friend anymore. To anyone else who's asking, even Fiora, he's always just Reyn.
Reyn who hugs his shoulders and flicks playfully at his head and doesn't pretend to understand one bit of his experimental research but loves every bit of his passion all the same. So to everyone else, that's "boys will be boys" and childhood friends will always love each other. Right?
Inside Shulk's head, though, Reyn's his boyfriend. And he's still got the same awkward, bashful, rabbit-faced energy he's always had, so when Reyn walks over the hill for Defence Force hikes, he starts waving and ends giving a broad, not-quite-manly thumbs-up.
Everything's okay, as long as Shulk's seen that.
It means I'm safe.
It means I'm home.
It means I can't wait until I see you again.
i think this one is pretty good. some guys
"Do you remember it?"
"Remember what?"
Lao rankles, ever so slightly, at Doug's jocular tone. On Mira, asking if a member of BLADE remembers something usually portends a very emotionally significant question about life back on Earth. Is it a distant memory, or just a distant place, a distant planet?
"Didn't you ever watch sunrises, back h- back on Earth?"
Elma says it all the time. This is our new home. So of course he has to be a good little soldier and believe it. Even if it's a hell of a thing to actually believe it, to feel like it - to feel anything, in the mim bodies.
"Sure I did. What's the matter, there something special about 'em I'm forgetting?"
Something special? It's the day beginning. It's time beginning. It's the only thing that's guaranteed, day after day after day. That's without even getting into any scientific appreciation, research and expeditions galore.
But, then again, with Doug's arm, warm and solid despite any metal composition within or without, resting so casually around his shoulder, Lao thinks maybe it isn't so bad to start acknowledging the other things happening every day around him.
"I don't know, Doug. You tell me."
i just don't have any bad ships sorry to say
"Damn."
"Hm? What is it, Colonel?"
KOS-MOS watches innocently as Elma strides over, snapping her wrist outward and scowling for no apparently discernible reason.
"I told you, KOS-MOS, you don't have to call me that - actually, you shouldn't call me that, which I suppose you would respond to better anyway."
"Affirmative, Colonel."
Silver eyebrows arch.
"Affirmative, Elma."
"That's more like it. But anyway, it was just static shock from the lightswitch. Drives me crazy, especially since the mims don't get it."
Exceedingly calm at the mention of the phenomenon, KOS-MOS only blinks and cocks her head the slightest bit to one side, indicating interest and curiosity but never overextending it.
"Oh, say, that's right - you wouldn't get it either, would you? Fascinating."
"Indeed, Colonel. The triboelectric effect is not known to affect artificially intelligent anti-gnosis battle androids in any significantly observable manner."
"Significant, huh? But anything's insignificant to an outside observer. You just have to get close enough..."
And then Elma is very close, and KOS-MOS would be short-circuiting a very important contradiction if she tried to say that she doesn't, in fact, feel at least a little bit of a sweet, tingling feeling as the colonel pulls away again.
FOR LORA BECAUSE I'M A LORA FAN YOU SEE
"KOS-MOS, what are these?"
"I made them for you. For us, rather."
"O-oh, yes, I can see that." In her blushing moment, Shion forgets to snap her retort, and thereafter is quite glad that she didn't. Why does she seem to get so angry at KOS-MOS, and then again go so soft so soon after? "But what are they?"
"Why, they are flowers, Shion. Can you not see?"
The blooms, if they can be called that, shine eerily up from the desk in Shion's room on the Elsa - aside from various Bunnie-themed accoutrements and official Vector communication devices, there's not much of any visual note, certainly not to the extent that these bring. They're square, blue, diamond-shaped, divided into four quadrants and rotated forty-five degrees. Very exact.
Shion brings a tentative hand out to sweep a pair of fingers underneath the lip of the petals on one flower in the center. "I suppose so...but they're artificial, aren't they? I mean, it's very sweet, and I appreciate the gesture - oh, but that sounds so unappreciative, I'm sorry, KOS-MOS!"
"No need to worry, Shion. They are artificial, so that they will never die. The same is true of our love, only that is not artificial."
"KOS-MOS..."
"Of all things we have encountered thus far, I am gladdest to know that that is eternal."