bright parlance
Chapter 01: niaallrex
Chapter 02: barnado
Chapter 03: serelain
Chapter 04: minkhar
Chapter 05: lieselin
Chapter 06: niazeke
Chapter 07: zofialex
Chapter 08: adahope
Chapter 09: primidori
Chapter 10: quinquen
"Really, you don't have to fight over me. It's alright."
Rex blinks at Niall, temporarily dumbfounded. "What's alright?"
"He's saying he likes it, dummy," Nia purrs, grasping Niall's slim right hand in very clear terms. "And that he likes us better when we don't argue."
Niall's eyes sparkle, but his tone and affect remain straight and dry. "I should hire you to be my official mouthpiece, Nia."
Grinning, Rex grabs for the other imperial appendage. "Aw, no, but you speak so well! Got us hooked, anyway."
And wouldn't anyone be just so dazzled by the company of handsome, honorable royalty?
The last time Barnes blew up his own shop was about twenty years ago (via that incident, the emergency water pulls). That'd been lapse enough for plenty of smaller explosions to blow off bits of siding and make even the current construction look ramshackle, but if the Gorons hadn't opened up trade again, losing the storage house would have been a truly horrific blow.
The fact that Renado visits this time, instead of staying safe in his sanctuary across town, is enough to lift the welding mask.
That warm smile. That gentle swish of robes. Barnes, bent forward, just stares.
"Wait...aren't you just me but purple?"
Lain squints. Seren can't tell whether it's out of uncertainty or disbelief.
"I dunno. Aren't you just me but blue?"
Seren, who doesn't believe in stupid questions except that they're the only kind of questions they ever ask, replies, "Never mind. Try again. I love your awesome purple hair."
"And I love your awesome blue hair!" Then Lain stops to think. "What are we, five?"
A love of shapes and colors would do that to you, wouldn't it? In the pursuit of being silly, always some childishness.
"Me? Ageless. You?"
Lain: "No idea."
"You look real stupid, right about now."
Mumkhar scowls. Being told off by a Machina who's in no finer straits than he, concerning pain and proximity to goal - should he take it?
But Minoth appears to be Egil's special pet, and retaliation against him surely wouldn't be worth it. Not for all the power in the sea.
In the moment, however, Mumkhar wants nothing more than to slap that smug look right off Copperhead's face.
(What smug mug? Minoth feels irritated, receptors pointed toward something and someone contemptible.
He's not in the mood to look smug. Actually, he looks annoyed.)
"Liesel, I have sooo many questions! I can't believe I'm actually standing in the same hangar as a first-rate Grenada Galactic Group test pilot!"
Right. Liesel has to remind herself that, y'know, Lin is only thirteen years old, and even though she's shockingly articulate, the way that comes through when she's left to her own devices and doesn't have to participate in the broader moral dilemmas of the planet (or even the industry) is...gushy.
Liesel doesn't do gushy. She stands patiently, trying to affect a neutral face.
Waiting.
Aaaand...
"So, like, for Hraesvelg - what came first, visor or katana?"
Nia's the queen of denial, brushing things off so hard they land two titans away before winding up to shoot back and smack her in the face.
What she doesn't deny is that she's got a growing fondness for her Shellhead - not least because she's the only one who calls him that.
Icky, right? Not like she likes that he calls her Furry-Ears.
Oh, pathetic. Ridiculous. Stupid.
Like him. Not without his charms, though. His empathy, kept buried deeper than his chest, then brought out on parade when least expected. Also, his intelligence, which he hasn't got. His guns-blazing grin...
Most of her posturing effort, Alexandria feels, has already been exerted and completed. She's not acting her age so much as aging into her act - well, in reverse, rather. And anyone who knows different is dead.
So it's not difficult to do, not truly taxing, until she remembers that there even used to be another self beneath.
Zofia is just as cold, though. Just as committed. It gives Alex faith, even if a misplaced or mispurposed one, that she can fashion herself this way and be justly rewarded for it.
Let's stay together, yes? Let's keep up the luminous illusion.
Ada has never and will not ever think of herself as a sick and twisted type of girl. It'd be pretty difficult to be one of Hope's best friend (or maybe even more), if that was who you were.
Well, and now Ornella goes without saying, but that's part of the point. Is she a bad person for feeling sort of...flattered? That the Definians used her as the decoy? Of all people who might want to be close to Hope, might dream and yearn...
It's a question she'd like to ask Hope, after all. Aspiration for her better-est self.
"They think just because we don't want to that we can't."
Primera's small, clear voice, like Billy's choirboy settle taken up a few vocal chords, nearly startles Midori. It's not the type of sudden sound she's used to (and if you're used to them, then they become part of a pattern, which means they're not so much sudden as irregularly choreographed).
"It's not that I don't want to. It's that I don't know what to say."
Prim comes to stand at the windowsill. Without speaking, she lets her action invoke: you're watching, listening, just like me. You've got no choice.
Quentin might admire Quincy, but he sure doesn't envy him.
(Sure as hell, Quincy would say. But Quentin wouldn't say that.)
For a Curator with a youthful haircut and a lack of control over the fate of or actors on his team, he's a lot tougher than one might expect. You really wouldn't think that fieldwork has as much politics as research, but apparently mutiny is alive and well. Oh, and jewel theft too - heists with stuff even higher-grade than Omari's creations.
So...maybe coffee sometime? So maybe Quentin can confirm his suspicions instead of just extrapolating from limited data?