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(open) with that soul to sell
Who: mikazuki (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sparsity) & various & you!
What: THIS, boy and mecha are reunited. (EDIT: now a catch-all for other prompts!)
When: early april. (EDIT: and through may)
Where: thesa station - hangar deck, space, observation room! (EDIT: now on el nysa, inn wyver, mikazuki's residence)
Warning(s): mentions of kidnapping events, probably some blood. now ft. domesticity.
I. THESA STATION
sparsity) & various & you!What: THIS, boy and mecha are reunited. (EDIT: now a catch-all for other prompts!)
When: early april. (EDIT: and through may)
Where: thesa station - hangar deck, space, observation room! (EDIT: now on el nysa, inn wyver, mikazuki's residence)
Warning(s): mentions of kidnapping events, probably some blood. now ft. domesticity.
I. THESA STATION
[ Show us we can trust you, and he shall fall back into your capable hands.
It crosses his mind, from time to time. That promise in the face of a promise. What strength he possesses had been given to him by such things — promises. His home and heart destroyed by a force far more common than the Storm, that was all that was left. And when he had the chance to trade his compliance for another life, his, and everyone else's, he seized it. Sunk his fingers in and clawed his way back, too chaotic and exhausted with dissatisfaction to give up. Mikazuki takes because it is the only way he knows how to give.
No matter how much things stayed the same. He doesn't know what he'd proved by going through the same motions he was always going through, knuckles upside his face and blood in his mouth, deaths that remind him of being fifteen again, but this trip to Thesa yields something different.
Barbatos is no longer under Darma's lock and key. ]
A. HANGAR STATION — THE BLOOD AND SHIRTLESSNESS OPTION
[ Usually standing dormant, Gundam Barbatos cuts an intimidating figure among the Natha mobile suits. Elongated limbs capped with golden claws and notched with inhuman joints, horns jutted from atop its brow like a devil. Its pearly white color shines in the light of the bay, every seam, facet, and angle gleaming as if new.
Finding Mikazuki here with it isn't unusual, his visits with it in tandem with his visits to the stasis unit. He comes here often despite months and months of no changes in the suit's status, always quiet and standing sentinel. Like he's drawn to it by a force that can only be called fondness, stronger than any gravity. But today, the cage mount the machine is usually fixed against is lowered, two maintenance catwalks closed over its chest unit. ...And Mikazuki is no where to be found despite the area looking as if it's in launch prep.
At its front, the forward-facing cockpit hatch yawns open, and there's the sound of rustling around coming from inside. A loose shirt and jacket come drifting out, discarded, but caught harmlessly in the low gravity of the bay. Also an empty space capri sun, and a power bar wrapper...
Because that's not weird. ]
B-THE FIRST. CATAPULT DECK — THE JOYRIDE OPTION (CASUAL/NEW CR)
[ When he finally gets situated in the machine, however arduous a reunion that might be, Mikazuki requests a code for launch clearance once he figures out he's allowed. He's done his waiting, and among all the violent human familiarity and the planet's alien freedom down below, this is what he knows. However unassuming his disposition is, he's quick to grasp at it and hold tight now that he's able. Nothing has to flood back to him — it's already all there.
There's a great lurch and hiss of metal that rocks the catwalks as the cage disengages from the hangar wall, pistons whirring. A static clip fills the immediate area as Mikazuki activates his comm. Voice as mild as always despite the way it booms from the Gundam: ]
You'd better get in here if you're staying.
[ A pause. ]
They're about to let all the air out.
[ You know, no pressure. ]
B-REDUX. CATAPULT DECK — THE JOYRIDE OPTION (CLOSE CR)
[ Maybe it's all of that above, but he's not yet climbed into the suit despite being attached to it by neural system implanted at the topmost curve of his spine. It might seem a brutal, nearly inhuman thing to share synapses with a machine, to share his retinas and his cerebellum, all the blood in his body, but he wears it well. Wears it like it's pumped some of his own colors back into him, vibrancy in every one of his harsh angles.
Hanging out of the cockpit, cord curled in a wide arc behind him, he grasps the hatch with one hand to keep his balance upright and holds his other out. ]
Come on, I'll show you.
[ Be brave. You basically asked for it. ]
C. OBSERVATION ROOM — THE CHILL EXISTENTIAL OPTION
[ He's been told gaining access to this place is also a measure of trust by the Natha's standards. Mikazuki could be curious about that in itself, but he finds that he isn't, brain too full of a comfortable mechanical hum, alive with the presence of the machine he shares his strength and existence with. That's plenty enough for him, giving him a peace he hasn't known since waking up months and months ago. All the metal in his blood is singing, the natural violence of it satiating.
Not as though he looks the part, perched on the rails by the vast panels of glass overlooking the space outside as Thesa orbits El Nysa. Up this high and with no competitive light to silence them, the stars roar out against the sky. Small in comparison to that darkness, his shoulders slope, eyes reflecting the pale, celestial blue glow of the room. He's fixed on no one point, not searching for familiar constellations when there are none.
He only knows them thanks to Barbatos' guidance system, anyway.
With everything awash in that calm color, there's a lot to look at around him too. Consoles meant to track the activities in the hangar, programs monitoring the station's axis and velocity, research materials, projections of star systems thrown about. Out of the blue, he ventures to anyone partaking: ]
If it's hard for you to study like this, I'll go.
[ Despite not being loud or disruptive, he feels it, momentarily personal. The space at his side is so achingly empty that nothing else here is louder to him. ]
a
Now debris floats in the absence of gravity; maybe he'd caught it snacking. The cockpit opens, a wide maw poised to consume any fragile composition of flesh and bone that passes.
Takasugi steps onto the walkway, the mesh metal shaking underfoot. As it always does - he hasn't seen technology in any reach of the galaxy manage to stabilize such a crude structure. To reach the cockpit, he sidesteps a shirt drifting by.
There's no remarkable design to it, but he recognizes the scent.
With an arm resting above the entrance to the cockpit, Takasugi leans inside.]
Looks like you've caught a demon. [There's no one else here besides Mikazuki, but Takasugi isn't looking at him. He's keened his head to look at what appears to be the control panel.]
no subject
I don't know if caught is the right word...
[ Mikazuki replies from within that maw, likewise not casting a look backwards. He doesn't need to; he'd recognized the gait even on new ground, the presence that meets jaws with jaws. Being caught between them isn't so bad, but his attention is on a small compartment in the jumpseat, accessible when the console is lowered. ]
Returned, maybe.
[ Everything in his body is wired to think that what he's seeing here is wrong, those last memories of this exact space broken, piecemeal, and red. It's cool on the inside of the cockpit, every component clean and fashioned expertly from dark metals and carbon.
They all lie quiet, much like he has.
They all have been made new again.
Much like him, too. ]
no subject
The looming, white demon is the same, artistry in the curves of its armor and the soft glow of the cockpit.
But Takasugi doesn't see anything severe in the way Mikazuki touches the panels. It's not the grip of knuckles white on a lifeline, it's the gentle caress of an old friend.]
Then congratulations, on your reunion. [He lowers himself forward, stepping into the cramped cockpit. There's care taken not to bump any controls, or lean against what could be a touch panel, but he doesn't bother feign disinterest in whatever it is Mikazuki is fiddling with.
Even if he doesn't understand the machinery itself, Takasugi knows well the serenity that comes when preparing a weapon.]
no subject
It's not a reunion yet.
[ Mikazuki remarks, pointed but also far off, as if absorbed by the quiet coursing of energy throughout this beast, still as it is. For a moment, there's just the sound of a practiced touch moving everything around. Eventually, he straightens, limiting their space further. Hooked on one elbow is a headset of some kind, its cord left to drift freely in the low gravity. In the opposite hand, he holds a smooth metal cap with a port on either side.
Angling his body, he looks over his shoulder. ]
I need your help with something.
no subject
It does no one any good dulling their sword against an impassable bulwark.
He rests an arm on the back of the cockpit's chair, a posture that might put him in Mikazuki's way, but any need of motion he acquiesces to with a sway of his body. The implements produced look nothing out of the ordinary; cables are the veins of all machines but the simplest children's toys.]
What's this?
no subject
[ Lifting his arm, he produces that metal cap, its form big enough to fit in the entirety of his palm and span to all five fingers. He lets it go over his shoulder, left to float there, innocuous and implicating all at once. One small port for the headset, one massive port for something else. Three on the inside, curved and imperfect. Mikazuki bows his head as he waits, the topmost curve of his spine seeming more animal now than ever with its three beads of metal catching in the low light.
He's never been ashamed of those scars that wind deep and tough into his body. Baring them has a different meaning here, calm and poised. Mikazuki would tell him he doesn't have to be careful if he thought it mattered at all.
Takasugi will or won't of his own accord, but it's movement over method that Mikazuki is waiting on. ]
no subject
When he wraps his fingers around the cool metal, he relinquishes his impulse to discern between the two.
Not curiously, he tilts the device upwards to inspect its belly. The fringes of flesh and metal that rise from Mikazuki's back look fragile, though Takasugi doubts they actually are. Regardless, he takes the precaution to know what he's doing before he slides it over the horns.
If there's anything else he needs to do after the equipment is attached, he's waiting, one hand drifting to see if there's a cord left drifting errant in the low gravity.]
no subject
Thanks.
[ While brief, he isn't thanking him as a cursory thing. Nothing he says ever is, but there's dimension to the word. Stepping away, he turns forward and drops into the seat, aligning his spine with a petal-shaped mechanism on it. A hiss marks the connection, then a pop as the thick data cord releases from the seat, wiring him in. Mikazuki leans, glancing aside as he feels out the coils. All normal.
The console then lifts to square in front of him, which he reaches for, typing on it with a mismatched deftness. ]
Barbatos. That's this one's name.
[ Learn its name, and you can summon it. ]
no subject
He lets his hand fall, more force behind the action without gravity to weigh him down. Conscientious of his motion, he runs curled fingers over the curve of the seat, dropping away when he approaches controls he doesn't understand.
A gentle caress, affectionate in respect for the fondness with which Mikazuki speaks of the creature.
Though Takasugi is beginning to think of it as an extension of the boy, rather than a demon of its own right. Without a wielder, a sword is just a slab of metal.]
Did you give it that name? [The mythos is foreign to Takasugi, so he thinks little of it aside from the fact that it may be better off without a moniker.
Mikazuki, the heart of a demon. And the skin he wears. That's the tale Takasugi chooses to believe.]
no subject
[ That first day and that first step forward into open jaws of a machine that would never again let him go, he learned it. Well, even then. Mikazuki is similar. With the boot sequence initiated, the twin reactors come alive, an immediate howl, loud, smooth, and arcane. It's the following thump, thick and metallic, like half a heartbeat, that swiftly alters the atmosphere.
A tangible surge of data roars through the cable at his back, seizing Mikazuki's body as if trying to supplant his bone and blood. His spine curves, fingers flexing and folding for purchase against something that cannot be fought. But Mikazuki has never let that stop him, even if he'd gasped sharply and bitten down on the machine's admonishment, it's sudden bid for power. Teeth grit and brows furrowed, he swallows back his breath and squares himself, visibly forcing dominance over the sudden third presence.
Blood trickles from the corners of his eye, his nose, one of his ears, beads of it catching vibrantly in zero gravity when he heaves a breath back out. Around them, Barbatos stops protesting, the retinal projection winking on obediently and giving a 260 degree view into the bay. All quiets, save Mikazuki trying to catch his breath enough to speak. ]
...you're in a bad mood, huh...
no subject
Mikazuki. It's heart.
Takasugi expects something of the connection between the two, so physical it must be tangible. Like a pinprick, a constant itch, or an ache.
Not what he sees.
Watching Mikazuki writhe makes Takasugi's gut churn, the shift in atmosphere no doubt at fault, but unnoticed. He isn't concerned, that there's something to overtake only means that the boy will surmount.
But it lends credence to the life of the creature they're enveloped in. A creature Mikazuki has rent and tempered into a weapon for himself, at once symbiotic and dominant. His blood drifts through the air, cost paid for obedience in the only bond that demons understand.
Takasugi lifts a hand and presses a droplet between thumb and forefinger, smearing it across his skin. Still warm-]
Can it be soothed? [Tamed, perhaps in some measure. But truly quelled in its bloodthirst?
Takasugi doubts it.]
no subject
And it hasn't forgotten.
Fingers swipe beneath his nose, the coarse pads smearing the blood there. As an afterthought he licks the rest away, gaze sliding to Takasugi in the same motion. ]
Not really. It never wants to stop.
[ Neither does he. ]
this got a lil gay
Takasugi smiles, the lighting of the cockpit softening a countenance that, for once, isn't twisted into something sharp. A familiar lack of serenity... It's no surprise that he's fine with being engulfed by a beast like this.
He runs his hand over the nearest console again, more deliberate. A caress, appreciation of the whirring within that sounds more animalistic than machine.]
Are you taking it out? [Changes the subject, if only to keep himself from becoming to settled. From letting the memory of Mikazuki, blood smeared across his face in a way that's beautiful to behold, sink into a sight that he'd crave.
It may be too late. It may have already been, before he'd stepped foot into the monster's gut.]
a 'lil'
[ His bloody fingers return to the raker he'd let go instinctively, poised over the trigger. ]
I don't really like space.
[ Not as much of a non sequitur as it might seem, but he sounds almost tired, the wash of frustration with his stationary position quickly flooding his body, sending it all alight. Space isn't for him, but he'll go to prove to the machine he still can, to push life and death back into his veins from where they been sitting, sleepy and complacent. He should. He can. Barbatos thuds and shudders, impatience in its circuits.
He wants to. ]
What about you?
gay increases
Like the face of a corpse, reanimated.
Even Takasugi isn't spared. He looks away from the boy to consider the blood on his fingertips.
It's no easier to comprehend than space.
The void had been an impossible fairy tale, celestial stories enthralling the minds of him and his peers. Until it crashed down on them violently, bringing its darkness to cover the pastures of their youth. He hates it. He'd give anything to be drifting in it now, rather than trapped on this space station.
The blood smeared on his fingers is the mark of an injury he would have rather inflicted himself. He'd be the demon Mikazuki makes a pact with, not this metal skeleton. The red over his callouses is a sight he doesn't care for. Something he'd prevent from shedding, if he only knew how.]
I'd rather watch from here. [It makes him sick.
Space. The memory of their last foray into the stars ebbing on his thoughts, but more-so in his gut. The same revulsion, complicated by something more he needs to draw away from before he can identify it.
Jealousy. Protection. Love and Fear.Takasugi slides from his perch, nails dragging silently against the metal he leaves behind. He'll depart the cockpit the moment he's able to, his urgency not reflected in haste but in movements that are too precise for his typical languid manner.
When he steps back onto the dock, his breath crashes into his stomach. Instinct pinpoints a bar he could grab hold of, steady himself, but he refuses. Standing stalwart, stubborn, Takasugi exhales.
And sends Mikazuki off with a smile.]