nysalogs | dec and jan catch all [closed]

I've never seen you wear that face before.

[ Mikazuki probably wouldn't have said anything if not for the insistent shuddering of the machine as if in implication of it. However, it's familiar. A thrashing barely contained by the wrought iron of his arms, howling. Such loud howling. Like that last space. Black and blue, then the red of Mars, then the red that was his, in his eyes and mouth.

It startles him, how that sharp that memory is. It shouldn't; it's too new. But his balance is an unforgiving thing, pulling the wings of the craft straight even as they attempt to go awry, much like the strange curl of instinct that's now in control of the vessel.

Mikazuki never thought this would be a problem, stepping into the ship with Takasugi.

But as always, there's only forward. ]

[Silence is all Takasugi offers the observation, made into words almost soft, but corrosive. Even a flicker in his composure draws acute awareness, Takasugi knows, and now that it's happened he's lost something impossible to regain.

The ship steadies despite him. Takasugi's controls have locked up, metal leaving divots in his skin where he tries to press the switches to reset the module.]

You handle it.

[Rather than have control wrenched from him, Takasugi relinquishes it to his partner. With his curt order given he unfastens his belt and climbs from his seat.

And the ship twists, gravity stabilizers functioning to ensure the spiral is felt as a dizzying punch in the gut. Takasugi anchors himself between his chair and the hull, pinned in place as they careen from course.]

[ Mikazuki prefers the chaos of living things on his side. That's what makes him such an efficient pilot, marrying technical skill with unpredictable instinct. Machines come alive beneath his touch, a mutual and unforgiving push that outclasses many. However, it works against him in this instance, the sudden pitch of the ship turning down with such force that he feels all his organs make an impressive bid for freedom through his throat.

The force doesn't balk him, but it does make him hiss a quick noise through his teeth, body locking as the controls try to grind away at him alone. ]

It's not listening...

[ Not urgent, but still strained, like he's not going to lose despite the circumstances.

The craft gives another, steeper lurch, wings beginning to tilt. It issues a rather stern warning: there's no where to go in the emptiness of space, but it'll send them crashing down through that void anyway. That's what he feels in the moment, both before him and beside him with Takasugi relinquishing his seat.

It's familiar in a way he hasn't thought about since the day he lost, and he bites down on that memory with sharp teeth. ]

[The ship isn't listening, and neither is Takasugi.

He's locked in place, pinned by uneven gravity and the nauseousness of relinquishing his post to another.

To do what?

To become immobilized. Not by fear. Never by fear.

By loss of control. By loss of some sense of himself? By such an overwhelming wave of anger and everywhere to direct it?

He doesn't know. Sitting back down would be easy if he knew.

Head lulling, Takasugi's vision ebbs from black to the grey of the ship with an indifferent sheen, like the eyes of the boy still attempting to force control of their trajectory.

Mikazuki isn't concerned about possible or impossible.

He simply has to do it.

With nails scraping down the hull, Takasugi wrenches himself along with the rhythm of the ship's turbulence. The disturbance guides him to his seat, and there, with a fist slammed into the recalibrate button hard enough to crack it, he seizes the controls.] Pull up.

[ Normally (seemingly) sleepy in disposition and difficult to rattle, Mikazuki isn't a complete stranger to the incandescence of emotion. To safety and camaraderie yes, but even moreso to anger. It floods the ship in a moment so fast and consuming it feels like a physical blow, only funneling out again when the source of it rears its head, equally formidable. Even when nothing felt as though it would matter, when his life was being stripped away, he hadn't been that angry. He'd forgotten it, by that time.

Mikazuki wouldn't have known if not for the connection the ship forges. Maybe he was never meant to know. Whether he cares is a different matter, the tailspin of the ship making gravity generate, heavy enough to push on his small body like it'd make meal out of his bones were it able. He's in a cold sweat from the exertion.

All he can do is latch onto the order once it comes, the ship shuddering, not yet appeased. With Takasugi back in his seat, Mikazuki grits his teeth and rakes back on the controls, throwing his grip into righting them. ]

[Anger, unsteady and unwieldy, is a signal he's sent clearly. Not via the ship's system of cooperation stringing them together beyond flesh and bone, but through own crumbling composure.

If he knew just how visceral he'd been felt, they might never have found course.

Or, there's a chance, they'd have found it more easily.

That Mikazuki could be swallowed in such a surging wave of rage - a drop in the depth of Takasugi's violent, angry sea though it may have been - and still look forward undaunted... Maybe they understand each other more than Takasugi knows.

Quick obedience is the first foundation of the bulwark of restraint, rebuilding itself one frigid organ in his gut at a time.] Navigation system recovered.

[The next switch Takasugi flips ticks upwards without resistance. Their gravity has been restored.

His head tilts heavy against the back of his seat.]

We're off course. [But in control.]

[ Whatever he sees or feels, he lets it crash over him unquestioningly. It's his strong sense of self, all the metal in his body wrought by purpose, moved by a past that he won't allow to stray too far from his reach. All else, no matter how ceaseless or punishing, can pass him by. There are only a few things that truly frighten him, that claw up through his ribcage and out, exposing the wild things within him.

Those things have already happened once. ]

It's space. [ He says it as if it's obvious. ] We can go wherever.

[ Mikazuki could ask a lot of questions. The cabin is pressurized with air, gravity, and the potential of it.

He doesn't. ]

Heh. [Slowly, Takasugi's jaw lowers, until he's looking straight through the windshield display, stare locked with the stars.

All that space, limitless opportunities, and nowhere to go.

The vague concept of forward is all they have left. Takasugi's grasp grows relaxed - it's been a long while since he's had such a future in front of him.

He'd fought it then, and his feelings aren't any warmer now.

With a chill in the cabin the ship veers, turning towards the planet they've been implored to call home.

It looks just like every other speck in the galaxy.] Think we'll crash?

No. [ Swift, stable. ] I won't let us.

[ It's in the fearless rake back of the controls, setting the craft's tail down at an angle so they can coast among the nothingness between them and the planet below, haloed in the electric blue of its own livability.

Very quickly he's forged the bond between him the ship, maybe moreso than with the flesh and blood human beside him. ]

[The steady progression of the ship flows from its stalwart pilot. Mikazuki's grasp hasn't faltered - not on the ship, and not on the expanse around them. He wants to sink his teeth into that mettle, feel it pool and pour.

There'd be no end to the flow.

A gauge on the display tells Takasugi how much distance they cover.

The descent is approaching.

But they've gone nowhere.]

Aa, you sure?

Might be fun. [There's no levity to his joke.]

[ A descent is much less smooth than the endless well of time space keeps suspended within it. But now that the planet is within sight, its atmosphere a glowing, protective layer over it, the destination is there to remind them that the deep and the dark is not yet theirs.

The craft shudders and Mikazuki doesn't fight it. ]

You can, if you want.

[ Not that altruistic. His life only gives him so much opportunity for it. ]

[Takasugi's laugh rings out over the shuddering metal. Hollow sounds mingle, until it's almost impossible to discern which high pitched groan is organic, and which belongs to cold steel.

He's thrown his head back, damp hair sticking to the headrest.

It's not the first time he's had a joke thrown back in his face, his own disregard for his life trumped by another's lack of care for that very thing. He'd laughed in the past, too, but not in eruption.

He knows it's relief lightening his chest.

Pressing his lips together in a tight line, Takasugi swallows it all.]

I'll let you make the call, this time. [He'll only provide minimal piloting, coaxing the machinery towards the impending landing.]

Then this is the way.

[ With that measure of disregard both mirrored and placed behind a contradictory bulwark of trust, Mikazuki takes control with no ill will or hesitation. Not even that sharp bark of laughter gets to him; he might not even know its meaning. The ship rattles as it scrapes atmosphere, the belly of it sending super-heated particles blasting over the windshield.

The entire thing drags, suspended between gravity and friction that reddens the interior of the craft. Mikazuki simply holds it steady and looks ahead as the lights and shadows roar, waiting for the ship to tear through to the blue underneath. ]

[This time, the controls don't slip from his fingers like viscous fluid. Takasugi passes them on simply; given like so many, countless, orders that used to guide men with nowhere else to go.

Except, this time, Mikazuki knows exactly where he's headed.

Short-sighted, to see an 'end' in their landing, but he won't begrudge his companion whatever it was that kept him focused through the ship's tremors.

Now, when the vessel glows red-hot, is when Takasugi would usually light his pipe. Eyes closed, he'd shut himself himself off to a beautiful sight he'd never cared for.

The first time he'd headed into space, he hadn't watched the planet dwindle behind him.

Takasugi quickly loses interest in watching terrain sharpen, green becoming land becoming life; he'd rather watch Mikazuki's impassive, unchanging stare through the corner of his eye.]

[ From any given moment to the next, even during something as mundane as landing, Mikazuki is focused on how he's going to live through it. It's just how his brain connects the dots even though his life had never realized that full picture — it's a compelling mimicry, more like a constellation.

But there's no dislike for the experience, all the same. As the ship shudders its way through atmospheric reentry, there's an unguarded and almost youthful amazement at gravity.

Something that could both align and crush humans, something that means he has a place to plant his feet and look up from.

Clouds disperse, burned by the heat, and Mikazuki doesn't take long to steer the craft towards a safe landing zone, silent all the while. ]

[Gleaming eyes, almost as wide as the planet below, make Mikazuki look younger than he is. Or, perhaps, his age - Takasugi hasn't ever asked, and he has no reason to. Living through enough to make the pull of a trigger as simple as blinking robs the meaning from youth and age alike.

Mikazuki had expressed more remorse for the broken window, the first time they'd met, than for the lives he'd taken.

Takasugi doesn't break the silence. With his gut lurching from the reintroduced gravity, he sways as the ship rocks, anchors itself on the planet with a landing so smooth it doesn't crack dirt.

Almost gentle - a stark contrast to the rest.]

[ The broken window had been an accident. Pulling the trigger never is.

With the ship making landfall, the reactors begin to dull from a roar to a hum, the effects of it softening throughout the cabin. Pushing on the controls, he sets them back and locks them with an easy hand — sometimes it seems like there's more machine in his body than blood.

Quietly, he hits the fastener on his seat's harness. It retracts, taking the neural connection with it. ]

That's it.

[ It's on foot from here. ]

[The thrum of the ship fades, an echo of it reverberating in Takasugi's ears. Like it, recent memory replays as his hands slide from their perch on the controls. His limbs feel heavy - more weight to them than gravity could impose.

Disruptions to routine are among the most memorable of occurrences. Mikazuki says nothing of it - never will speak of the interruption in course - but that hardly matters.

Takasugi flicks the control panel off before the ship announces his irritation.]

Aa.

[Harness released, Takasugi disembarks to begin their trek without a moment's hesitation.

He'll be silent along the way, smoking his pipe until not even ash remains in the bowl.]

dec and jan catch all [closed]

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//end on my side!