Roswell firmly grabbed her hand with two hands and shook them enthusiastically. "Aye, aye Oi'm a big fan of yer books miss, " he told her. Roswell showed her a innocent smile, while still shaking her hand. "De story's dat yer write aboyt yisser travelin' journeys, de food yer discover, de plot points an' characters, " he said still shaking Yayoi's hand "oi'm a 'umble fan. aye, 'umble." He finally let go of her hands, to grab a copy out of his bag. "Can yer sign dis maybe? oi'm de 'ead av de local soup kitchen 'ere, so oi don't...'ave any nicker ter pay yer, " he continued. His voice softer. "oi, as yer can imagine, nade al' de coins for de stoney broke starvin' citizens, but I bet it will make their day if yer sign this, " he said. The tune of his voice chirpy again. "Can yer imagine the smile on de kids faces when I show them yisser signature?"
It's Time For A Game, Kids
i believe this is pretty self explanatory, post IC and have your OC say what they like about the OC above them. be sure to give more than two-word answers tho! im sure you wouldnt like that if some put that low of an effort into a reply to your oc. you dont have to write paragraphs either just - yknow, a response that has effort into it!
lets mcfreakin lose it!!!
Strangely enough, no amount of repulsion was in Johnson's expression as he scanned the other man, despite the obvious class differences between the two. Johnson was an elitist to the maximum normally, so was he... Sick from the flu? Drunk from consuming a bit too much absinthe a few days prior? Suffering from a midlife crisis? All of the above?
Nope. As it turned out, Johnson found a strange sense of solidarity, and that alone was enough to render his regard as truly authentic - at least for the time being. After all, every emotion felt strange to Johnson, who was so used to keeping everything locked up for so long... Or he just happened to forget all the times he did get emotional, which was most likely the case. He remembered enough, though, to realize that he wasn't faking it for once and was actually feeling respect. Class differences whom? They didn't matter (as long as his reputation wasn't at stake). It all felt natural, and Johnson let out a hearty laugh as a smile started to appear on his face.
"You know, sir, I can't help but admire your dedication to obtaining wealth," he admitted in between increasingly reserved chuckles, "It's never something that comes easy, even for rich folk like myself That-" Johnson suddenly trailed off before putting his hand to his chin. "Wait, is the rumor that you used to be a noble indeed true? Or something along those lines...?" For a few seconds, he considered the thought but continued before an actual answer could be made.
Johnson raised his brows as he stated, "Well, if that's the case, that makes us more similar than what it looks at first glance. I honestly can't understand all the hullabaloo surroundings you, to be honest. You act like what a human does when focusing solely on instinct, selfish and willing to do whatever it takes to get what he wants." His thin mouth curled into a smile. "That's the most natural state of a human, and by far a condition that far too many neglect. Props to you for acknowledging that little side of everyone. I know that I'd be laughed out of here if I was as amoral and improper as yourself." Once more, Johnson started to laugh, although it was more forced because he thought he saw someone passing by for a second. Great.
"I went on a bit of a tangent there, hm?" he grunted with a wave of his hand. For a moment, his smirk faded into a straight expression - before abruptly returning back to its previous state as he shot the other party another glance. Yep, there was definitely a midlife crisis going on. "That asides," Johnson said coolly - perhaps coldly - "Either way, you do reflect what people wish they weren't, and I find that quite brave. They may call it the 'dark side,' but I just see it as 'primal.' Charming, isn't it?" The last question did have some warmth, although only barely.
He shrugged before concluding, "You know, I'd love to invite you to one of my gatherings, get you involved with some rich folk. I'm sure they'd love your charms. It's just that at the same time, they'll probably take one look at you and disown me as fraternizing with the lower half. Absolutely shameful and close-minded of them, but it's something that I must follow for the sake of propriety. Still, if I were to meet you on the streets again, expect an ally from myself, yes?" Johnson chuckled before finally shutting up and looking off to glare at some person whom he suspected to be an eavesdropper.
my original response is already obnoxiously long so here's a quick follow-up in a spoilers box for compensation :")))))
Johnson almost immediately winced at the police officer's unbridled friendliness towards him, even outright going out of his way to try flinging the arm off his shoulder with not too much grace. Needless to say, the attempt failed, and the older man just sighed and rolled his eyes. He looked off to the side, perhaps brewing up some rant about being respectful towards one's elders, but said absolutely nothing. It seemed in that moment, the older man was just content with sulking over this apparent violation of personal space.
His apprehension, however, gradually faded as the younger man continued speaking. Alike, you say? He turned around, initially skeptical but eventually relaxed enough to show a faint smile on his face. His muscles were tense enough to where one could assume that he was faking it if they felt cynical enough, but as far as Johnson was concerned, there was indeed a real element to it. How rare.
"Yes, how rare," he repeated to nobody in particular while folding his hands together, "It's definitely not something you get to foresee every day..." He raised his brow as he continued listening in, feeling far too mellow to actually butt in at any point in time. And for once, Johnson seemed perfectly okay with it. In time, he let his arms hang loose before chuckling contentedly to himself. And the journals really thought I was stretching it when I said that a Shakespearean approach wasn't the best way to view things in life! The chuckling only continued after this thought, definitely a rarity for someone like Johnson.
Even then, it was clear that he was relieved when a weight was taken off his shoulder, and he spent a solid half minute brushing the area to make sure it was "clean." Johnson looked over his shoulder before shrugging, then went back to minding his own business.
After he finished, he finally spoke up, "I suppose that could be the exception, watching other people express dismay over their own failures. It does sound like something that's absolutely rotten, isn't it?" A wry smirk appeared on his face as he yawned and cracked some knuckles in his hand. "The main problem is that the emotions are why they lose in the first place. They get too wrapped up in how they feel, thus preventing them from thinking clearly. It could all be prevented if emotions weren't an issue..." he mused with a slight snicker, "But then again, you do have a point. Maybe it's best for them to be all emotional. It does make the winning all the more interesting, as you claim... I'll consider that in my next tournament, how about it?"
An arm swung around Johnson's shoulder, pulling him closer to the grinning cop. "You know, you and I are a lot alike if you think about it," he winked. "Both of us are in a high place of power that lets us get away with things we do. Things that might go overboard? Might or might not be life or death situations? I think you get what I'm saying. Anyway, I like that about you! Nice to find someone in that situation, someone I can talk about it too. Gets pretty lonely when I can't complain to my friends about it." He laughed. "Although I've gotta disagree with you on that emotion bit. I'm fascinated by that kinda stuff. Seeing the looks on people's faces when things aren't going their way? That shock and fear?" He shuddered and tightened his grip on Johnson for a brief second before letting go of him. "You should try it out sometime! Next time you're having one of those weird fights with people, take a look at their faces when you're winning and see how they're reacting. I bet it'd make the battles a lot more fun!"
Ignoring the whole, you know, bit about torture... which Maribelle wasn't fazed by, anyhow... oh no... There was a bit to find admirable about Cameron, to who she spoke gently, but made no effort to approach from two or so feet away.
"You're strong." she told him, "Stronger than a lot of people. Your strength, I think, is something to behold." She shifted uneasily with a quivering breath. "The man I work for, he told me, once, that it's better to be feared than to be treated like you're nothing. Maybe you understand that. Maybe you're smart, too."
===
reserved for post below
August was saddened by Maribelle. She seemed sad and broken.
There's too much sadness in the world to see someone so lifeless.
Just as he was about to reach out to her, August saw a moth fly by. He stepped back, unwilling to get near it, but Maribelle stepped towards it. A little light appeared in her dark brown eyes as the fluffy tan insect landed on her hand. It rubbed against her finger as she gently caressed it.
He was disappointed that he, who "loves all", was cold towards a small, affectionate bug. But that gave him a newfound respect for Maribelle. Though she seemed standoffish towards people, she knew how to cherish the life that many would see as inconsequential. What an interesting girl.
Walker tilted her head at the younger woman, barely out of childhood, as she stated blankly, "You really are energetic, are you not." Usually, such a remark would be loaded with derision - yet another attempt of her trying to worm her way into people's cores and elevate herself above them. But with her? It was just... Wait... Curiosity? Confusion? Her energy was definitely something that the middle-aged woman - so used to being cold and unfeeling - was both surprising and mundane at the same time. She was so young, after all.
But even then, Walker never felt that much energy, even as a little girl. And she knew damn well that her son never took pleasure in running around the house and chatting people up, unless it was with that dog of his. She rubbed her forehead and sighed, the thought of the dog clearly getting to her. That's too much for one day, or ever. Walker blinked several times, just because she thought her eyes were clouding, and there was no way in hell that she'd let anyone - especially not a stranger as young as this girl - try interrogating her about why she felt the way that she did.
And if she did, well... Walker already had an answer in mind:
"The air just stings at this time of the day, that is all."
Yes, that'd work out fine. Even with this reassurance, though, Walker's expression remained a bit softer than usual - a phenomenon about which she had no idea how to feel. On one hand, the vulnerability made her want to just turn around and leave the scene. No more words. Just silence. On the other hand, she did see what could've been. Energy wasn't an inherently bad thing; there were many days, in fact, when she wished that she wasn't so... Static.
Finally, she added, "Young lady, please do not take my previous statement as an insult. It just baffles me how you have so much spark in your step, but it is in a... Complimentary way, I suppose. I have grown accustomed to slow thoughts, slow words. Your energy, in other words, is quite refreshing." A faint smile, only detectable because the corner of her mouth shifted ever so slightly, appeared. "You know, I heard it is true that you are a gardener, or at least enjoy the craft. It reminds me a bit of myself, working on the flowers when I was younger," Walker muttered while conveniently ignoring the Pandora's box associated with the memory she had just brought up, "Perhaps you could give me some insight into it? My experience has always given me respect for people in the field, even if my associates would consider them as low as the dirt they work with."
annd here's a follow-up as promised hehe-
The first reaction that Walker had in mind to having this tall soldier approach her was to flee the scene. She was so small compared to him, and both were most likely painfully aware of this fact. For Walker's side of things, this carried extra unsavory connotations as she rubbed her forehead and grumbled something incomprehensible under her breath. Something about size being related to dominance... Or some other related topic. Either way, she thought, And this is why I tend to always follow my husband when affairs like this go down.
Thinking of Smithson made her sigh - although surprisingly out of contentment - as she looked up at the mecha suit in front of her and stated, "Um, sir, I think you could be mistaken." Her voice, however, remained unusually soft, the intimidation factor still running through her blood. The middle-aged woman was aware of this as she quickly looked away and muttered several curses under her breath, clearly resenting the fact that she could just seem... So vulnerable... And in front of someone who most likely didn't mean any harm!
She looked up again. Right?
"I am no blacksmith, unfortunately, but yes, I do work with steel. Creatures specialized in steel, that is," she explained further while holding her hands behind her back. Somewhere in the process, she believed that acting like nothing was happening would lead to her looking at least as intimidating as usual. It seemed to be working, although she couldn't exactly tell due to the helmet covering the other party's face. "Nevertheless, I do believe that I might be able to help fix your issue, albeit not by myself." The temptation to chuckle was there, but she resisted it; she had no reason to, but she did it anyways.
Better to be safe than sorry in this regard.
Plainly, Walker finished, "I have some connections who are far more experienced with technology like your suit than myself. Perhaps I could refer you to them?" She gave him a smile - not that it mattered because of how shallow it probably was. "Maybe along the way, we could talk and get to know each other better. You seem like the respectable individual, anyways. Please, do tell me more about yourself, sir."
The unnamed soldier tilts his head, observing mrs Walker from a distance, trying to compile information on this civilian. It was known that she held a particular interest in steel and has a great reputation. She is loyal to her region. He liked that about her. That she was loyal, just, trusted, held a great reputation. Everyone respects her, she was a valued citizen. On top of this, he did very much like that she likes steel. Perhaps she will like him too if he ever approached her.
The soldier reflects to his reputation as his mind lingered on Walker. He thought what he doing was just, thought he was being loyal to his home world/region. But in the end, he was exiled and labeled ineffective, broken, a rouge soldier. He wished he still had a place to call home, wish his home planet did not think badly of him. He was no longer vaulted.
Then he remembered he had a few things he had to fix regarding his armor. And Walker was an expert with steel, maybe she can advise. The soldier made his way towards her.
"It is said you have a passion for steels. If I may boldly ask. Can you assistance me. Part of my armor is not functioning the way it used to. Perhaps with you experience in the field of metal, you can help correct this issue for me."
(Oh, i didn't see this until now. LOL. responding!)
The unnamed soldier looked at Gregory, tilting his head, studying the shivering man. "Yes. I protect people. The weak and the innocent. They are the one who suffers from war."
The soldier tilts his head the other way, still studying him. He reaches over and gently moves Greg's curly black hair away from his face so he can have a better look at him. The rouge soldier then tenderly brushes Greg's cheek, "Are you are in pain. In distress. Scared. I am here. I will protect you. You have my word. I won't part from you until you feel safe."
The soldier was unlike those Gregory had met in the previous years-- powerful, lawless without hypocrisy, but ultimately, as he found, compassionate. He might have not looked the part, but he was compassionate. For a moment, the smaller man shifted, disturbed by envy and for a moment less than happy about the soldier's presence. He was reminded most of all of how things used to be, when he was a good man.
He shivered underneath his cloak, peering up at the soldier with sickly, pale eyes. He spoke quietly, his voice raspy and barely audible to the other, "You-- You can help them, right?" he asked, "Help the people?"
A shudder raced through his body, and with it he gave a fatigued inhale and then exhale. "If only more men were like you..." he added, "This war is so... so silly..."
here's a follow-up u_u
Gregory didn't look at Skinner. He buried the bottom half of his face into the navy blanket, keeping the fleece wrapped around the entirety of his body. It was a little obvious that he wasn't listening-- or, rather, he struggled to. Such lethargy wasn't unusual for him these days. He tucked his head in and shifted uncomfortably. His fingertips felt numb from the cold. Not that the room was anywhere near cold, hopefully not at a time like this, but he shivered nevertheless. Such was his illness. He had no choice but to sit and try to follow the older man's words.
He didn't think of himself as benevolent. Not even remotely these days. He abandoned the temple a long time ago. He wished he could go back, but he gave up any hope of that happening years ago.
He paused in between breaths. Neither was he sociable. He could hardly manage a proper response to Skinner in his state. Nothing more than a simple answer to his last question.
"I would-- would like another blanket, please..."
Skinner eyed the other man, neatly folding his hands together as he leaned back on his little chaise that definitely wasn't starting to creak under his weight. The moment was quiet, and as much as he thought the other party was worth analyzing on a psychological level, Skinner nonetheless had to admit that there was a deeper component as to why he found him so intriguing... It might be a bit on left field, he thought with a frown while taking a sip of tea, but it really does seem like he has a spark in him... Smoldering, yet still there...
It wasn't like he could attribute that trait to just anyone.
"You interest me, sir," he mused aloud, "I can't help but have no pity for you." With bright eyes, he laughed cheerfully before setting his cup down. He waved his hand and exclaimed with a hoot, "It's not what you may expect, of course! I see no reason to focus on all the travesties you've been through, in spite of their magnitude! You strike me as the person who's much more than that!" Skinner stopped to think for a bit, before a more solemn expression swooped across his face; of course, the atmosphere was still fairly casual, yet it was shifted in a more thoughtful direction as Skinner got all caught up in his mental processes.
"In all seriousness, really, I can argue that you're a testament to the resilience of the human, as mechanical as it can be," the middle-aged aristocrat stated while giving the other party a soft smile, "One only hears about the selfishness of people, but never the opposite." He shot a quick glance over at a bookshelf before continuing, "You stand as the latter, the one who keeps on giving and somehow defies instinct. It's almost counterproductive, yet it works. Perhaps I could try it... I really can't help but admire such a rare attribute."
"I know the world of politics is tough, and it takes willpower to not succumb to the sirens of brutality and stoicism. There are folks - far too many, really - who'd do anything to secure their ranking, one that they'll just pass onto their children when they die. It's just... Odd, seeing such selfish acts being committed for something so temporary and abstract. If only one broke society down into its basic components... That could work better... But back to you, yes? You, despite everything, have remained the paragon of the untouched human, one who remains truly altruistic and loving to others. You may not think that, yet it's there. There's just some... Digging that needs to be done. But I do reckon that, with time, progress can be made. The seed's still there, sir. It just needs the proper nourishment, and it's clear that your situation has left you deprived of what you deserve-"
Yet just as he was about to get extremely sentimental, Skinner cut himself off and asked, "By the way, you okay in that blanket over there? It's really not that cold in here."
quick follow-up to the below post... I'd low-key die for NV and you know it- *pensive*
Skinner adjusted his scarf while eyeing the entity - muttering, "I suppose you're not wrong...", under his breath. He had to admit: his background was indeed a bit easy. His parents had loved him and meant well, he had a high ranking, and popularity was something that came of ease to him. Well, the latter was only half-true; it took some time before he wasn't leered at every time he sent one of his bugs out to battle, but... At least he got what he wanted?
Giving the other party a grin, he replied, "I guess you'd be right on how rare such a trait is, but it's also a matter of conditioning. I've been rewarded for acting this way, so I keep doing it. It's quite logical, actually." He lifted a hand and chuckled. "Trust me, the League is a peculiar microcosm of the real world. Since I've been away from home, I keep getting reminded of what it was like before I really achieved a name for myself, but I'm sure I'll make something of it in time." The longing in the other party's voice did little to throw Skinner off, despite the latter's naivety to such an emotion. The closest he had ever been to the feeling was when he got married and wished to himself that their marriage would be more than just an alliance, but...
That didn't work out, did it?
He closed his eyes and rubbed his hands, his smile fading slightly as the memory simmered - before finally going out. It was clear that he was relieved when this occurred thanks to the sigh that came out of his mouth. It was a blight in his record, a stain tarnishing an otherwise jovial individual; Skinner supposed that he couldn't judge himself too harshly for it, since he probably should've known that it wouldn't have worked out anyways. They were a bit foolish to reach down when selecting someone for me... His brows crinkled in thought as he put a hand up to his chin.
"I could give you the details if you want," the middle-aged man pondered aloud, his tone initially a bit somber. However, it was quick to lighten up again as he added, "And yes, that includes my skincare routine. It takes a lot to make sure I don't look like I'm eighty from all the stress, yes?" His grin returned with a vengeance as he started to hoot in mirth. "It's not as difficult as one may think, but it makes all the difference! And no, I didn't break into my wife's makeup kit! Not once!"
"You are... remarkable," breathed NV as they stared intensely at Skinner. "Life has been cruel to you. Fate has been cruel to you. You trained animals no one believed in, and you married someone who wouldn't even look at you. But you continued to smile each and every day. You continued to be kind and friendly. Many weaker people would have crumbled under that pressure. I would have crumbled, too. But not you. Because you're incredible. You're resilient. This golden personality of yours is reflected in your looks." They took in Skinner's appearance. "Tall. Broad. Your smiles have hidden any wrinkles your age would have normally shown. You glow with health. And all because of your kindness. I wonder what it would be like to be that kind. I wonder if people would like me. Would you tell me? Could you?"
"Envy is an emotion I can understand." She said touching a hand to her heart "I can also understand hating yourself so much that you just want to be someone else.." She griped her topcoat "its an ugly little emotion isnt it? Always wanting what someone else has.. And even if you take it, you know you will never truly have it as it dose not belong to you." She opened her blue eyes and smiled at the other. "You..dont give yourself enough credit. You've been through alot and you struggle with yourself but your still here in front of me. Your stronger then you think and Your more important then you know. She looked at nothing for a moment before smiling. "I also wonder what it's like to feel loved..I wonder if someday I will know what that is.." She smiled. "And I hope one day you know that emotion too."
A focused gaze found its way to her face, observing it. Like a antique doll, she was pure porcelain, imperfection not even alive in the faintest blemish. Her eyes were like pools of glistening water, the kind that if one drank from it, they'd find their youth for centuries to come. Everything about her screamed that she was gentle, from the tips of her heels to the fluffed, pink foliage pinned in her hair. To someone like him, the complete opposite of the tranquility she so elegantly emitted, it was a breather, a fresh lapse in time. These types were hard to come by in modern days, as all the 'good' individuals had been tainted already, and therefore stumbling across her in passing was almost a gift.
She seems uncomfortable the longer her stares at her and he realizes this, offering an attempt to break the ice. A laugh. Hummed and reserved, as if he'd always been a polite individual that never did anything wrong. "Sorry." Is spoken first and he removes his vision from her face, but only momentarily. Sneakily, it drives itself back onto her features. "You have that soft sense about you, you know? I like it. You seem like someone who takes care of themselves and knows boundaries." Things he wanted to break. "I don't see many of your kind left."
"Another man I can relate to." Otto murmured. It was something he liked, to be around those he viewed as similar to himself. There was no judgement, no accusations. "Being with someone who is so... so intent, so to speak--" He cut himself off with an apprehensive bit of laughter. His lip quirked into a smile too gentle for the rest of his face. His fingers curled around the stem of a snifter, his other hand reached underneath his desk, feeling around for whatever alcohol he had to pour inside it.
More nervously than before, he continued on. "While our tastes are very much the same... You're a brilliant sportsman, and baseball is--" He paused with quite the uncharacteristic stutter, still thinking on what he stated before. "It's a game I don't see played often these days... Perhaps by a gaggle of children on the streets, but you're not that, no. You're a real man. I'd be happy to fund whatever you have going for yourself in the future, but I'm afraid my money would be useless where you're from."
Then, he sighed. "You are fairly handsome, though." he stated, "And, that said... Would you like bourbon?"
maybe a follow-up ?