( bakugo katsuki is a teenager with an explosive temper and a heart full of heroism in spite of that; you'll get heavy vibes of indomitable will, the earth before you will feel like it's crumbling at all times, the sound of wicked laughter in the face of towering walls and shapeless, dark dangers. his symbiote power is literally "pocket" dimensions in his pockets and it's not his only power. there u go. )
THE STATION ( )
-- you want me to hold your damn hand, while I'm at it?
[ Nobody said anything about not having the right to poke around the place, but he doesn't have to be so nasty about the choice of companions. Or does he? Don't you all have something to complain about, in one way or another? Maybe he's just more vocal about what he can and has chosen, against what he can't and hasn't.
The hallway is a narrow, one-after-another sort of adventure. At certain points, he has to turn sideways to fit broadening shoulders through the opening, and wriggle through into the next room. It all reminds him of a funhouse, a deathly funhouse - if something goes bad down here, they can escape in single-file. A cursory glance back at his companion, and it's clear he doesn't trust them to function like a capable, sentient being at all. Good thing he's here, to pick up their slack. ]
I don't know what you're looking for, so if it's something in particular, you better let me know.
[ OR ELSE.He's found the rec room, the conservatory looking out onto what he'd discovered to be artificial space ( a vision, not a reality ), a spiraling staircase, an orb-like room without any sensible gravity and cushions scattered all throughout. A hall of hexagonal cabinets that had opened onto mirrors. Now, he wriggles his way through the opening ahead of his companion and scoff-groans. ]
You order this?
[ guess what it's a ball pit, and then a whole lot of other kid playland stuff beyond that ]
CHORIUS ( )
[ This place is the pits.
Literally, they call it the Pits, on account of it smells worse than a Xcordan's seventh underleg. You know the one - it's the one tucked in the middle of all the rest of those undulating little segments, the one that's the most difficult to clean after a kill. Gets the Xcordan their "Carrion Crusader" nickname and everything. There's none of them around right now, thankfully. Just a back alley gaming parlor, equipped with a couple of Chariot X200 gaming platform and a whole network of crime syndicates, just looking for trouble. The Chariot is several astral cycles out of date, but that hasn't stopped the junker kids before from getting on and having themselves a ride. Like the one who's in it right now.
Some native chick (?), eager to make nice with a couple foreigners. Eager to get paid.
At the left of the Chariot's seat, there's -- well, that kid. Blonde hair gone ashy-grey from all the fallout from the planet's dying center, a black corecloth filter strapped across his face, keeping the worst of the pollution from killing him. His arms are bound up in black cloth, layers and layers of it, and that's what puts him on edge the most. Down here in the Pits, there's all sorts of combustible gases and powdered fibers floating around, and the wrong sort of twitch turns the Pits into a crater. Another crater, to be honest. He hovers over the kid in the seat, hands clutching the back of it - impatient and tetchy. ]
She's been in there too long, [ he snaps, in reference to the kid he's managed to coerce into running recon in the bowels of the Harbor - the only remaining digital system. ]
Either she's playing us, or she fucked up.
[ He jerks his head towards the door. Fucking watch the door, or watch his back. There's plenty of dangerous-looking aliens in this place, and some of them are starting to take notice of the strange goings on over here. Which means there's the dilemma: defend the girl and maybe get the goods, or bust on outta' here before you get overrun. ]
WILDCARD(S)
[ An argument. A miscommunication. A rescue. A moment's peace. Peace, interrupted. A delivery to be made. A delivery to be intercepted. Overwhelmed. Underwhelmed. An invasion of privacy. Shared dreams. Images, prompts. LET'S DO THIS. ]
what's up lesser beings and background characters
( bakugo katsuki is a teenager with an explosive temper and a heart full of heroism in spite of that; you'll get heavy vibes of indomitable will, the earth before you will feel like it's crumbling at all times, the sound of wicked laughter in the face of towering walls and shapeless, dark dangers. his symbiote power is literally "pocket" dimensions in his pockets and it's not his only power. there u go. )
THE STATION ( )
-- you want me to hold your damn hand, while I'm at it?
[ Nobody said anything about not having the right to poke around the place, but he doesn't have to be so nasty about the choice of companions. Or does he? Don't you all have something to complain about, in one way or another? Maybe he's just more vocal about what he can and has chosen, against what he can't and hasn't.
The hallway is a narrow, one-after-another sort of adventure. At certain points, he has to turn sideways to fit broadening shoulders through the opening, and wriggle through into the next room. It all reminds him of a funhouse, a deathly funhouse - if something goes bad down here, they can escape in single-file. A cursory glance back at his companion, and it's clear he doesn't trust them to function like a capable, sentient being at all. Good thing he's here, to pick up their slack. ]
I don't know what you're looking for, so if it's something in particular, you better let me know.
[ OR ELSE.He's found the rec room, the conservatory looking out onto what he'd discovered to be artificial space ( a vision, not a reality ), a spiraling staircase, an orb-like room without any sensible gravity and cushions scattered all throughout. A hall of hexagonal cabinets that had opened onto mirrors. Now, he wriggles his way through the opening ahead of his companion and scoff-groans. ]
You order this?
[ guess what it's a ball pit, and then a whole lot of other kid playland stuff beyond that ]
CHORIUS ( )
[ This place is the pits.
Literally, they call it the Pits, on account of it smells worse than a Xcordan's seventh underleg. You know the one - it's the one tucked in the middle of all the rest of those undulating little segments, the one that's the most difficult to clean after a kill. Gets the Xcordan their "Carrion Crusader" nickname and everything. There's none of them around right now, thankfully. Just a back alley gaming parlor, equipped with a couple of Chariot X200 gaming platform and a whole network of crime syndicates, just looking for trouble. The Chariot is several astral cycles out of date, but that hasn't stopped the junker kids before from getting on and having themselves a ride. Like the one who's in it right now.
Some native chick (?), eager to make nice with a couple foreigners. Eager to get paid.
At the left of the Chariot's seat, there's -- well, that kid. Blonde hair gone ashy-grey from all the fallout from the planet's dying center, a black corecloth filter strapped across his face, keeping the worst of the pollution from killing him. His arms are bound up in black cloth, layers and layers of it, and that's what puts him on edge the most. Down here in the Pits, there's all sorts of combustible gases and powdered fibers floating around, and the wrong sort of twitch turns the Pits into a crater. Another crater, to be honest. He hovers over the kid in the seat, hands clutching the back of it - impatient and tetchy. ]
She's been in there too long, [ he snaps, in reference to the kid he's managed to coerce into running recon in the bowels of the Harbor - the only remaining digital system. ]
Either she's playing us, or she fucked up.
[ He jerks his head towards the door. Fucking watch the door, or watch his back. There's plenty of dangerous-looking aliens in this place, and some of them are starting to take notice of the strange goings on over here. Which means there's the dilemma: defend the girl and maybe get the goods, or bust on outta' here before you get overrun. ]
WILDCARD(S)
[ An argument. A miscommunication. A rescue. A moment's peace. Peace, interrupted. A delivery to be made. A delivery to be intercepted. Overwhelmed. Underwhelmed. An invasion of privacy. Shared dreams. Images, prompts. LET'S DO THIS. ]