Lemons

Amygdala Circuit

Besca's voice, even over the phone, was like a balm on the burn of Quinn's feelings, and it wasn't long before the breathing started, and the sobbing petered down to sniffing, then just breathing. Shaky, yes, and she could still feel the tears beading at the corner of her eye. But after only a few minutes, she shook her head, took a few more sniffles, blew her nose, and wiped her eye with the corner of her shirt sleeve.

The day was over. She did it. She made it.

She took took one or two more deep breaths, and—back to herself—remembered to press the video call button, pointing the camera at her tear-stained face.

Tear-stained, yes, which was not uncommon; was debatably the most common. But what her face wasn't was still crumpled. Her eye, though misty with tears, was clear and focused instead of faraway like it tended to be sometimes. There was a shadow behind it, certainly. More than what was usually present, even. But steady. By the way the phone was focused on her face, it was clear that her hand wasn't shaking, or was at least only trembling a minimal amount. On the whole, despite the sudden outpouring of emotion that resembled one of her emotional breakdowns, the way she looked now was as composed as she ever really could look.

The other side of the screen blinked on and Besca's face came into focus. She was exhausted, clearly, and the creases of worry that Quinn had become so used to were pasted on her face. She clearly hadn't showered or brushed her hair in probably longer than was hygienic, and her face had a sunken look to it. The bags under her eyes had grown more pronounced. Really, she looked like hell.

But, like Quinn, her eye was bright, and she wore a smile that, while tired, was still wide, genuine, and clearly very happy.

And, a moment later, Quinn's face grew one to match. A sudden smile, one that she'd only matched once or twice before. And then, to make the blue moon even rarer, she gave a little self-conscious laugh.

"Ahaha, sorry about that. It's been a...well, a day, I'm just...it's a lot, you know?" she murmured, flopping down on her back so her hair spread out on the blanket like a crown as the smile grew more mellow. No less happy, but calmer.

"I'm so happy to see you."

Amygdala Circuit

Quinn breathed in a deep sigh as the door slid shut behind her with a pneumatic hiss, and then let it out in a long, heavy breath. She needed to get used to working out alone, she supposed. Peeling off her sweat-soaked clothing, she hucked it carelessly into the closet; she'd deal with it tomorrow. Unzipping the bag, she picked out another set of comfy clothes to sleep in and a bag of toiletries, then headed into the oversize bathroom.

Still overwhelmed at the absurd size of everything, she headed immediately to the sink. She'd shower in the morning. Brushed her teeth, spat, washed her face, stared at her reflection like she was somehow looking at somebody else. A CSC pilot. She wasn't sure she liked it very much. She wanted to go home already.

Speaking of home...

She knew it was late, but she also knew that Besca hadn't slept before midnight probably since Quinn had been on the Aerie, and she probably wasn't starting now. Stepping out of the bathroom, she flinched as she looked at the window, out into the dizzying void of space, then walked over and smacked the button to shut it. Too much, a little too much. Another heavy breath, then she pulled the phone out of her pocket and trotted over to the bed, taking a seat on it as her heart grew a little bit lighter. She might not be able to go home, but at least she could ask about it.

God. The mattress was just...god. Everything was so luxurious. But still...she paused, and was again slapped by how quiet it was, still. Probably even moreso now; any minute hum of activity there might've been was long gone, leaving only a silence that she could hear her heartbeat in. She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat, shook her head, flicked her braid back, and tapped at her phone to find her second most called contact after Deelie: Besca <3

She hesitated, just for a second, struck with a sudden nameless anxiety that she couldn't place. It passed in a blink, though, and she tapped on the contact, and made the call.

The first ring hadn't even ended when it was answered. And at having that link back to the Aerie formed...that link back to all that was familiar to her, here in this strange place where she knew nothing and nobody, really: it was suddenly too much. And before Besca could even say anything, Quinn's self-control detonated, and just like that, she burst into tears.

"Why is it so quiet here?"

Lem's Stash

_______________________________________________ // INFO D A T A Full Name - Hiei Moeko (日永燃衞子) Hometown - Asahikawa, Hokkaido Prefecture, Japan Quirk Type - Emitter Gender - Femme - // PERSONALITY P E R S O N A L I T Y Proud Issues with pride Strict Issues with people Gung-ho Issues with recklessness

Physical Description Hiei Moeko is a bizarrely tall girl, standing at nearly six feet already. Consequently, she stands much taller than most people in her class, including the boys, but especially the girls. She has long, bright red hair which she ties up in twin tails every day to keep it out of her face and off of her neck, and brilliant orange eyes held often at some degree of aggravation. She tends to wear an intense expression on her round face, like she's concentrating really hard on something a lot of the time. But the most notable part of her body is the center of her chest over her heart. It glows with a brilliant yellow-orange light that pulses along with her heartbeat. As her solar reservoir fills it grows brighter, and the pulsing less frequent. When it's full, it's a brilliant, unbroken light. As far as musculature goes, she doesn't have a ton. That's not to say she's unfit; but it's certainly not something she's prioritized, choosing instead to hone her Quirk. Though of course at school she wears her uniform, outside of it she prefers lightweight t-shirts and shorts. Because of her Quirk heating her from the inside it's difficult for her to get cold much of the time, so she just wears what she finds comfortable. She carries herself with pride, as—in her mind—befits a hero-to-be. Personal History Aoi has always been a computer person. Even when she was a small child, she was endlessly fascinated by them, often spending hours poking at them (and accomplishing nothing, of course, she was a small child after all). Her mother Kimiko, a four-armed programmer, indulged her daughter, let her fiddle around to her heart's content as long as she didn't touch the work stuff. Still, as Aoi grew, she nursed a private worry. Quirks were inherited. But Aoi didn't have four arms like her, and her husband... ...Well, Saiba Ryoutarou was Quirkless. And as Aoi grew and grew, past six, seven, eight, it looked like she might be Quirkless too. And some of the kids at school were starting to notice. So both Kimiko and Aoi were delighted--though Kimiko was deeply confused--to find that Aoi's legs had flickered and faded into pixelated data. And when she proudly walked into the classroom, hand in her pocket with her phone, and fell due to her unfamiliar physiology...she vanished. The class was instantly freaked out, and the teacher, even more so, running over in fear. Until... "Whoaaaa!" Character Arc Perhaps it's not obvious at first glance what's up with Aoi, and where her character development will go. Well, I point you to the above backstory and ask you to consider it. For as cheerful and chipper as Aoi is all the time, she's also burdened down by feelings of inadequacy. Being treated as Quirkless until mid-elementary school, and then being told, however gently, that her Quirk just wasn't cut out of hero work... well, it's left some marks on her psyche. Quirk Description Moeko's Quirk is Cannon Core. In addition to all normal functions, her heart serves as a reservoir for solar energy that she fills up every time she's exposed to sunlight, though of course the more direct the better. In addition to gaining physical resilience, speed, and strength, as well as resistance to heat and cold, commensurate to the state of her reservoir, the main function of her Quirk draws on her reservoir instead, funneling power out of it to create destructive lances of firelight.

Amygdala Circuit

As soon as Quinn got back in the lift and left the crowd behind, she let out a long, slow breath, and realized that she'd been holding it for a while. And for once, not solely out of anxiety; there had been a certain thrill in walking through the upper commons in full view and having people clustering around her—her alone—that she was quite unfamiliar with, but wasn't all unwelcome.

As she stared at the image in the door, she reached out her hand, laying it against her reflection's and marveling at how different it looked. It was so...sleek. Oh, what was that word she'd read in one of Dahlia's magazines once? Svelte? The last time she'd wore a dress was...well, it wasn't exactly a fun time for anybody—she felt her back teeth clench—but she was allowed to feel pretty now and then, right? She was allowed to feel pretty, and she was allowed to enjoy it when people cheered her name.

She'd somehow forgotten she was on the lift—it was just so quiet!—and jumped when the doors slid open before her. Stepping out, she was once more enwrapped in the cream-colored quiet. She stood still for a moment, then reached a hand into her pocket to check the time—

Oh. That was right, she didn't have any pockets in this, did she?

Well, whatever. It was probably about half an hour after lunch, so it was time anyway. Making her swift walk down the hall back to her dorm, she stepped into the enormous walk-in closet, nearly tripped over her luggage that she still needed to unpack, reminded herself that she still needed to order a dresser, and quickly—or, as quickly as someone vastly out of practice could—divested herself of her fancy new clothing, sliding a coathanger carefully into it and hanging it up as the first addition to her closet. She stared at it for another moment and found herself smiling.

Then she emptied out the Miséricorde bag, reclaimed her usual clothing, and popped it on. She breathed a sigh, one of paradoxical disappointment and relief, and checked the time for real this time. A little after one. It was a little later than she wished, but it was still around the right time, and she couldn't in good conscience wait any longer or else she'd start feeling guilty for skipping training. Tying up the drawstring in her sweatpants, she cracked her neck. Then she unzipped her bag just enough to pull out her water bottle, filled it up with fresh water in the bathroom, took a long, deep breath, and whacked the button to open her door again, wheeled on her heel to the right, and set off towards the gym.

Amygdala Circuit

Only a few seconds after Quinn sent the message, she received one back, and the anxiety that had shot to the surface began to quell:

You make plenty PLEASE buy the dress you look gorgeous!

And then, unexpectedly, another:

DERSS NOT GOOD HOW U GONA FIHGT IN A BLANKET BUY SUM KNIFES INSTEAD DUMB DEADGIRL

She blinked at it for a moment, confused, until she got to the deadgirl at the end, and her lips curled into a smile. Roaki saw it too. And that also meant that Roaki and Dahlia were spending time together, at least a little bit, and maybe they'd be less oil-and-water when she got back (she tried to avoid thinking about the part that when she got back, Dahlia would be leaving right after). Still, the smile remained. Dahlia had called her gorgeous, and Roaki had texted her. That was worth something, at least, right?

She fired back a quick <3 to Dahlia, and then, after a moment's consideration, made one final text: <3 (for Roaki)

So, the decision was made, and the dress would be hers. Reaching down again and digging through her pants pocket for her wallet after replacing her phone, she fished through that too, until she found her 'debit card,' which she didn't think she'd ever actually used before. She frowned for just a moment as she realized this dress didn't have any pockets, and she was going to need to buy a purse at some point too, which would also probably cost a lot on the Ange; it was too important that a pilot have their phone on them at all times. '

But that frown didn't last long; her mood was being buoyed back up by thoughts of Dahlia and Roaki before too long. So it was with a smile she came back out to the cashier. She'd kind of wanted to put her normal clothing back on, but...

She also kind of didn't want to take this off so soon. There was a butterfly flutter of anxiety in her gut about going back out into the Upper Commons wearing it, and the firm knowledge that she wouldn't be avoiding any kind of attention, but she'd already squared herself with the fact that she was going to get an excess of attention in Casoban anyway. Just like Dahlia asking about the bathroom had followed her, it was best if she chose where she was going to get that attention first so people remembered it best.

So as she was fiddling with the card in preparation for buying something so expensive, she asked,

"Can I have a bag for my other clothes and wear this out?"

Amygdala Circuit

Quinn...well, basked would be overly extreme, but she certainly absorbed the praise. She hadn't been told she looked wonderful or beautiful very often before. Not by somebody that meant it, at least, and she found that it was something that she could quite get used to. But before she could spend much longer enjoying it, the moment was shattered by those three words:

Ring it up.

Oh god.

With that phrase, visions of the price tags at the front of the store danced in her head, and her mouth suddenly went dry. She realized, at that exact moment, that she had no idea how much money she made, and how much she had to spend. Her pupil contracted, and she took a step back. "One moment!" she said, backing rapidly into the dressing room again and digging through her pants pocket to find her phone. Frantically navigating the menus and tapping on the wrong thing here and there because her hands were now shaking a bit for a reason vastly different from the normal, she finally arrived at her destination: the messages app. A few more taps brough her to her most texted contact: Deelie.

Texting as fast as she'd ever texted in her life, she held her arm out and took a quick picture of herself—looking perhaps a bit more perturbed than she did a moment ago—and attached it to the message before she finally tapped send.

Over in the Aerie, a message popped up on Dahlia's phone: a picture of a worried-looking Quinn in a very fancy dress, with the text beneath it:

DEELIE HOW MUCH MONEY DO I MAKE CAN I AFFORD 6500 DOLLARS

Amygdala Circuit

As the doorway—well, curtain, but still—to the tiny dressing room was thrown open, Quinn cringed backwards and visibly blanched. As she recovered and gave an apologetic look to Madam Dague, a sick feeling began to build in the pit of her stomach. She closed her eye, took a long, deep breath. A second. A third. Then she slid under the curtain and let it fall shut behind her.

For just a moment, standing there, she felt a fierce urge to grip at her upper arms to ground herself. But with a herculean effort and the sharp awareness that she wasn't going to be able to avoid this kind of thing as much in Casoban, she loosened her hands—which she realized were clenched stark white against the black fabric of the dress—and carefully hung it up on one of the hooks. A minute or so passed as Quinn jimmied her feet out of her shoes and shucked her clothing off, tossing them haphazardly against the wall, until she finally grabbed the dress off the hook, pulled down the hidden zipper, and stepped in.

Outside of the dressing room, noises of muted frustration could be heard as Quinn fiddled, back to the mirror, trying to find the zipper behind her to pull it up. No more than a minute, again, and there was a huff of satisfaction, and the sound of a zipper fastening.

Then there was silence outside, as Quinn stared at herself in the mirror.

She flicked her braid this way and that until she finally felt happy with how it settled, then stared again.

She was...

Quinn had never ascribed the word to herself before, as far as she could remember. But, at least to her untrained eye, she was...something like beautiful.

She hoped.

Well, there was someone qualified to tell just outside, right? So, screwing up her courage and doing her best to swallow the lump in her throat, she reached a shaking hand out, pulled the curtain aside—congratulating herself as she did—and gingerly stepped out.

"How...how do I look?"

Amygdala Circuit

It was fascinating to watching Madam Dague work, and Quinn found herself enjoying tailing after her as she bolted around, looking for dresses that she thought might fit Quinn. Equally fascinating was trying to figure out what had been wrong with the three dresses she'd pulled out of last season's clothing; they all looked beautiful to Quinn. But evidently they weren't right. A moment later, she disappeared into the back, and Quinn found herself alone for just a brief moment. She ran her hand lightly over the fabric of one of those that Dague had looked at before, a pretty pale gold midi dress with elaborate silver filigree around the hem.

She wasn't sure exactly what Madam Dague was talking about, making them from a mold, then going to Vienci. Or, well, she understood what the words meant, but she didn't quite get it. That was the hazard of being a pilot in RISC, she thought. There were only two of them, so she barely saw more of the outside world than she had back with her parents. She certainly hadn't had any time to experiment with creative stuff. And Casoban seemed so keen on fostering that somehow. She hadn't intended to indulge in it, but perhaps she should at least try.

After a bit, the shuffling and chattering came to an end, and the door popped open again. Quinn turned to see what Madam Dague had retrieved from the back room. To see...

See...

Wow.

"Wow," she breathed simultaneously, needing to consciously remember to keep her mouth closed. The three new dresses that were arrayed in front of her were simply...mind-boggling, and her eye remained glued to them even as Dague hung them up and stepped back. Quinn had never seen anything so gorgeous. She had a sudden and very keen realization that what was out on the racks and what was being proudly displayed in front of her weren't even in the same league. They were just...they were all gorgeous, all three of them. So...?

She stepped forward tentatively, running a cautious hand down the fabric again. They really were gorgeous. But she knew she couldn't just take all three. She needed to pick one. Only a moment before she took a half-step over to be in front of the two black ones. The white one just...didn't seem right somehow. So it was between these two. She tried to take a closer to look, to figure out which one would be prettier and more comfortable. They both looked...

And that's when she saw it. The one on the right; the high neck, just like her pilot suit. She imagined wearing something that reminded her of that during a fancy party, and had to stop herself from cringing. So then, that only left...

She reached out and very very carefully took the hanger with the kaleidoscoping golden patterns off the hook, trying to hold it far enough up that it wouldn't drag on the ground, and turned to Madam Dague like she was holding a pile of pure gold.

"Should I...try it on?"

Amygdala Circuit

Quinn's eye widened—it seemed to be doing that a lot today, and perhaps for good reason—as she heard the shouting from behind the door, and then the figure bolted out.

This...Madam Dague? The word sounded familiar, like she'd heard it in a fairy tale as a kid, but she shoved that thought aside...she was apparently very excited. It was beginning to really sink in for Quinn that Cyril was right, and that people in Casoban seemed to like her. When she heard the Runan hero, she almost had to resist turning to see if Deelie had suddenly appeared behind her. But no, it was her. Maybe she wasn't the Hero of Runa, but she was a Runan hero.

When Madam Dague laid a gentle hand on Quinn's shoulder, she let herself be guided, coming to rest in front of the wall of dresses. They were all so pretty...sure, there were some that Quinn instinctually knew wouldn't look good on her. She thought. But there were just so many that were gorgeous, she didn't even know where3 to begin. So she really, honestly had no idea how to answer Madam Dague's question. She bit her lower lip in something vaguely like discomfort, then looked up at Dague.

"I don't...really know. I mean," she hastily followed, "I've never had a formal dress before." She plucked at her shirt, suddenly keenly aware of how different the pilot cultures in Runa and Casoban were and self-conscious of wearing super casual clothing out into the public commons. "Maybe something yellow or gold that goes with my eye? I was just...I don't really know what looks good on me, so I was hoping that you could maybe help me figure it out."

Amygdala Circuit

Quinn waved back at Cyril as he walked off, keeping her voice down a bit as she replied "See you," in an attempt to keep from catching the attention of the mob again. As he departed and a crowd went with him, Quinn looked surreptitiously around to make sure nobody was watching before taking her huge braid and shoving it down the back of her shirt before coiling it up on itself to stop it from falling out. The last thing she wanted was to look like she had a tail.

That done, she set off into the upper commons of the Ange, trying her best to not look around like a tourist and to keep her bangs swept over the right side of her face to hid the eyepatch. There wasn't much she could do about the yellow, but at the very least, her clothing was unremarkable enough...

Oh.

That was probably a problem, actually.

Making sure she kept walking near the edge and didn't run into anybody, she flicked her eye around to the people around her, at their fancy designer bags and—more to the point—clothing that probably cost more than the annual maintenance of the Aerie. She was wearing a baggy t-shirt and sweatpants. She was definitely going to get noticed: her clothing was too unremarkable. It was so unremarkable that it wrapped right back around to being extremely remarkable. Right. People planned their entire year over visits to the Ange, right? That's what Cyril had said. These people were way rich, and they had clothing to match.

An image popped into her mind: Claire, that woman from the restaurant, and her black-and-gold dress. She narrowed her eye. She'd thought then that she wanted that dress, and...

Well, she was on the Ange. There were expensive stores all around her.

She scoped shops out as she walked, doing her best to keep her back turned to most of the people in the concourse so as to avoid being noticed as much as possible. She knew that once a single person saw her, the rest of them would too. Really, it was only a matter of time. But the longer she could go without being mobbed, the better.

Oooh, that looked good. A small shop with broad glass front, through which Quinn could see that it was mostly empty inside. And could also see a series of very nice, very pretty dresses. It looked fancy. And peering at the price tags, her eyebrow raised. It was definitely fancy. Looking up at the sign—a lovely calligraphic rendering of a dragger, over which was superimposed the word Miséricorde—she felt her interest piqued even more. So she turned in, leaving the hubbub of the plaza behind her. Once she was inside, she felt immediately better. It was quiet, but not too quiet; there was faint chatter, and soft symphonic music played through speakers in the ceiling that she couldn't see, or maybe out of the pale mauve wall paneling. Ducking into an empty aisle, she took a deep breath, then another, then a third. Then, making sure she was out of easy view of the windows, she pulled her braid out of her shirt and shook her hair out, settling it back into the way it naturally fell.

Peeking out of the aisle, she spied a store clerk arranging dresses, and nobody else. Sighing out a breath of relief, she walked over, feet tapping quietly on the clean white tiling, and scuffed her shoe gently on the floor to let the clerk know she was there.

"Um, excuse me," she started shyly, keenly aware of how inexperienced she was in this field, "but do you know if any of these would look good on me?"