mattmanganon
Eddie Brock
Captain Uni
Lord Wraith
Cyberlad
Candy Cane Elf
Love Dove
Oso
Azure Bubbles
Agunimon...he was seated at a café.
It was a strange experience, as though peering through eyes that were not his own. He was holding a cup of something, struck by the fact that his skin was a violet hue. And then wondering why he'd think that was strange.
Someone was laughing. As he glanced across the table, Salaak seemed to be enjoying a joke told by Ch'p. Except, neither looked the same. They were clearly Salaak and Ch'p, but... younger. Ch'p was bright eyed and bushy tailed in a way quite unlike the H'lven that he knew.
The H'lven that he knew now? Did that even make sense?
This was Xabas. They were on a sting. Set-up in a café outside the dust house that another Green Lantern had worked her way inside of. They were supposed to be waiting for the signal to go in and make the arrest.
Kilowog and a Xudarian were on the other side of the street, pretending to argue sports at the newsstand.
Suddenly, the sound of glass shattering overhead heralded the ejection of a dusthead from inside the drug house. The trio at the table were caught speechless, as sounds of laser fire echoed from inside the building. The ejected dusthead slammed down against a parked tram, setting out an alarm that sounded up and down the alleys.
That wasn't the signal they'd discussed. But it was the signal now.
"Go! Go! Go!"
Their outward appearances changed, as all five converged on the door to the house. Black and white and green displayed prominently as Kilowog hit the door like a tank to open the way...
The boy awoke to find a family of chipmunks nesting on top of him.
It was disorienting at first. Like, was it all just a dream? Or not? He stared at his hand. So small. So pink. So alien. It was as though he didn't recognize himself and it made him question just who he was.
Who was he supposed to be?
"You off to find Kilowog, dear?"
The boy blinked the sleep away from his eyes, lowering his hand away from his face to find a matriarchal chipmunk who was wearing a red and white check patterned apron staring patiently at him, even while she was standing on top of his chest. Kai-ro's restlessness had apparently roused the H'lven family.
Family. It was a concept that the Tibetan boy was still trying to come to an understanding of. As happened in Tibet, Kai-ro was presented to the monastery as an orphan for the monks to raise. It was entirely possible that his parents were alive, and just couldn't afford to take care of him. Or else didn't want him. Or maybe he was legitimately an orphan.
He didn't know, he just knew that growing up in a monastery was not at all akin to having a family. A reality that he'd never so much as thought about until he'd found himself spending time with Ch'p's family.
And wistfully wondering how things could have been different. "Yes'm," the boy said, sitting up carefully as the trio of H'lven's scampered around the proverbial Gulliver. "You have to get up early if you want to catch Kilowog before he starts training," the boy added.
"Oh, well that is a shame. I was going to make us all breakfast."
That proclamation stopped Kai-ro even as he was starting to get up.
"Well... not that early, I guess."
He was going to grow old down here.
Wrapped in a scrap of wool cloth, the small H'lven Lantern was perched atop a windowsill on a building that was across from Robot Emotional Underground. He'd been on the stake-out overnight, feeling each hour sap away at his bones. His back ached. His knees were killing him. And he had some arthritis in his left elbow that was really setting his nerves on fire.
Why didn't he remember stake-outs being this miserable?
The answer, because they hadn't been. Twenty years ago, he'd have been playing fizzbin with Salaak. Cheating at cards just to annoy the Slyggian shark. Bastard knew the rules so well, he could run the tables on just about everyone by card counting.
Strange. At the time, they'd only gotten on each other's nerves. Now, the memory of those same arguments brought the ghost of a smile to the H'lven's face.
Movement. Lights overhead directed Ch'p's eyes upward, tracking where a descending shuttle seemed to be ferrying a delivery to the back of the club. "Showtime," the H'lven muttered under his breath. A green construct depicting a pair of macrobinoculars formed in front of the rodent's face.
The Daxamites, Tweedledee and Tweedledumbass, were offloading containers of some sort. Ch'p's mind was already working to try and devise a plan to get a peek inside of one of those.
A shadow moving along the ground alerted him to another presence. Judging by the shadow, a big presence at that. Adjusting the binoculars, the H'lven shifted his gaze around where the unloading was taking place.
The color was what stood out to him most.
His fur bristled. His eyes squinting as he leaned forward, the disbelief evaporating as recognition set in. "What the..."
This changed everything.
Discarding the wool scrap, the H'lven leapt up into the air. This stake-out had just gotten hot. Uncomfortably hot. Ch'p didn't know where Abin Sur was. Heaven. Paradise. Maybe frolicking in the Elysian Fields, or whatever it was that Ungarans believed in, but he really could have used the back-up right about now.
For the first time in more than a decade, he wished that Salaak was with him.
Skyrocketing up into the atmosphere, Ch'p moved like a chipmunk with a purpose. Raising his ring up toward his head, the H'lven said, "Aya, fire up the eng..."
3,600 Sectors.
7,200 Lanterns just for regular patrols. Then there was the administrative overhead, the Honor Guard, dispatchers, SWAT... and just one Slyggian to try and pull it all together with any semblance of order.
In the center of a myriad of windows boasting information about the known universe, the Clarissi stood in the eye of the storm. He would not permit the chaos of the wider cosmos to permeate or take root here. Here, there would be order. Precision.
"Where's that report on Tamaran?" Salaak barked curtly, even as he was perusing the latest long-range survey of the Vega System. The Spider Guild was on the move again. He was almost certain of...
He was out of breath.
Staggered, one of the Slyggian's four arms reached back to his chest. It was tight. So tight that he couldn't breathe. A sharp pain pieced his ring finger, radiating outward until it seemed to consume all of him in a burning pain that was not physical as much as it was ephemeral.
As much as it was emotional.
He dropped to a knee, staggered and unsteady as two arms fumbled for a chair that wasn't there. He'd always been conscious of the connection. It was a bond forged by two rings united in wills for more decades than some of these Green Lanterns today had even been alive.
A connection he hadn't thought about now in...
The connection was gone now. Broken. Severed.
"Oh, no."
It was a strange experience, as though peering through eyes that were not his own. He was holding a cup of something, struck by the fact that his skin was a violet hue. And then wondering why he'd think that was strange.
Someone was laughing. As he glanced across the table, Salaak seemed to be enjoying a joke told by Ch'p. Except, neither looked the same. They were clearly Salaak and Ch'p, but... younger. Ch'p was bright eyed and bushy tailed in a way quite unlike the H'lven that he knew.
The H'lven that he knew now? Did that even make sense?
This was Xabas. They were on a sting. Set-up in a café outside the dust house that another Green Lantern had worked her way inside of. They were supposed to be waiting for the signal to go in and make the arrest.
Kilowog and a Xudarian were on the other side of the street, pretending to argue sports at the newsstand.
Suddenly, the sound of glass shattering overhead heralded the ejection of a dusthead from inside the drug house. The trio at the table were caught speechless, as sounds of laser fire echoed from inside the building. The ejected dusthead slammed down against a parked tram, setting out an alarm that sounded up and down the alleys.
That wasn't the signal they'd discussed. But it was the signal now.
"Go! Go! Go!"
Their outward appearances changed, as all five converged on the door to the house. Black and white and green displayed prominently as Kilowog hit the door like a tank to open the way...
G R E E N L A N T E R N
"Mary Jane's Last Dance" [ Part VIII ] [ See You Again ]The boy awoke to find a family of chipmunks nesting on top of him.
It was disorienting at first. Like, was it all just a dream? Or not? He stared at his hand. So small. So pink. So alien. It was as though he didn't recognize himself and it made him question just who he was.
Who was he supposed to be?
"You off to find Kilowog, dear?"
The boy blinked the sleep away from his eyes, lowering his hand away from his face to find a matriarchal chipmunk who was wearing a red and white check patterned apron staring patiently at him, even while she was standing on top of his chest. Kai-ro's restlessness had apparently roused the H'lven family.
Family. It was a concept that the Tibetan boy was still trying to come to an understanding of. As happened in Tibet, Kai-ro was presented to the monastery as an orphan for the monks to raise. It was entirely possible that his parents were alive, and just couldn't afford to take care of him. Or else didn't want him. Or maybe he was legitimately an orphan.
He didn't know, he just knew that growing up in a monastery was not at all akin to having a family. A reality that he'd never so much as thought about until he'd found himself spending time with Ch'p's family.
And wistfully wondering how things could have been different. "Yes'm," the boy said, sitting up carefully as the trio of H'lven's scampered around the proverbial Gulliver. "You have to get up early if you want to catch Kilowog before he starts training," the boy added.
"Oh, well that is a shame. I was going to make us all breakfast."
That proclamation stopped Kai-ro even as he was starting to get up.
"Well... not that early, I guess."
He was going to grow old down here.
Wrapped in a scrap of wool cloth, the small H'lven Lantern was perched atop a windowsill on a building that was across from Robot Emotional Underground. He'd been on the stake-out overnight, feeling each hour sap away at his bones. His back ached. His knees were killing him. And he had some arthritis in his left elbow that was really setting his nerves on fire.
Why didn't he remember stake-outs being this miserable?
The answer, because they hadn't been. Twenty years ago, he'd have been playing fizzbin with Salaak. Cheating at cards just to annoy the Slyggian shark. Bastard knew the rules so well, he could run the tables on just about everyone by card counting.
Strange. At the time, they'd only gotten on each other's nerves. Now, the memory of those same arguments brought the ghost of a smile to the H'lven's face.
Movement. Lights overhead directed Ch'p's eyes upward, tracking where a descending shuttle seemed to be ferrying a delivery to the back of the club. "Showtime," the H'lven muttered under his breath. A green construct depicting a pair of macrobinoculars formed in front of the rodent's face.
The Daxamites, Tweedledee and Tweedledumbass, were offloading containers of some sort. Ch'p's mind was already working to try and devise a plan to get a peek inside of one of those.
A shadow moving along the ground alerted him to another presence. Judging by the shadow, a big presence at that. Adjusting the binoculars, the H'lven shifted his gaze around where the unloading was taking place.
The color was what stood out to him most.
His fur bristled. His eyes squinting as he leaned forward, the disbelief evaporating as recognition set in. "What the..."
This changed everything.
Discarding the wool scrap, the H'lven leapt up into the air. This stake-out had just gotten hot. Uncomfortably hot. Ch'p didn't know where Abin Sur was. Heaven. Paradise. Maybe frolicking in the Elysian Fields, or whatever it was that Ungarans believed in, but he really could have used the back-up right about now.
For the first time in more than a decade, he wished that Salaak was with him.
Skyrocketing up into the atmosphere, Ch'p moved like a chipmunk with a purpose. Raising his ring up toward his head, the H'lven said, "Aya, fire up the eng..."
3,600 Sectors.
7,200 Lanterns just for regular patrols. Then there was the administrative overhead, the Honor Guard, dispatchers, SWAT... and just one Slyggian to try and pull it all together with any semblance of order.
In the center of a myriad of windows boasting information about the known universe, the Clarissi stood in the eye of the storm. He would not permit the chaos of the wider cosmos to permeate or take root here. Here, there would be order. Precision.
"Where's that report on Tamaran?" Salaak barked curtly, even as he was perusing the latest long-range survey of the Vega System. The Spider Guild was on the move again. He was almost certain of...
He was out of breath.
Staggered, one of the Slyggian's four arms reached back to his chest. It was tight. So tight that he couldn't breathe. A sharp pain pieced his ring finger, radiating outward until it seemed to consume all of him in a burning pain that was not physical as much as it was ephemeral.
As much as it was emotional.
He dropped to a knee, staggered and unsteady as two arms fumbled for a chair that wasn't there. He'd always been conscious of the connection. It was a bond forged by two rings united in wills for more decades than some of these Green Lanterns today had even been alive.
A connection he hadn't thought about now in...
The connection was gone now. Broken. Severed.
"Oh, no."
