Lemons

Amygdala Circuit

Quinn stared out into space and blinked.

When the elevator had docked into the Ange, a part of her had truly expected the hangar to be, if not almost exactly like the Aerie's, at least something she was used to: functional, utilitarian, spartan. Metal girders, exposed struts, a ceiling that, though cavernous, was plain. The familiar air of...not chaos, that wasn't the word. Some kind of friendly disorder. The sound of people chattering, the smell of oil.

That was decidedly not what greeted her.

She had never in her life seen anything like this, not even remotely. This enormous cathedraline space, the stone facades, the almost eerie order, this...she didn't exactly know what to call it, she knew what she thought it was, but she didn't think she knew exactly the word to describe it. Was this what all the other nations' Savior Corps looked like? It was like being fancy, but it was the fancy version of what something fancy would be. Double fancy. Fancy squared.

She was so occupied staring openmouthed at the sheer volume of stuff all around her that she barely noticed when Toussaint started speaking, and had to blink a few times and backspace herself through his sentence, barely managing to grab the "onboarding package" in any kind of timely manner. Even then, even as he spoke to her, her eye kept straying to the area around her, wide as a moon. Only once he was finished did she manage to find her voice at all, and it was quiet, a bit far away, and...awestruck, perhaps, was the word.

"This place..."

A moment passed as she blinked dazedly, Then looked down at the package in her hands. "Catering staff? Private chefs?" Her voice became something almost squeaklike. Not from panic, but because In the moment, she was simply overwhelmed. "Visitation hours?"

She blinked a few times again, shook her head, and when she looked properly back at him, she was a bit more focused. And mildly embarrassed. She was a Runan pilot, after all; she needed to act like it. She settled her voice back into her normal register. "I...Thank you, Toussaint." Toussaint? Should she just call him Toussaint? Mr. Toussaint? She blinked again. What would a pilot call him? What would a pilot say here at all?

A pilot would—Dahlia would say..."Is there anything I should do first, before I start moving in? Introductions with any staff? Medical examinations?" That was better. That sounded like something Dahlia would say. "I don't want to cause any more trouble than I already have."

Arknights: 5S

I haven't quite finished it yet, since I'm doing my best to take my wrist as easily as I possibly can and using my fingers to play phone games does not fit into that. But goddamn, Irit and Rosmontis got my heart both bleeding and warming after she meets Loken.

Arknights: 5S

Well would you look at that, turns out that if given enough time I can write a post using only dictation. Sorry for the wait!

Arknights: 5S

Aoife sighed, heavy and long.

As much as she hated this—and she did hate it—it was...well, it was an occupational hazard now. She was an operator at Rhodes Island; did she really think that she'd be able to avoid talking to Victorians at all, even when working on a diverse landship like Rhodes? It wasn't as though she knew everyone on the ship, after all. as far as she knew, she interacted with tens of Victorians every day. Idiot, She admonished herself, get it together. You're making a fool of yourself. It wasn't like she had anywhere else to go if Rhodes Island fell through, after all. If this level of oripathy went untreated, she be dead before the end of the week, the month if she was really lucky.

So she did her best to take a long, calming breath, only to this time be rudely interrupted by a sudden stabbing pain from her chest that drew a sharp gasp from her and lingered for several seconds afterwards, setting her teeth grinding against each other. Her words grew grating, and maybe a bit harsher than she would have liked: "Then we're wasting time here."

By the time she bit the last word through to a close, she'd already turned and was heading towards customs, trying to breathe as little and as lightly as she could, using all of her self control to stop from doubling over as the knifelike sensation slowly, slowly began to abate and her jaws gradually unlocked themselves. She knew that it hadn't been long, but she still found herself wondering just how long it had been, and how long it would be until she could go back to Polka. It was too hot out, everything hurt, and she needed to talk to Victorians. Even though it was barely lunchtime, she was ready for this day to be over.

She had a sinking feeling it wouldn't be over any time soon.

Akimitsu Academy Kendo Club [INVITE ONLY]

Furukawa Fujiko

---

---

"I'm sorry, I'm trying to be less aggressive..."

---

Name:

Furukawa Fujiko

Age:

16

Appearance:

Perhaps the best word for Furukawa Fujiko's appearance is 'transitional.' Her hair is somewhat shaggy and unkempt as though grown out unevenly, and sits at an awkward length around the base of her neck. Narrow eyebrows that always seem at least slightly sad sit over a pair of dark gray eyes with much the same emotion. She's taller than a middle schooler but still not quite as tall as a high schooler, sitting at 152 centimeters: not short enough to be especially noticeable, but short enough to be a little bit self-conscious.

Her small size might have you thinking she's frail at first, but—as befits a girl is athletic as she is—if you look closer, you will find an incredibly athletic physique. Her trimmed stomach displays prominent abs that are remarkably strong. Her legs are even moreso, packed with the wiry whipcord muscle that comes from running hard for hours, for days in a row. And yet for all the strength that her core and lower body present, anything above her abs is...not unfit, obviously, but being mainly a soccer player, she never really worked it out nearly as much. Of course she dabbled in other sports, but none of them held her interest in the same way, and so her upper body is much less developed than her lower.

On that note, Fujiko has a passionate hatred for her chest. Not that she's particularly against the concept, but...why did it have to grow as much as it did? It's unbelievably inconvenient, makes her stick out in a way she isn't fond of, makes it frustrating to do anything even the slightest bit active, and gives her back pain besides. Unless she's going to a formal event of some variety, she's in a sports bra 95% of the time. Even on the rare occasion that she isn't wearing a sports bra, she tends to wear tight tops, but not too tight; For example, close fitting tee shirts. Too loose and any rigorous physical activity becomes a massive pain, too tight and that's uncomfortable all on its own.

At the moment, Fujiko has a strange way of carrying herself. While to strangers she looks perfectly respectable, for people who know her, she looks a touch stiff, vaguely uncomfortable, a little bit like an imported exotic pet that's has been cowed into submission (which isn't exactly far off, to be honest), forced to fit into a mold that has no business in. Consequently, behind the movement that she tries to make as graceful as possible, there is a subtle tension. Said tension is most apparent in stressful situations, where on occasion she can look extremely vicious and aggressive until she can reign it in.

Personality:

Fujiko's personality only encapsulates further that sense of transitions. As one could probably surmise by looking at her bearing, she has two distinctly oppositional pieces of her personality. There is the Fujiko that her parents have envisioned: the shy, calm, sweet girl who is distinctly and unequivocally feminine. This is the face of Fujiko that most people see now. She's a pleasant person to be around, she's patient, she's kind, and she's overall generally sweet. She's very intelligent, and she's always ready to study if she needs to. Really, she's growing into that picture perfect traditional conservative image of a 'true Japanese lady.'

And then there's the actual Fujiko: a wild, unrestrained tomboy, who takes a wild, unrestrained joy in her life. As much as she's tried to bury this part of her personality, it has admittedly not been entirely successful. Even now, sometimes she snaps and the tomboy rears her shaggy head. Because of the circumstances which led to this, it's not really a true alloying of the two parts of her personality. It's more so painting over one with the other, trying to hide it from the world out of the twin senses of shame and familial obligation. Thus, this is very rarely seen at this point in time, only really poking out when the coat of paint starts to wear a bit thin in places, where Fujiko is always ready to paint over again

That said...no coat of paint lasts forever.

Bio:

Fujiko was...a crazy kid.

Born to Furukawa Jonouchi and Akemi—an older family now, and one that put a great deal of emphasis on familial pride—Fujiko, their only daughter, was wild from the start. The instant she could, she was running around, climbing trees, searching for bugs, falling in really stupid ways, and getting hurt repeatedly. She eschewed the company of other girls her age, claiming that they were all dumb and boring, and instead sought out the company of boys to take part in her hairbrained antics.

When she was in second grade, she met a 3rd grader named Shion (who Fujiko 100% thought was a girl when they first met), and they became good friends in rapid time. Only two months later, Shion told her about a sport he'd started playing a bit: soccer. And though Shion never really got into it, it wasn't long until it took over the young Fujiko's life; and it would define it for many years.

The years rolled by, and found Fujiko, now in her third year of middle school, no less of a tomboy now than she was in elementary school, perhaps even more so. Really, 'part of the guys' in a lot of ways. And her parents were becoming concerned. As a proud old family, the Furukawas were very concerned with image; and their daughter showed no signs of growing out of her wild tomboy nature. Chewing on their metaphorical fingernails, Jonouchi and Akemi came to a resolution: if she wanted to find a good husband and live a happy life, their daughter needed to move out of this tomboy phase. And if she wouldn't or couldn't do it on her own...well, that was their duty as parents, wasn't it?

Fujiko, dear, don't you think it's time you move past this?
Honey, I don't think it's a good idea for you to play soccer anymore.
Fujiko, this is reflecting poorly on the entire family.
Don't you want to find a good husband, Fujiko?

Fujiko brushed it off for quite a long time, dismissing it as her parents just being...weird. But, as it always is, when something is said often enough, you tend to start believing it. And slowly, slowly, she started acting like it too. This is where her personality began to shift; shame and pressure are a potent combination indeed. By the time she graduated middle school, she was almost a different person entirely.

But high school is a different environment altogether, and the personality she's created for herself has Begun to strain.

...Not long now.

Kendo:

As Fujiko's only real exposure to kendo is a small amount with Shion in middle school, she is still very much a beginner of the sport, and has yet to figure out any kind of style of her own. At the moment, as a byproduct of her psychological state, she's going to tend to play much more defensively than she really should, and be wary of doing anything too risky, not playing much to her strengths at all.

However, as time goes on, she'll eventually loosen the strictures on the way she participates in the sport and nail down how to funnel her aggression into most effectively leveraging the explosive power in her legs: dashing in for a blisteringly fast strike and then withdrawing almost simultaneously, leaving little time for retaliation before she's out of reach again.

Though of course as a novice she's going to learn the foundational chuudan first, after she goes far enough in kendo she'll figure out that her strategy fits best with hassou: it lets her whip the blade forward with the momentum of her movement, making her strikes that much faster and harder to predict or deflect.

Other:

Nothing, for now!

Lem's Stash

Furukawa Fujiko (WIP, sorry about the wrists)

---

---

"I'm sorry, I'm trying to be less aggressive..."

---

Name:

Furukawa Fujiko

Age:

16

Appearance:

Perhaps the best word for Furukawa Fujiko's appearance is 'transitional.' Her hair is somewhat shaggy and unkempt as though grown out unevenly, and sits at an awkward length around the base of her neck. Narrow eyebrows that always seem at least slightly sad sit over a pair of dark gray eyes with much the same emotion. She's taller than a middle schooler but still not quite as tall as a high schooler, sitting at 152 centimeters: not short enough to be especially noticeable, but short enough to be a little bit self-conscious.

Her small size might have you thinking she's frail at first, but—as befits a girl is athletic as she is—if you look closer, you will find an incredibly athletic physique. Her trimmed stomach displays prominent abs that are remarkably strong. Her legs are even moreso, packed with the wiry whipcord muscle that comes from running hard for hours, for days in a row. And yet for all the strength that her core and lower body present, anything above her abs is...not unfit, obviously, but being mainly a soccer player, she never really worked it out nearly as much. Of course she dabbled in other sports, but none of them held her interest in the same way, and so her upper body is much less developed than her lower.

On that note, Fujiko has a passionate hatred for her chest. Not that she's particularly against the concept, but...why did it have to grow as much as it did? It's unbelievably inconvenient, makes her stick out in a way she isn't fond of, makes it frustrating to do anything even the slightest bit active, and gives her back pain besides. Unless she's going to a formal event of some variety, she's in a sports bra 95% of the time. Even on the rare occasion that she isn't wearing a sports bra, she tends to wear tight tops, but not too tight; For example, close fitting tee shirts. Too loose and any rigorous physical activity becomes a massive pain, too tight and that's uncomfortable all on its own.

At the moment, Fujiko has a strange way of carrying herself. While to strangers she looks perfectly respectable, for people who know her, she looks a touch stiff, vaguely uncomfortable, a little bit like an imported exotic pet that's has been cowed into submission (which isn't exactly far off, to be honest), forced to fit into a mold that has no business in. Consequently, behind the movement that she tries to make as graceful as possible, there is a subtle tension. Said tension is most apparent in stressful situations, where on occasion she can look extremely vicious and aggressive until she can reign it in.

Personality:

Fujiko's personality only encapsulates further that sense of transitions. As one could probably surmise by looking at her bearing, she has two distinctly oppositional pieces of her personality. There is the Fujiko that her parents have envisioned: the shy, calm, sweet girl who is distinctly and unequivocally feminine. This is the face of Fujiko that most people see now. She's a pleasant person to be around, she's patient, she's kind, and she's overall generally sweet. She's very intelligent, and she's always ready to study if she needs to. Really, she's growing into that picture perfect traditional conservative image of a 'true Japanese lady.'

And then there's the actual Fujiko: a wild, unrestrained tomboy, who takes a wild, unrestrained joy in her life. As much as she's tried to bury this part of her personality, it has admittedly not been entirely successful. Even now, sometimes she snaps and the tomboy rears her shaggy head. Because of the circumstances which led to this, it's not really a true alloying of the two parts of her personality. It's more so painting over one with the other, trying to hide it from the world out of the twin senses of shame and familial obligation. Thus, this is very rarely seen at this point in time, only really poking out when the coat of paint starts to wear a bit thin in places, where Fujiko is always ready to paint over again

That said...no coat of paint lasts forever.

Bio:

Fujiko was...a crazy kid.

Born to Furukawa Jonouchi and Akemi—an older family now, and one that put a great deal of emphasis on familial pride—Fujiko, their only daughter, was wild from the start. The instant she could, she was running around, climbing trees, searching for bugs, falling in really stupid ways, and getting hurt repeatedly. She eschewed the company of other girls her age, claiming that they were all dumb and boring, and instead sought out the company of boys to take part in her hairbrained antics.

When she was in second grade, she met a 3rd grader named Shion (who Fujiko 100% thought was a girl when they first met), and they became good friends in rapid time. Only two months later, Shion told her about a sport he'd started playing a bit: soccer. And though Shion never really got into it, it wasn't long until it took over the young Fujiko's life; and it would define it for many years.

The years rolled by, and found Fujiko, now in her third year of middle school, no less of a tomboy now than she was in elementary school, perhaps even more so. Really, 'part of the guys' in a lot of ways. And her parents were becoming concerned. As a proud old family, the Furukawas were very concerned with image; and their daughter showed no signs of growing out of her wild tomboy nature. Chewing on their metaphorical fingernails, Jonouchi and Akemi came to a resolution: if she wanted to find a good husband and live a happy life, their daughter needed to move out of this tomboy phase. And if she wouldn't or couldn't do it on her own...well, that was their duty as parents, wasn't it?

Fujiko, dear, don't you think it's time you move past this?
Honey, I don't think it's a good idea for you to play soccer anymore.
Fujiko, this is reflecting poorly on the entire family.
Don't you want to find a good husband, Fujiko?

Fujiko brushed it off for quite a long time, dismissing it as her parents just being...weird. But, as it always is, when something is said often enough, you tend to start believing it. And slowly, slowly, she started acting like it too. This is where her personality began to shift; shame and pressure are a potent combination indeed. By the time she graduated middle school, she was almost a different person entirely.

But high school is a different environment altogether, and the personality she's created for herself has Begun to strain.

...Not long now.

Kendo:

As Fujiko's only real exposure to kendo is a small amount with Shion in middle school, she is still very much a beginner of the sport, and has yet to figure out any kind of style of her own. At the moment, as a byproduct of her psychological state, she's going to tend to play much more defensively than she really should, and be wary of doing anything too risky, not playing much to her strengths at all.

However, as time goes on, she'll eventually loosen the strictures on the way she participates in the sport and nail down how to funnel her aggression into most effectively leveraging the explosive power in her legs: dashing in for a blisteringly fast strike and then withdrawing almost simultaneously, leaving little time for retaliation before she's out of reach again.

Though of course as a novice she's going to learn the foundational chuudan first, after she goes far enough in kendo she'll figure out that her strategy fits best with hassou: it lets her whip the blade forward with the momentum of her movement, making her strikes that much faster and harder to predict or deflect.

Other:

Nothing, for now!

Arknights: 5S

Also, I should mention that I have injured my wrists and so typing is a little bit awkward. It may be a little while before I'm able to properly post again.

Arknights: 5S

@Nanolyte I did note that Elise thought about Aoife by her first name, even though she's only ever introduced herself as Ash Girl as far as Elise is aware. I don't know if that is due to Elise's unique sight, and it's fine if it is intentional, but I feel like it's at least worth mentioning.

Amygdala Circuit

On her trip down the elevator, Quinnlash cried. How could she not?

How long ago had she told Dr. Follen that she never wanted to leave the Aerie? That it had really become her home? She wasn't exactly sure, but she knew that it wasn't very long ago at all. Up there, in that hanging station that she watched recede into the darkness of space above her, was the only real home that she'd ever had, and the only people she'd ever really loved.

And now she was leaving. Being made to leave. So how could she not cry?

But still...she was about to do something incredibly important. So, as the trip down dragged on and her final hug with Dahlia and Besca stayed fresh in her memory, she grit her teeth, wiped her eyes, and dried her tears. By the time she reached the surface of Casoban--for the third time, she realized, once she'd gotten on the Aerie she'd been to Casoban more than she'd been to Runa--all that remained of the tears that she cried was a faint, vague redness around her eye that could easily be excused as nerves or sleeplessness, or even dismissed entirely.

And it was a good thing too, as she was led through the unbelievably loud crowd by Toussaint, the only Casobani person that she recognized in person, to a small cadre of the Very Important People. Toussaint, commander of the CSC. Pilots, new and veteran. And...the Prime Minister of Casoban. As he reached forward to shake her small hand, a small part of her--not Quinnlash, but her--was suddenly filled for the barest moment with a searing rage that this man had taken her away from her family.

But it only lasted a fraction of a fraction of a second before fading into gray ashes as she shook his hand back.

“Olivier Moroux,” he said. “Casoban is delighted to have you, miss Loughvein. I want to extend my sincerest thanks for your heroism. I think we can all sleep a little more soundly knowing you’re protecting us.”

As the handshake stopped, Quinn found her voice locked again. Just like it had been at the end of Mona's--like somebody was throttling her throat closed, strangling the air from her body. She felt suddenly like she couldn't breathe as the first fragments of a blinding panic started to rise within her...

...before she shut them down. Hard.

This was the only chance she had. The only way she could make things right after the disastrous fallout of her first, and so far only, duel. She had to do it, and she had to do it right, because EVERYTHING was riding on it. So she punched the rising hysteria down within her mercilessly, and forced a smile that was almost genuine out to her face.

I know you hate me, but...

"Thank you, Prime Minister Moroux," Her voice was quiet, but at least reasonably steady and self-assured, enough that she was almost surprised, though if you listened carefully there was still a noticeable quaver she couldn't quite shut down. "And thank you for this opportunity." What else should she say? Should she say anything else? Having all these unfamiliar eyes was taxing already. What was she supposed to say in front of them?

"I hope I can live up to the standards of your amazing Savior Corps, and I look forward to working with all of you."

Shelter: A Zombie Survival Story

---

As the helmet's contents clattered to the desk behind her, Shin-ae jumped, and the violin case that she held in her hand bumped into the cabinet she was searching with a loud thud. She directed a cold glare back at Ethan, but ultimately, she didn't see the point of yelling at him. He'd apologized anyway, so he wasn't likely to do it again.

Speaking of the cabinet, there wasn't anything of much use in it. Well, there was a small bottle of hot sauce, the really spicy stuff, nestled back against the wall. They could drink it if they needed to, but she would really prefer not to. She didn't know the brand. Still, no point in not taking it, it wasn't like it weighed much. She frowned to herself, looking up at the ceiling. Did she bring her water bottle today? She couldn't remember. If she had, it would be in her locker now.

Shaking her head--heading out to search her locker sounded hazardous right about now--she turned, shutting the cabinet again behind her and moving on to the next. Again, nothing of much use. Stacks of paper, notebooks, a box of pencils...she was about to close the door--last one on that side of the room--when she realized she hadn't searched the bottom shelf. Bending down, she peered in, ran her hand along the inside walls...

Ooh, that felt promising.

Withdrawing her hand, she found herself looking at a roll of duct tape. Used, clearly; there wasn't much left on there. But it never hurt to have. Tossing the bottle a few times up and down in her hand, she walked quietly over and put it down on the desk next to the chocolate bars with a soft clink, then dropped the roll of tape beside it, only half listening to what Ethan was saying. What a dumb question.

"Just about the only things worthwhile on that side of the room."