(no subject)
Characters: Jotaro Kujo (istoppedtime) and Hitsugaya Toshiro (iceandivory)
When: 14th May
Where:The Wastes
Rating: Up to PG-13 just in case
Summary: Jotaro and Hitsugaya plot and plan. Or try to anyway. They might just end up grouching at each other.
From the top of Hitsugaya's plateau, Jotaro could watch out over the vastness of the Wastes, and in a sense that was inspiring. The world was chaos and darkness; from here the Safe Zone looked both like a miracle and very, very fragile. He knew that it had endured for years, but it didn't seem to particularly matter, that knowledge. All of them who were at peace in Adstringendum were fooling themselves.
Whatever else he thought of Hitsugaya, at least the shinigami realized that it was swift action or slow death.
He had a bag at his side. A thick notebook - paper. Pens. Nothing on PCD, nothing that could be hacked or transmitted and spread around too easily. He'd left his own PCD behind, at the house. Back to the old-fashioned way, here, paper notes and face to face talk. And he was lucky enough that there was no stupid music playing over his head. Maybe they were about to make progress.
Maybe.
He stood watching toward the city, taking note of every crack in its wall.
When: 14th May
Where:The Wastes
Rating: Up to PG-13 just in case
Summary: Jotaro and Hitsugaya plot and plan. Or try to anyway. They might just end up grouching at each other.
From the top of Hitsugaya's plateau, Jotaro could watch out over the vastness of the Wastes, and in a sense that was inspiring. The world was chaos and darkness; from here the Safe Zone looked both like a miracle and very, very fragile. He knew that it had endured for years, but it didn't seem to particularly matter, that knowledge. All of them who were at peace in Adstringendum were fooling themselves.
Whatever else he thought of Hitsugaya, at least the shinigami realized that it was swift action or slow death.
He had a bag at his side. A thick notebook - paper. Pens. Nothing on PCD, nothing that could be hacked or transmitted and spread around too easily. He'd left his own PCD behind, at the house. Back to the old-fashioned way, here, paper notes and face to face talk. And he was lucky enough that there was no stupid music playing over his head. Maybe they were about to make progress.
Maybe.
He stood watching toward the city, taking note of every crack in its wall.