We Are Freedom
Who: Celty Sturluson, OPEN
What: Silent reflection while riding through the equally silent city. That's always open to change.
When: Monday evening
Where: Around the city
Warnings: TBA
Status: On-Going
The motorcyle rumbled beneath her, rolling the street past them, yet ever provided with a long stretch of road before them. No light shone from the headlight, but she didn't need it to see where she was going, and neither did her mount. Those old memories stirred easily on nights like these; she could practically hear the thundering hooves and feel the muscles shift with each gigantic stride as her headless steed pounded across the ground.
The scent was far from the moist air of the open Irish countryside. It wasn't even the same as the extreme contrast of Tokyo's lively Ikebukuro. How she could tell, Celty had no idea. There were a lot of things she couldn't explain, such as her basic senses. She didn't care so long as she was able to use them, otherwise she'd be having much greater difficulties than not being able to speak. Shinra had some probable explanations. Shinra. She missed hearing those theoretical conversations, the cheesy attempts at being romantic...the doctor himself.
The haunting, echo of a whinny pulled her from her thoughts, and Celty glanced down at the bike. Sorry. I'm all right, she assured it. Hunching closer to its frame was like giving it permission to kick up the speed, and with an eager, ghostly scream the motorcycle surged forward.
As usual, the night was quiet. The Black Rider wondered if she would ever get used to it. Cities shouldn't be so still...
What: Silent reflection while riding through the equally silent city. That's always open to change.
When: Monday evening
Where: Around the city
Warnings: TBA
Status: On-Going
The motorcyle rumbled beneath her, rolling the street past them, yet ever provided with a long stretch of road before them. No light shone from the headlight, but she didn't need it to see where she was going, and neither did her mount. Those old memories stirred easily on nights like these; she could practically hear the thundering hooves and feel the muscles shift with each gigantic stride as her headless steed pounded across the ground.
The scent was far from the moist air of the open Irish countryside. It wasn't even the same as the extreme contrast of Tokyo's lively Ikebukuro. How she could tell, Celty had no idea. There were a lot of things she couldn't explain, such as her basic senses. She didn't care so long as she was able to use them, otherwise she'd be having much greater difficulties than not being able to speak. Shinra had some probable explanations. Shinra. She missed hearing those theoretical conversations, the cheesy attempts at being romantic...the doctor himself.
The haunting, echo of a whinny pulled her from her thoughts, and Celty glanced down at the bike. Sorry. I'm all right, she assured it. Hunching closer to its frame was like giving it permission to kick up the speed, and with an eager, ghostly scream the motorcycle surged forward.
As usual, the night was quiet. The Black Rider wondered if she would ever get used to it. Cities shouldn't be so still...