Sweet Reflection Knife Into Me [Active, Open?]
Characters: Mewtwo, Yosuke Hanamura
Setting: Second floor stairwell.
Time: Night 013
Summary: It is night. Mewtwo decides to brood in a bubble in the botulism-water. Then he meets Yosuke, who is not underwater, despite the previous sentence.
Warnings: Mewtwo, crappy OP full of brooding.
Darkness.
Silence.
Motion.
Mewtwo lay deep in the waters of the first floor, his eyes closed. His thin arms crossed his chest, his hands clenched, and his legs had been brought up against his body; he floated in the darkness, encased in a perfect bubble of oxygen beneath the surface.
This darkness... it felt... familiar.
But...
It was... wrong.
The psychic had explored the depths thoroughly, shielded and supplied by his thin coating of air, but he had found nothing in the watery levels, only drifting furniture and ruined packages of dissolving food, oceans of debris and garbage. He had lapped around, exploring inside the flotsam as well outside, but he had found nothing. Now he sat, stationary, a perfect sphere of silence alone in the dark. The hours passed, his subconcious seeking something he could feel in the water as it slowly rose above him, something... different. Something... familiar. Why... was it not the same? What... what was he feeling? Where was it? The hours ticked by unheeded. Finally his eyes opened, narrowing slightly as he uncurled, his head turning towards in the direction of the stairwell. It was not here. He propelled himself in the direction of the stairs, rocketing through the diseased water and breaking the surface in a sudden flare of blue light, shedding the accumulated water in a single, explosive blast of psychic energy to float, illuminated, above its darkness.
Setting: Second floor stairwell.
Time: Night 013
Summary: It is night. Mewtwo decides to brood in a bubble in the botulism-water. Then he meets Yosuke, who is not underwater, despite the previous sentence.
Warnings: Mewtwo, crappy OP full of brooding.
Darkness.
Silence.
Motion.
Mewtwo lay deep in the waters of the first floor, his eyes closed. His thin arms crossed his chest, his hands clenched, and his legs had been brought up against his body; he floated in the darkness, encased in a perfect bubble of oxygen beneath the surface.
This darkness... it felt... familiar.
But...
It was... wrong.
The psychic had explored the depths thoroughly, shielded and supplied by his thin coating of air, but he had found nothing in the watery levels, only drifting furniture and ruined packages of dissolving food, oceans of debris and garbage. He had lapped around, exploring inside the flotsam as well outside, but he had found nothing. Now he sat, stationary, a perfect sphere of silence alone in the dark. The hours passed, his subconcious seeking something he could feel in the water as it slowly rose above him, something... different. Something... familiar. Why... was it not the same? What... what was he feeling? Where was it? The hours ticked by unheeded. Finally his eyes opened, narrowing slightly as he uncurled, his head turning towards in the direction of the stairwell. It was not here. He propelled himself in the direction of the stairs, rocketing through the diseased water and breaking the surface in a sudden flare of blue light, shedding the accumulated water in a single, explosive blast of psychic energy to float, illuminated, above its darkness.