TEXT. backdated to: 8/30; 4:25PM.em0phonesAugust 31 2010, 04:07:46 UTC
[ He's... glad he wasn't in the room when the announcement came about Dr. McKay.
-- So, there's no one to see him slide slowly to the ground and rub slowly at that green paint that's fast-drying on his nose, no one there to see the way his hands tremble as he balls them into fists. Not going to die, not going to let them die, going to make it home. -- And even though he can still feel Josh whenever he brushes against the player pin, he still... ]
1/2 PICTURE TEXT. em0phonesOctober 7 2010, 04:32:41 UTC
[ Of course, after the storm breaks this is the first place he checks -- the little nook where he's spent the past few months painting a mural of his own, exploring styles and colors in the search for his own voice as an artist. ( Part of him is still jarred by Minamimoto's attack on Joshua, but if it's just for a few minutes, then -- ) ]
. . .
[ So, after a bit, Joshua's NEXUS will chirp with the incoming ping! of a picture text; it's a picture of graffiti in absolute ruin, with a pattern that's been absolutely eradicated by the storm that shook Ceriu all weekend long. Even now, the paint is still runny -- streaming languidly from its proper place amidst the colors to pool in a muddy mess at the base of the wall; entire smears of the painting wiped almost entirely away by the rain, while whatever paint that managed to cling to the wall and ride out the storm is a blurred, muddled up mess. ]
[ He glances at his phone, and in the white light of his room he can see the wet blotches of color, where the rain has washed away the paint, left amorphous clouds in the concrete like ink soaked into fabric.
There's the blank canvass of the wall in front of him, one of the only ones left stark white when Neku had painted murals in the room. And when he lifts his phone before him, the small screen is framed in white, the colors pop and the pattern forms and he sees what it was meant to be.
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-- So, there's no one to see him slide slowly to the ground and rub slowly at that green paint that's fast-drying on his nose, no one there to see the way his hands tremble as he balls them into fists. Not going to die, not going to let them die, going to make it home. -- And even though he can still feel Josh whenever he brushes against the player pin, he still... ]
you're feeling okay, right.
[ -- Neku has no idea how to check on people. ]
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Fit as a fiddle. Did you need something?
[ He omits the playful "are you worried?" to give his partner a break. (Joshua is, by no means, worried, himself.) ]
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Pray tell.
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. . .
[ So, after a bit, Joshua's NEXUS will chirp with the incoming ping! of a picture text; it's a picture of graffiti in absolute ruin, with a pattern that's been absolutely eradicated by the storm that shook Ceriu all weekend long. Even now, the paint is still runny -- streaming languidly from its proper place amidst the colors to pool in a muddy mess at the base of the wall; entire smears of the painting wiped almost entirely away by the rain, while whatever paint that managed to cling to the wall and ride out the storm is a blurred, muddled up mess. ]
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There's the blank canvass of the wall in front of him, one of the only ones left stark white when Neku had painted murals in the room. And when he lifts his phone before him, the small screen is framed in white, the colors pop and the pattern forms and he sees what it was meant to be.
And it's beautiful. ]
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