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telesilla: Give me two characters from different fandoms you know I'm familiar with, and I'll give you a dialogue happening between the two of them. Without justifying how the crossover would work, how their worlds clashed, or how they could even meet each other. Just a silly crossover conversation with no backstory, for fun.
telesilla: Give me two characters from different fandoms you know I'm familiar with, and I'll give you a dialogue happening between the two of them. Without justifying how the crossover would work, how their worlds clashed, or how they could even meet each other. Just a silly crossover conversation with no backstory, for fun.
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"Ego. Sweartogawd, it's the ego that keeps 'em from smiling."
"It's not his ego! I don't think he even has an ego."
Sage nod. "Then he spends all his time beating himself up? Seriously, just smack 'im on the back of the head and tell him that if he's too scared to live, you'll be happy to bury him yourself."
"That'll never work! ...will it? I didn't think smacking worked on ninjas."
Shrug. "It could! Works on prettyboy vampire-wannabes. I hit mine in the back of the head with my shoe, once, but he deserved that."
Laughter, shared.
"...so, did they ever teach you how to untie knots? I never listened in ropes class."
"The trick's to get your thumb out--"
"--Doesn't that mean you have to--"
"Dislocate it, nngh ow, yeah."
Pause.
"Hey, look at that! I'm out. C'mon, just pop your thumb the other way and wiggle your fingers."
"Easy for you to say!"
"Okay, look, I've got your wrist knot. Now just pop your thumb the--no, the other way, there you go. Now wiggle through."
"Sweet!"
"Congratulations, now you're a real ninja."
"I was always a real ninja."
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Also heeeeeeeeee that icon.
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It will never stop being funny. ^^
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There are three points of stillness--true, perfect stillness, the stillness that comes with confidence and patience--in the bazaar. Two of those points are standing next to each other, overlooked even while they watch over the many points of noise and motion.
"Do you miss being that young?" One asks.
"Nay," says the other, and it might even be true, because there's a satisfied look on his face. He is apparently content to watch.
"And you never wish for them to grow up." The first tilts his head, eyes sharpening on a slim tanned hand 'liberating' a man's coinpurse from his belt. The hand tosses the purse to another hand and then there's laughter, weightless and breathless, rising up from the knot of youths.
The other watches, too, but says nothing on the matter of the stolen coin for reasons of his own. "With maturity comes a tempered spirit, but they've naught that needs tempering immediately."
One of the youths rounds on the thief. There's a smile in her eyes but a sharpness in the set of her brow. If her words were a weapon, they'd be a whip, to crack and sting. The thief recoils.
Neither intervenes. Even for the father of a group, there is such a thing as overstepping. If the blond boy cannot protect himself from the pigtailed girl, there is no hope for him. And if he can, there's no point invading the argument with heavy-handed words.
"Patient of you," pipes up another of Basch's group, while Shikijou simply snickers and mutters something in Japanese about old men who outwait the ocean. "How comforting that you can be so patient when the rest of us are--"
He stops, because the third point of stillness looks over at him and doesn't say anything. Silence and peace radiate outward in something that Hannya might almost think was an un-uttered threat.
"They are but children, Balthier," says the other. "We should be glad they've any joy in them at all. And they are learning."
Theres's something layered in that statement. It's a deeper statement than the one he's understanding, but he doesn't have the background or the resources to fully parse it. He writes off the loss, watches a svelte form sway through the dust and the heat, her braid tossing.
She's been well-behaved; in some ways, far better behaved than the children Basch watches over. To be stranded in a world that makes no sense to any of them and with no certain way home and not have a nervous breakdown is admirable. To adjust, or attempt to adjust, with anything remotely resembling grace and awareness of greater concerns is yet more admirable.
He's proud of her.
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"But I saw him," the girl says, very serious and very earnest and very clearly desperate to be believed.
Squall doesn't say anything, because he's seen and even fought figments of his imagination before. Just because it's in your head doesn't mean it can't try to kill you.
"He was there," the girl says.
"Whatever," says Squall, wishing she would go away. One semi-clairvoyant pseudoprincess is enough. This girl isn't endearing herself to him half as well as Rinoa did.
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Click. Click. Click. "Mm?"
"Machina." There's a growl in his voice when he says that word, despite the lack of an r sound.
"Hardly." A puff of air, not quite a sigh. Click, click, click.
"Hmph." Skreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
"...Ready?" Click. Click. Click. Shink.
Shiiiing. "Ready."
__________
Dear watergod, do I feel sorry for whatever's in their way.
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"Mm," says the other.
A few more paces through Kalm's cobblestone streets. A few women watch them as they pass. Neither seems to notice.
"You don't understand," says the other at last.
"I do," says the blond, and means it.
The brunet looks over at him. Says nothing.
"I am no stranger to shame," says the blond.
The brunet raises an eyebrow.
"Damnation needs a heavy sin. Failing a heroic effort lacks the weight of it. In the end, we are but human. Better to face that truth with open eyes."
Silence. The blond knows what it means: I am not even that any more. Does not know why the brunet thinks this, does not care.
"She deserves your wrath no more than I," the blond says.
The brunet looks away. "Mm."
It's a start, the blond thinks.
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