音無 結弦 || ᴏᴛᴏɴᴀsʜɪ, ʏᴜᴢᴜʀᴜ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
trainwrecking) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
destinystrings2013-11-27 09:42 pm
trainwrecking) wrote in destinystrings2013-11-27 09:42 pm
Entry tags:
Backdated to the 18th: 13th hour
Who: SSS members, any really curious bystanders, and possibly others?
Where: The Guild which I finally got up, ahhh.
Summary: While the city's under attack, we need weapons.
Warnings: Possible swearing, violence, flippant talk of death.
[Enough.
Yuzuru Otonashi is no fighter, not inherently. He knows the burn of weak, fleeting anger, the kind that is more theatrical than it is sincere, and he knows the quiet, dull ache of frustration at an indiscriminate world.
But never has he known frustration so mangled, so twisted into anger that it leads him to action. His part in shelter-building and securing supplies had come and gone. But in the ways that he might normally turn to humanitarian efforts to quell an unfavorable situation, he had been forced -- brutally so, and more than once -- into understanding that there was no reasoning to be had with demons.
Pandemonium would rein until it was brought to its knees. Until more progress in the city is made, all that remains for him is in front of him:
The crumbling, transient structure that contained the guild.
Enough. The doors creak and complain, the sound enough to send a chill down his stiffening back. Fear, if he's even allowed it, is naught but an understated quiver in each breath.]
We're going. This flashlight should have enough in it to get us through. You walk behind me.
((sorry about how late this is, but i kept promising it!))
Where: The Guild which I finally got up, ahhh.
Summary: While the city's under attack, we need weapons.
Warnings: Possible swearing, violence, flippant talk of death.
[Enough.
Yuzuru Otonashi is no fighter, not inherently. He knows the burn of weak, fleeting anger, the kind that is more theatrical than it is sincere, and he knows the quiet, dull ache of frustration at an indiscriminate world.
But never has he known frustration so mangled, so twisted into anger that it leads him to action. His part in shelter-building and securing supplies had come and gone. But in the ways that he might normally turn to humanitarian efforts to quell an unfavorable situation, he had been forced -- brutally so, and more than once -- into understanding that there was no reasoning to be had with demons.
Pandemonium would rein until it was brought to its knees. Until more progress in the city is made, all that remains for him is in front of him:
The crumbling, transient structure that contained the guild.
Enough. The doors creak and complain, the sound enough to send a chill down his stiffening back. Fear, if he's even allowed it, is naught but an understated quiver in each breath.]
We're going. This flashlight should have enough in it to get us through. You walk behind me.
((sorry about how late this is, but i kept promising it!))
no subject
[Normally, Noda would be more full of himself because the hammer was what he made himself. But being worn out from the countless battles earlier in the night, he was more irritated to hear all the rumbling that was going on in the distance.]