Knives Millions (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
knifesedge) wrote2013-08-18 01:17 am
knifesedge) wrote2013-08-18 01:17 am
04
[Knives had been quiet and elusive since things went weird with the enclosure. The best way to not get arrested: not getting found. And when things had returned to more or less normal, he hadn't seen fit to STOP being elusive, just in case. Give it a couple weeks, had been the intention. Make sure the strangeness is over, then make sure the person who mattered was still okay.
Such was the intention. Up until robots came hunting in the night. A short explosion of violence and blinding rage later, impeded by his sheer lack of power since his hair had turned black, and Knives Millions went missing.
And returned a day later, a hundred and fifty years younger.
He's left where he arrived the first time, on the shoreline of the sea that had taken over the desert. Thin white pants, journal - not the clothes he'd left in, but at least he's left the book. Not that it does him much good; waking up where he doesn't even remotely expect it, without the two people he's never been without right there or within sensing range is ... uniquely alarming. Knives Millions spent most of his adult life alone. His childhood however was another matter. And being alone in a strange place with no idea of where he is or how he got there (or why he has tiny wings) isn't something the one-year-old plant is prepared for.
For a little while he roams up and down the beach, anxious, but certain that sooner or later Rem or Vash will find him and tell him it's all a joke and someone just changed the environmental settings or something. But as time ticks past and nothing of the sort happens, anxiousness begins bleeding into outright fear. He knows he should stay put.
He doesn't. Instead he picks up the book with part of his name on it and clutching it to his narrow chest, heads further down the beach, following the water line, hoping for something like people. Something safer then out alone. Alone was scary. He could if he tried focus his thoughts and project them to try to find his brother, but far too uncertain, unhappy and afraid, he simply projects emotions in a steady wave of nauseating apprehension.
In Luceti, seeing a boy of perhaps ten years old roaming alone might not be all that unusual. Nor the visible apprehension. But he might look a little familiar..
Lost. Afraid. Alone. Lost.]
[Summary: there is a very young, very frightened plant roaming loose on the beach.]
Such was the intention. Up until robots came hunting in the night. A short explosion of violence and blinding rage later, impeded by his sheer lack of power since his hair had turned black, and Knives Millions went missing.
And returned a day later, a hundred and fifty years younger.
He's left where he arrived the first time, on the shoreline of the sea that had taken over the desert. Thin white pants, journal - not the clothes he'd left in, but at least he's left the book. Not that it does him much good; waking up where he doesn't even remotely expect it, without the two people he's never been without right there or within sensing range is ... uniquely alarming. Knives Millions spent most of his adult life alone. His childhood however was another matter. And being alone in a strange place with no idea of where he is or how he got there (or why he has tiny wings) isn't something the one-year-old plant is prepared for.
For a little while he roams up and down the beach, anxious, but certain that sooner or later Rem or Vash will find him and tell him it's all a joke and someone just changed the environmental settings or something. But as time ticks past and nothing of the sort happens, anxiousness begins bleeding into outright fear. He knows he should stay put.
He doesn't. Instead he picks up the book with part of his name on it and clutching it to his narrow chest, heads further down the beach, following the water line, hoping for something like people. Something safer then out alone. Alone was scary. He could if he tried focus his thoughts and project them to try to find his brother, but far too uncertain, unhappy and afraid, he simply projects emotions in a steady wave of nauseating apprehension.
In Luceti, seeing a boy of perhaps ten years old roaming alone might not be all that unusual. Nor the visible apprehension. But he might look a little familiar..
Lost. Afraid. Alone. Lost.]
[Summary: there is a very young, very frightened plant roaming loose on the beach.]