an incomplete world

" he was pointing at the moon but i was looking at his hand. he was dead anyway, a ghost. i’m surprised i saw his hand at all. all this was prepared for me. all this was set in motion long ago. i live in someone else’s future. i stayed as long as i could, he said. now look at the moon. "

[magmadarling]

Conjugal Visit ✻ Cyrus&Maxie

[torngalaxy-blog]

✦ magmadarling:

The urge to rip the thing from Cyrus’ hand when he immediately starts touching it despite Maxie’s warning is almost overwhelming. The blatant disregard for his opinion, his warning is like a slap in the face. He has to wonder why exactly Cyrus asked him for information when he was just going to ignore everything Maxie said. Except for the parts that were personally intriguing, of course.

Calling a pokemon a deity,  acting as though it wouldn’t happily kill all of them, Cyrus included if it ever got the inkling to. Ha. Legendary pokemon are mighty and powerful, and Maxie has more than just a healthy appreciation for that, but that’s all they are, pokemon. They are not gods, and Maxie highly doubts any of them are so benevolent as Cyrus seems to think.

“What did I just say?” He snaps at Cyrus and feels a thrill of panic creep down his spine from seeing him so casually touch the surface of the Orb, as though it were comforting. Maxie had felt a lot of things, handling the Blue Orb. None of them could be categorized as anything close to comfort. He’s almost willing to think that his initial assessment was wrong watching Cyrus handle the Orb and seeming to suffer no ill effects. It’s entirely possible… but Maxie also knows what he felt just from brushing his thumb over the surface of it. That was unmistakable.

“Did you think I was joking, Cyrus? That I was telling you not to touch it to spite you?” He wishes he hadn’t given it back to him now. Maybe Cyrus isn’t interested in trying to control Giratina with the Orb, but that doesn’t mean he can be trusted with it. Maxie really is a fool. For Cyrus’ own safety he should have kept it from him.

He feels cold (usually impossible when living inside a volcano) and sweaty at the same time. His hands are shaking.

“I thought you were a scientist.” He thought Cyrus valued his input more than this. (He thought Cyrus trusted him enough to know he wouldn’t lie, not about this.) “Not a naive fanatic chasing after fairy tales. You have no idea what you possess. You have no idea what it can do to you.”

He doesn’t mean to say it, can barely think about their sordid history with one another, but he’s angry. And so, so disappointed.

“If I had known you were a damn child I would have taken you to a nursery, not my bed.”

It’s interesting. Maxie is interesting. What he says is interesting... if a little infuriating. Cyrus is good at keeping the emotions down, doesn’t let it get the better of him yet, though surely it will, it’s only a matter of time, with the way Maxie is so adept at getting under his skin (and under his clothes). It’s as if he’s seeing a new side of him every day they spend together.

Cyrus clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, then looks away, cold, distant or uncomfortable, maybe just in thought. His eyes are hard and his voice is soft and sharp. “I’d hardly call it a fairy tale if I’ve experienced it, lived with it, Maxie. Certainly, when it comes to Giratina, its’ motives and its’ behavior, I’m vastly more qualified than you. One could say I’m an expert on the subject, actually. My Ph.D thesis and dissertation were on the relation of astrophysics and Sinnoh’s mythology. It continued to be the focus of my studies in my professional career, before I moved on to Galactic. Where it also was the focus of my studies.” Fairy tales. As if Maxie hadn’t also been chasing them ten years ago. The news reports from the Groudon and Kyogre incident are still fresh in Cyrus’s mind.

That’s not the only thing that leaves an unpleasant taste in his mouth. There’s another thing, one he hasn’t really thought about since noticing just how lined Maxie’s face had become in his absence.

“A child.“ He echoes Maxie, flat, unimpressed. “I’m curious. Does calling me a child come from that I’m not obeying you, or because I’m so much younger? I would hope my age doesn’t factor in.“ He’s getting snappy. Should take a step back before he gets more aggravated, but out of everything, the age part is always what comes back for him. He’s heard it enough over the years for it to leave a lasting sting.

Cyrus closes his eyes, takes a breath, then fixes his cold eyes on Maxie and points the conversation back around at him. He knows one way to get under Maxie’s skin. “I’ve never been very good at obeying, Maxie. If anything, in our relationship, you may be the one who needs direction. Since we are talking about you taking me to bed.”

His words are still agitated, but pleasant enough. Cyrus’s voice drops lower.

“In fact, I would think you might enjoy that. Receiving orders. Perhaps I should have sent some along, with the pictures from the other night. Next time, I will. I hope you got good use out of them in any case?“

[torngalaxy-blog]

rivaltrainerwally:

“Keep it.” He says it immediately; jerked from his mouth in reaction to something he can actually concentrate on instead of the swirling storm of What? currently trying to swamp him. It comes out rudely, deadpan in such a way that the “duh” left off the end is heard all the same. … At least he managed to stop himself from saying “sniff it” instead.

He doesn’t bother elaborating, if Cyrus is that curious he’ll ask, and Wally doesn’t think he can form an explanation for why he’s keeping the cigarette anyway. He just wants to. He would feel embarrassed normally but these aren’t really normal circumstances, so he thinks he can be forgiven for being a little bit rude. It’s not like he stumbles on (probably) wanted criminals in back allies everyday.

… Speaking of. Why is he here?

“I- What are you doing here?” Not exactly the demand he wanted it to be, he still sounds too hesitant for that, but it’ll do. He should be more cautious if Cyrus is dangerous but… Wally doesn’t actually think he’s going to do anything to him. He would have done it already if he were. Right? “Aren’t you worried you’ll get arrested? Shouldn’t you be hiding instead of standing out in the open?”

Another thought occurs to him, and truly he doesn’t know why he’s so concerned over the apparent carelessness of his acquaintance. if Cyrus wants to get himself caught Wally should let him. “Why would you tell me your real name? That’s kind of dumb.”

“I thought I was taking a smoke break.” He doesn’t ask what Wally means by keeping the cigarette, that would likely open up a new can of worms Cyrus doesn’t want to deal with. He isn’t enjoying this conversation, curiosity be damned. Cyrus decides he doesn’t care that much to pursue the subject. Not when Wally has latched onto the bit of info Cyrus has given him like this.

...Has Wally been paying such selective attention to the news that he recognizes Cyrus’s face from it, but doesn’t seem to know the rest of the story. Perhaps he’s not from Sinnoh, has only caught passing mentions of international conflicts.

It won’t be that way for long. Soon, Cyrus is sure, more than just the one region will be carefully watching Galactic’s every move.

“The last time I checked, there wasn’t a warrant out for my arrest.” The same sort of dry, situational humor delivered deadpan. “Though I’m sure the International Police would love to get their hands on me. I’d like to think it should be taken into consideration that I’ve already done my time--in a sense.” The Torn World wasn’t quite a prison cell, and Cyrus would much rather go back there instead, but it’s close enough for a metaphor.

“Hm. Why would I not tell you? Is there something I stand to gain from remaining anonymous? You haven’t given me reason to view you as a threat.”

[torngalaxy-blog]

@rocketbutcher

The ease with which the Inn in tiny Lavaridge Town accommodates the displaced Team Magma members who lived on base is, frankly, suspicious. And more than a little annoying. Cyrus, for one, would rather be anywhere else but here right now, even if return to Sinnoh isn’t yet possible. If Cyrus believed in Hell in the biblical sense, he would picture this, agitated and worried sick over his Team a region away while Maxie makes a fuss over everything in their room.

But, there is a little cruel relief that he’s not the only one stuck here. There’s Saturn and Isaac and the handful of scientists he brought with him, of course, but Giovanni has sent a few of his pets along too.

Cyrus has been watching Archer and Proton. He’s never particularly liked any of Giovanni’s executives, even the first time around, but Cyrus’s own policy of getting to know those he works with necessitates being personable.

So the first time he has a chance to get Proton alone, he does.

He’s sitting in the only place to get a cup of coffee in Lavaridge, checking in on the the media coverage of current events through a digital copy of a newspaper from Sinnoh, when someone walks in for (Cyrus assumes) his morning cup of coffee.

“Good morning, Executive.”

The way Cyrus calls out for him is sharp, definitive. Not a greeting between colleagues, but a general to a soldier. There’s a soft click from Cyrus’s laptop when he closes it. He leans back, fixes Proton with a critical eye.

“You’re up earlier than our associates at Team Magma. I hope that means you can spare a moment to sit down and socialize.”

[magmadarling]

Conjugal Visit ✻ Cyrus&Maxie

[torngalaxy-blog]

magmadarling:

He is concerned, but he was rather hoping Cyrus wouldn’t notice. Having it pointed out feels like an accusation. He bristles a little, though it’s hard to get properly indignant over it when Cyrus is right. “I’m not concerned.” He denies stiffly, a bald faced lie. It’s a weak thing though, hardly any heat behind it, he says it just to say it. They both know the truth of it.

“Please.” First apologies and now a “please”. Cyrus obviously found some form of manners in the other world. Maxie might even get a “thank you” by the end of this. He jokes, but that doesn’t stop Cyrus’ little plea from working on him. There’s something about Cyrus’ face when he softens… Maxie is a fool. And a sucker.

He hesitates, but only for a moment longer. This is something Cyrus needs to hear and… no. He doesn’t know for sure that Cyrus wouldn’t be looking for a way to harness Giratina’s power, but he doesn’t think he would. Maxie is just going to have to trust him.

(Not as tall of an order as it may appear. Maxie put his trust in Cyrus when he brought him onto this project. Although now would be a fine time to lose his wariness.)

“As for what it is, well. Congratulations Cyrus, you would be wrong.” He rebukes smartly. “An equivalent to the Blue Orb is exactly what this appears to be. I have no way of knowing that for certain.” Maxie cautions, well aware they are exiting the realm of scientific fact and relying on his gut feeling now. In his defense, it’s an extremely good gut feeling. “But if it doesn’t function exactly like the Blue or Red Orb, I would guess it’s very similar. It’s hard to explain; the way one of these orbs feels…” He grimaces for effect “It’s very hard to forget.”

And now the hard part. Maxie tightens his fingers on the orb, feeling the smooth edges dig into his flesh even through the protection of the cloth wrapping. He doesn’t want to give this back to Cyrus, knowing what it is, what it could do, but he can’t keep it either. Trust. Slowly he relaxes his grip on the orb and holds it out to Cyrus.

“Take it.” He says tightly, stopping himself from retracting the offer. “Keep it wrapped up, don’t touch it.”

...Oh.

That wasn’t, at all, what Cyrus was expecting. Giratina’s Orb, as an equivalent to the Blue Orb Maxie had used to nearly rain destruction on Hoenn. It doesn’t seem quite right, to describe it like that. Cyrus takes the orb, turns it over in his hands, fingertips brushing the surface of the orb under the edges of the handkerchief.

He considers this, for a long few moments without speech, then looks back up, any irritation on his face now replaced with a reserved sort of curiosity.

“I see. Thank you.” It’s cool to the touch, calming. Usually when he handles it for long periods of time, Cyrus feels at peace, the same quiet stillness that surrounded him in the Torn World, with the slight comforting press of swirling dark shadows around the edge of his consciousness. “If it is what you say, Giratina’s Orb, I still do not believe it is dangerous.”

It’s hard to quantify why, exactly. What first started as rage at the shadowy pokemon had turned into understanding, and kinship. He felt connected to Giratina back in that world; it’s only fitting that he is now the keeper of a physical representation of that connection. They are more alike than they are different.

“Your Groudon--it was a force of destruction, laid dormant for a reason. Giratina, while it has destructive potential certainly, exists in relative peace. Gazing silently upon this world from the other. Though banished for its violence, I was the first to provoke its wrath in what is possibly centuries. Even then...” Cyrus trails off, looks back down at the orb, a slight frown tugging at his lips as he drags his thumb over one metallic facet of its surface. “It never attempted to harm me. I grew fond of that pokemon, as much as fondness can be awarded to what amounts to a diety. Perhaps reverence would be a more apt descriptor.”

Carefully, the orb is wrapped back up in its cloth, and Cyrus leans over to place it back in his bag. If anything, Maxie’s explanation makes him more determined to keep it safe, and hidden.

“It may be Giratina’s will that I have become the keeper of this Orb. I often find that fate works in unexpected ways,” Cyrus muses, as he straightens back up in his chair. He wonders what Maxie felt, touching it, but doesn’t ask. “But now that I have the information I was looking for, I request you not pass any part of this conversation on. Of my numerous reasons for wanting to corner you, this was also personal, rather than business.”

[magmadarling]

Conjugal Visit ✻ Cyrus&Maxie

[torngalaxy-blog]

✦ magmadarling:

Maxie scowls right back at him. “I’m sure you would.” He agrees, and takes several deliberate steps back from Cyrus. He doesn’t bother offering any reassurances; if he doesn’t like what he hears he will not be giving the orb back. Cyrus’ potential reaction to that, and the consequences it will have on their partnership are not things he precisely want to think about, though he will pay that price and gladly if it comes to it. Even still he does not wish to make an enemy of Cyrus.

He considers the wrapped orb, ignoring Cyrus’s demand for information for now. The other world? Ah, Cyrus’ torn world, most assuredly. Which, well. That’s very helpful in a way, it gives Maxie a much better idea of what (who) he’s dealing with. On the other hand…

He feels just a bit light headed. ‘Please tell me he would not be so foolish twice.’

There is only one living creature in the torn world, if Cyrus is to be believed, and Maxie does believe him. Which means this orb almost certainly belongs to Giratina, creator of the torn world, it’s only denizen, and for some 6 years or so, Cyrus’ jailer. Maxie somehow wants to be holding it even less than he did before.

‘How has he been carrying this thing around in his computer bag.’

There is no possible way Cyrus wouldn’t have known this is no normal rock. Which, fair enough, Maxie could have guessed on his own, given Cyrus’ apparent interest it. He obviously doesn’t know just what is, otherwise he would never have brought it to Maxie’s attention in the first place. That doesn’t mean he’s any more pleased that Cyrus came to him with this purposefully withholding information.

“You asked for my help but you didn’t bother giving me all the information you knew, interesting strategy.” He’s so bitter, and incredibly suspicious. He wiggles the orb agitatedly at Cyrus. “You and I both know this isn’t a normal rock. So what do you think it is, if you don’t know? And what do you want with it?” More hesitantly, he’s not sure he even wants to hear the answer when it’s obvious, but he has to know- “Have you touched it?” Concern, more than he realized he felt. 

It takes a very, very large amount of restraint not to lash out at Maxie. His eyes, still on Maxie’s hands and the cloth-covered orb, flicker up to Maxie’s face. Though, Maxie would deserve it at this point, as antagonistic as he’s being (as if Cyrus would like him if he wasn’t). He counts to ten, takes a deep breath, and starts talking.

“I assumed you wouldn’t find my theories interesting, or necessary. The one I’m favoring right now is that this object is native to that other world, and potentially was created by Giratina for some purpose, though for what purpose I cannot say.”

Maxie waving the orb around in his face (while still not giving it back) only garners an irritated exhale from Cyrus, who crosses his legs and leans back in the chair, fingers drumming impatiently on his knee. What, exactly, is Maxie looking for him to say? Cyrus is annoyed, but there’s no small measure of confusion too.

“I came to you because I knew of your past dealing with an artifact connected to a legendary Pokemon--and while I sincerely doubt this is of the same magnitude as the Blue Orb you handled, likely more of a trinket in comparison, I do not know what it is, which is why I am asking.”

But despite the hot impatience and irritability, Maxie’s last question does give Cyrus reason to pause. Have you touched it? Yes, he has. He’s carried the orb around with him almost constantly since coming out of that other world.

He suspects letting Maxie in on that detail would not be wise. Cyrus watches him, carefully, considers asking why he wants to know--and why he sounds… concerned about it. Concern is a foreign emotion on Maxie, at least in the spectrum of his interactions with Cyrus.

Cyrus isn’t certain whether Maxie is concerned for him, or because of whatever imagined danger he’s inferred from the object.

Unless it is dangerous. Cyrus hasn’t considered that possibility. The feeling he gets, when touching the metallic surface, is apparently not the same as what Maxie and Roark felt. Where Cyrus feels… calm, connected, both of the others had jerked away from it, as if burned.

“I have.” An answer too simple. Cyrus hesitates. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, less acetic. “You’re concerned for me.” A hesitant observation. “What is it you know? Maxie. Please.”

[torngalaxy-blog]

HOW MUCH OF A SINNER IS YOUR MUSE?

Tagged by: ??? Tagging: ??? Quiz HERE.

Your sin has been measured. You have committed many sins, but Wrath is the mortal sin that has done you in.

Greed: Medium Gluttony: Medium Wrath: Very High Sloth: Low Envy: Medium Lust: High Pride: Very High

[magmadarling]

Conjugal Visit ✻ Cyrus&Maxie

[torngalaxy-blog]

✦ magmadarling:

How unexpected. He’s almost disappointed in a way, the build up to asking Cyrus precisely what he wanted had him anticipating something a bit more than just asking him to examine a bit of rock. He was expecting a confrontation, another lewd overture, a fight, at the very least. To have it be business that’s kept Cyrus trying to catch him alone is… unexpected.

But not unwelcome.

“I’d hardly call it cornering you when it’s in self defense. You’ve been trying to get me alone for days.” He says distractedly. Mind turning to the problem at hand. Now that he knows what Cyrus wants it’s much more easy to relax around him. This is fine; they’ve done this before. Sharing and exchanging information is one aspect of their relationship that Maxie has no qualms about. Cyrus has a brilliant mind, and much to his surprise they can work well together. To have Cyrus come to him with a problem and ask for his help is flattering, even.

Although, he does wonder why are rock of all things.

He scoops the offered orb out of Cyrus’ hand, careful to keep it’s cloth wrapping as a barrier between it and his hand for now. He can see why Cyrus is interested, at least, it’s extremely peculiar. Being a rather vivid shade of yellow isn’t that unusual, but the shape of it, the deliberate points, and the glossy smoothness of it all make it look as though it’s been made that way.

“I’m not sure what you think I can tell you that your Gym Leader can’t.” He says, bringing the orb up closer to his eyes. “I know a bit about Geology, but I’m not an expert, which you know.”

The orb has a gleam to it Maxie can’t describe. It’s fascinating, drawing in his attention. He traces his bare thumb over one of the peaks, chasing the way the light reflects off it…

And jerks his hand back with a startled gasp.

Well then, that answers that question. The feeling of having something ancient and heavy, more powerful than you can ever hope to be trespassing on your soul isn’t one Maxie is ever likely to forget. The energy isn’t the same, wouldn’t be the same, and Maxie doesn’t know where (or more specifically who) the energy is coming from, but there’s no mistaking this for anything but what it is.

“Where the fuck did you get this?” He snaps harshly, careful not to touch the orb again even as he frantically wraps it back it’s cloth and very deliberately does not return it to Cyrus. There are many things he wants to do with this orb. Drop it on the floor right here and now is one of them. Bury it 20 feet under the earth is another. Or throw it out into the sea. He does not want to continue holding it, even covered. But he wants Cyrus holding it even less.

Orbs belonging to Legendary pokemon, are after all, not exactly something that should just be handled willy-nilly. 

It’s true that Cyrus has been trying to get Maxie alone for days… just not for the apparent reasons he’s presented to Maxie here. Cyrus’s personal motives are less reasonable than having Maxie examine a rock. He almost says something about that, something that would certainly get a rise out of him, but Cyrus holds his tongue, lets it go with a simple: “Business before pleasure, I suppose.”

It wouldn’t be the best idea to provoke Maxie, not when he has something Cyrus so desperately needs. Bringing the orb to him is a last ditch effort, he doesn’t expect much information in return, but any scrap of insight on the object is important. Maxie, he knows, has had at least one encounter in the past with an artifact connected to a legendary Pokemon. Cyrus is fairly certain that isn’t what he has here, but perhaps Giratina created the object for some purpose. It’s one of his theories, anyway.

He isn’t watching Maxie as closely as he should be, examining the object. Cyrus is startled by the gasp, then even more by Maxie’s harsh inquiry. He snaps back into focus with a twitch of pointed brows and the beginnings of a scowl on his lips. Instinctive. When Maxie bites, Cyrus is accustomed to biting back.

But it’s a valid question, if unnecessarily vitriolic. For the second time, Cyrus bites his tongue.

“A place called Turnback Cave, where the link between this world and the other is strongest. It is where I emerged from that world.” Cyrus is calm and composed, cold as if to offset Maxie’s agitation. But his eyes keep going to Maxie’s hands, and there’s an odd set to his jaw, a tension between his brows. Where Cyrus had expected to be handed the orb back, Maxie has kept it.

The thought of Maxie keeping it from him more permanently sets Cyrus on edge, for a reason he can’t explain. Maybe the almost spiritual connection he’s felt to it isn’t as imagined as he assumed.

“If you know something about the object, I would appreciate it if you shared,” he starts, quietly, and a dark look flashes over his pale eyes. “And I would appreciate getting it back.”

[soulsighs]

aesthetic themed ask list

flower crown: when did you last sing to yourself?

fairy lights: if a crystal ball could tell you the truth about anything, what would you want to know?

daisies: what is the greatest accomplishment of your life?

1975: what is the first happy memory that comes to mind, recent or otherwise?

matte: if you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living?

black nail polish: do you have a bucket list? if so, what are the top three things?

pantone: describe a person close to your life in detail.

moodboard: do you feel you had a happy childhood?

stars: when did you last cry in front of another person?

plants: pick a person to stargaze with you and explain why you picked them.

converse: would you ever have a deep conversation with a stranger and open up to them?

lace: when was your last 3am conversation with someone, and who were they to you?

handwriting: if you were about to die, and you could only say one more sentence to one person, what would you say and to whom?

cactus: what is your opinion on brown eyes?

sunrise: pick a quote and describe what it means to you personally.

oil paints: what would you title the autobiography of your life so far?

overalls: what would you do with one billion dollars?

combat boots: are you a very forgiving person? do you like being this way?

winged eyeliner: write a hundred word letter to your twelve year old self.

pastel: would you describe yourself as more punk or pastel?

tattoos: how do you feel about tattoos and piercings? explain.

piercings: do you wear a lot of makeup? why/why not?

bands: talk about a song/band/lyric that has affected your life in some way.

messy bun: the world is listening. pick one sentence you would tell them.

cry baby: list the concerts you have been to and talk about how they make you feel.

grunge: who in the world would you most like to receive a letter from and what would you want it to say?

space: do you have a desk/workspace and how is it organised/not organised?

white bed sheets: what is your night time routine?

old books: what’s one thing you don’t want your parents to know?

beaches: if you had to dye your hair how would you dye/style it and why?

eyes: pick five people to go on an excursion with you. who would you pick and where would you go/what would you do?

11:11: name three wishes and why you wish for them.

painting: what is the best halloween costume you have ever put together? if none, make one up.

lightning: what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done while drunk or high?

thunder: what’s one thing you would never do for one million dollars?

storms: you on only listen to one song for the rest of your life, or only see one person for the rest of your life. which and why?

love: have you ever fallen in love? describe what it feels like to realise you’re in love.

clouds: if you’re a boy, would you ever rock black nail polish? if you’re a girl, would you ever rock really really short hair?

coffee: what’s your starbucks order, and who would you trust to order for you, if anyone?

marble: what is the most important thing to you in your life right now?

fin.

[torngalaxy-blog]

wiltedguzmania:

Gritting his teeth, Guzma leans down, looming over Cyrus, grabbing at the collar of his shirt, jerking him up. “Just fuckin’ said, didn’t I? Ain’t gonna ask you twice.”

He wants to scoff at the idea of Cyrus having any kind of faith. Then again, he’s never cared much for that sort of thing himself. That’s what tends to happen when the local guardians pick everyone else to be the special ones, to protect. What Cyrus believes means less than nothing as far as Guzma’s concerned.

“Sacred, huh?” He spits out the words, glaring at the stones and rubble around them. “Just looks like a bunch’a shit to me. So you fit right in, yeah?”

He straightens up, hauling Cyrus up with him, both hands fisted in the material of his shirt. Cyrus might be taller, but Guzma’s got him beat in terms of muscle. It’s not going to be a fair fight, and that’s almost disappointing. His fingers itch, ready to bloody that stupid smug face.

“You think I give a damn about this place?” Desecration is practically his middle name, though he’s not quite melodramatic enough to say so out loud. He’ll leave that to the expert right in front of him. Still, it’s going to be so damn satisfying leaving this place more of a mess than it already is.

If only the asshole would actually put up a fight. There’s nothing wrong with a good beat down, but he doesn’t kick things that don’t kick back. It’s no fun that way, and he’ll be damned if he’s not getting some jollies out of this. Cyrus owes him that much and more.

He forgets how strong Guzma is until he’s pulled, forcibly, to his feet. It’s been a while since someone was this rough with him, at least with the intent to fight, to injure. Cyrus is reminded of a scene, what might be weeks ago, Maxie’s vicious words (”We aren’t lovers. You’re mocking me.”), hands on either side of his head, how Cyrus had been waiting for a kiss.

Well. Guzma is not his lover, either.

He doesn’t know what it is about the violence. Cyrus is hyper aware of his own body, of Guzma’s, of how easy it would be for Guzma to slide his hands up and over Cyrus throat. How easy it would be for Cyrus to reach for the knife in his coat. These are the obvious modes of action, the foreseeable outcomes.

Cyrus likes to take fate into his own hands, as much as the powers that be allow him to. The prayer of a few moments ago is forgotten, or perhaps this is what became of it.

Guzma wants a fight, and so he will get one. He reaches up to grab Guzma’s hands where they’re fisted in his shirt, and it isn’t an overly forceful grasp or a rough one. Rather, deliberately malicious and mocking in its softness. Thin fingers stroke over the back of Guzma’s hands, down over his wrists. Mocking. Cyrus is mocking him.

He doesn’t try to pull away, doesn’t make any other moves, just stands there, head cocked to the side, an expression hard and dark playing over his face.

“The last time a man got this physical with me, I took him to bed.” The cold whisper is punctuated with a pause long enough for Cyrus to lean in, delicate hands sliding up Guzma’s forearms. ”I considered saying that only to put you off, but--all things considered, you’d have liked that, wouldn’t you?”

[torngalaxy-blog]

“ 惑星直列 “ (katsuyuki_onna) wrote: 

It is a warning.

[torngalaxy-blog]

greenite:

Something about those eyes, something about their held gaze elicits a slight shiver from the younger. Fortunately there’s a chill in the air, Green writes it off as such.

A name and a face, the night calls for only a name and a face. They’re here on business, a hum reverberating in the brunet’s throat covers acknowledgement, sharing a light and the way intense eyes roll over his person tells him everything he needs to know. Delving deeper reads unnecessary; why they’re here on business, their occupation, his own, unnecessary.

Pale blues of short tresses blending into pale flesh, a contrast to the makeup painted around the eyes, there’s something alluring here, he can’t put a finger on it. Vibes too, maybe. If today were anything but tonight, and Green anything but craving his loneliness and the long for a warm body to be sated, the bearer of dark eye makeup may have been a someone Green’d be inclined to wanting to share a sit down or two with.

“Pretty name.” Fate leads two here instead, lingering touches to the palm, the taller lingers too. Soft touches glide against opposite flesh as he pulls away, “It’s Green,” The unusual name follows suit to Yuki’s admission. He takes another drag, pulling off to flick ash onto the concrete. Heavy, his tongue lies heavy in it’s place, killing to splutter an implication much too forward for two who’d just been acquainted all of a few minutes ago. “Viridian managed to keep you… entertained?”

Alcohol, warm alcohol, and loneliness and spiked hormones well in his gut in a wicked trifecta.

The knee jerk reaction to his name, his real name, being called pretty, isn’t a positive one. He shed that name for a reason, but having Green (an unusual name, has he heard it before somewhere?) call him Cyrus, just opens up a liability. If someone recognized him, out like this...

Cyrus lets his hand fall, after little more than a shiver at the lingering touch of Green’s hand. That touch is all he needs to tell the outcome of the night.

“Thank you.” It’s more than a little stiff. “Yours sounds familiar, though I’m quite certain we haven’t met before. I wonder where I would have heard it?” It doesn’t really matter, wherever he’s heard Green’s name, only that he prefers to know who he’s taking to bed--and oh, if Cyrus gets his way, he will be taking Green to bed.

After a moment without answer, a moment of thought: “I suppose it doesn’t matter. We’re not exactly here to socialize, are we?” Softly spoken, innocuous if not for the hard edge that creeps into his voice, a suggestive darkness. Seduction has been one of his strong suits, but flirtation never has. Cyrus seldom sees virtue in that useless small talk, acting coy. Better to just get to the heart of the matter. It isn’t as if either of them are fooling the other.

“Or at least not in the conventional sense. Still. I would be more entertained if I had some company tonight.” 

[torngalaxy-blog]

@pincerelite [ continued from this ]

They are obviously in the wrong place at the wrong time.

That doesn’t stop Cyrus from fixing them with the stern, chilling expression he reserves for particularly uncooperative new recruits. Really, he thinks it’s a bit amusing. Of course the elite four member would choose the most suspicious part of Veilstone to go rummaging through what looks to be a discarded coin case. Not that Cyrus knows them personally--though that makes it slightly better in this case, striking fear into a stranger.

“Of course they are.” He capitalizes on the obvious lie, voice flat and cold. It’s obvious he doesn’t buy into a word of it. “By all means, if you’re going back to the Pokemon League, tell Lucian I say hello.”

It’s meant to sting. Cyrus doesn’t look long enough to see if it does, looks down and fishes through his coat pocket for the pack of cigarettes and lighter. Arceus, he needs to quit smoking. But that’s what he came out here for, a smoke break, and he’s going to get it, regardless of an unfortunate encounter with an elite four member or not.

Though, he does find Aaron interesting, so far.

“What I’m wondering is, are you going to keep it? The coin case.” He is curious. It would say a lot about a person. He holds a cigarette between his lips, lights it, then looks back up through dark lashes. “Considering it clearly is not yours.”

[torngalaxy-blog]

denki-boy:

Cyrus’ posture doesn’t match his tone, and Sophocles isn’t sure what to think of it. He’s slightly intimidated. He knows who he is; he’s seen how Cyrus talks to the others. And yet, Cyrus is here talking to him like they’re equal, sitting casually in one of the lab’s spinning chairs like they’re hanging out.

Sohpocles ponders those last words. Really thinks them over. Being a trial captain wasn’t his end goal…he enjoyed it, but he couldn’t see himself keeping the position for the rest of his life (not like he could, anyways). He wanted to move on but…to what?

“I, um…I guess I’m still searching for a purpose. I know I won’t be here forever.” He avoids eye contact, choosing to fiddle with one of the keychains he has attached to his belt. “I’ve tried challenging the champion for the title, but I lost. It was an impulse thing, and I don’t really know what I would’ve done if I had won.”

He pauses. What…what was he going to do after he left his position? He still had five years left, but where would he go after that?

“…What do you think I should do?” Sophocles asks, finally looking up.

“You’re asking my opinion?”

It comes out... surprised. Still monotone for the most part, but taken aback. When he lets Sophocles’s question rest, amusement creeps in too. He’s always tried to play mentor to his commanders and scientists, guiding them this way or that. Manipulation might be a better descriptor. Still, for as much as he plays the role, there’s a novelty in being asked for his opinion directly.

There’s a novelty in having this conversation, with Sophocles who he shares an interesting amount in common with.

“I don’t know if that’s wise, considering you know who, what I am.” He cocks his head to the side, makes eye contact for the few seconds it takes to speak. “Asking advice from Galactic’s Boss. Exactly what answer are you hoping for?”

Cyrus knows what answer he could give. I have a job opportunity, for someone like you. Plant the metaphorical bug in his ear. It would be a lie to say he isn’t considering it, after even just an hour of knowing Sophocles. He wouldn’t be the first fellow kid genius Cyrus had recruited. It’s natural, to gravitate towards those who are like you.

Cyrus knows what he could do, but goes for a slightly more subtle approach instead. “You find something you want, and you achieve it. Something as simple as knowledge, or, as complex as... saving the world.” A pause. Barely discernible tension in his voice. “Or destroying it.”

[torngalaxy-blog]

of-depravity:

“Grimsley~<3” (unovas_bitch) wrote:

I find it hysterical that half the so-called ‘anonymous’ users I chat with are people I know in person.

You know who you are. And for the record, your other name is prettier.

“ 惑星直列 “ (katsuyuki_onna) wrote:

I don’t know how you figured it out in the first place, I’ve been very. Particular. About who I appear to be.

...But. Thank you. Assuming that compliment was more genuine than backhanded.

[loveisa-laserquest]

Visit Original Link

I don’t really wanna know what’s good for me.

[feedmejams]

Visit Original Link

[torngalaxy-blog]

denki-boy:

Sophocles and Cyrus are similar, but so very different at the same time. Cyrus is cold and monotonous. His eyes are heavy, like he doesn’t get enough sleep, and he speaks like a man who’s seen far more than he should have for his age. Sophocles is certain that, as the commander of Team Galactic, he has.

He’s not sure how to take the statement. It feels like it came from a conversation he wasn’t part of.

“Yeah, they…they do say that.” He mumbled, turning his attention back toward the computer he was currently sitting at. Whatever pictures he’d pulled up were of the night sky over the observatory two months ago.

Sophocles could build complex machines, could make programs that analyzed all sorts of data for the scientists he worked with- something very few other kids his age could do. He wasn’t satisfied with it, though. His intellect was what set him apart from the rest of his family and made it hard to connect. Even years after he moved in with Molayne, he still caught himself wishing he’d been born with the athleticism his cousins all displayed.

“I dunno about that. I don’t feel one way or another about what they call me.”

Cyrus spins around in his computer chair to fully face him, while several months of images of the night sky are downloading to a memory stick. Arms crossed over the back of the chair, a pose too casual, out of place. Thin fingers drumming on the fabric, heavily shadowed eyes drawn up to the ceiling as he talks.

“We are a product of how others view us. Unfortunately.” Painted lips twitch upwards into the barest hint of a bitter smile. He speaks with Sophocles like an equal (or as much like an equal as he can speak with anyone but Maxie or Cynthia), doesn’t talk down to him, tone as dry as it always is.

“Which is a direct result of our actions. If nothing changes, a kid genius is who you will be for quite some time.” He’s making assumptions. Whether they are correct or not is not important. The reaction will be telling, either way.

“Gifted, is what they called me. So. You have this gift, and what will you do with it? Is there a purpose you have, or are you still searching for one?”