#charmonys

Shout-outs of Awesomeness | Not Accepting (for now!)

For the first one, @charmonys, @hatefueled, and @enkosmios immediately come to mind for HSR muses! @sangsorrow and @sleeplesswork also carry a lot for the IvanTill nation with their pretty convincing portrayal of their relationship.

@charmonys / sc

“ Geeez are you always in this room? ”     attitude easy-going, his voice without a trace of the usual sarcasm. The man waltzed in the room as if he owned the place, seeking out someone to waste his time with until he was called back to the IPC. Sure enough, luck was on his side, as always – Sunday was still in this room, now playing the piano. 

It wasn't a song he recognized, but he could tell it was something written rather than played off the cuff. Though it wouldn't surprise him at all if someone like Sunday could have written his own music; he seemed the type of man who could just wish things into existence if he wanted them – and the blond could relate to this, in a way. He earned everything by the sheer nerve of his voice, of his luck blessed by the goddess. This too, a pointless evening, was something he would not walk out of the room without. 

his body sat halfway on the piano seat, back close to the higher notes. Had he known the song, he'd have played along.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." A quick mumble over his own mug, he didn't need to see to know exactly where the other man's footsteps were treading. The coffee pot sitting on the bartop? Nope, they weren't trying to accidentally kill their newest guest. That'd be rude.

@charmonys

they've looked for coach and rochelle everywhere. part of nick feels desperate, since rochelle had been one of the only people nick felt he could trust completely, but now her and coach are missing. nick can only hope in some higher power that her and coach found safety somewhere else.

at least he has ellis, even with all the kid's annoying qualities in full force. it's been nonstop chatter for half a day now, though nick can hardly blame the kid. he knows ellis is just as scared as he is, and neither of them make for very good leaders. nick is too much of a lone wolf, and ellis is... well.

"-did i ever tell you 'bout me and dave, we went to this car show once and-"

"ellis?"

"yeah i gotcha. shuttin' up man. man, it's too quiet right now." the younger man is currently fiddling with his hat, decidedly NOT shutting up as nick had hoped, but is now preparing to launch into another story about his adventures with his friends. meanwhile nick wants to imagine rochelle's voice, or coach's voice, or any other voice that doesn't belong to ellis.

"wait, ellis, actually shut up," nick says, holding a hand out. he means to hold it in front of ellis' face, but instead accidentally smacks him in the mouth. "i think i hear something."

"wait, shit, really?" ellis perks up, and obeys, for once. there's a few seconds of blissful silence, before nick whips his head around, peering out the door of their not-so-safe room. it's not the sound of zombies, or whatever the fuck creatures might be out there, but very much human voices, or human-like. nick is not holding out much hope for strictly human, at this point.

"hello?" he calls out. "please be normal people and not zombies, or an annoying chatterbox!"

"hey, that's not cool man, seriously." ellis' voice doesn't sound as hurt as he probably should, though both of them are used to casual insults thrown at each other. "but yeah hey, hello out there!" ellis huddles up against nick, practically shoving the older man out of the way. "if you ain't zombies, you're cool in our book! i got all kinds o'stories to tell you, like the time nick almost lost his jacket to a smoker-"

&& @charmonys said... — ❝ mr. phainon, i presume? ❞ he's heard mention of him in passing, from the members of the express who spearheaded the expedition into amphoreus. a friendly face, a staunch ally — the description paints quite a favorable picture indeed. ❝ it's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. ❞ the halovian continues, punctuating the statement with a polite dip of the head. ❝ i wanted to take a moment to express my gratitude for looking after my companions. i... know they can be a bit of a handful at times. ❞ well, one of them can be — and it certainly isn't dan heng.

▎the  silver  headed  man  turned  around  upon  hearing  him  being  addressed  with  such  formality.  nothing  to  uncommon  but  something  he  isn't  a  biggest  fan  off.  it  makes  the  room  feel  more  stuffy  and  serious  then  it  most  of  the  time  has  to  be.  〝  the  pleasure  is  all  mine,  sir  〞the  trailblazer  and  dan  heng  told  him  and  the  other  chryos  heirs  that  they  weren't  alone  when  they  placed  down  a  beacon  in  the  marmoreal  palace  that  was  called  a  space  anchor???  it  sounded  quite  weird  at  first.  〝  it  was  no  problem,  they  were  quite  nice  and  helpful  with  the  situation  we  were  facing  at  hand  at  the  time.  〞   phainon  wasn't  sure  if  the  two  trailblazers  mentioned  how  there  first  meeting  went  and  that  he  broke  dan  heng's  weapon  in  two  with  the  trailblazers  own  weapon.   a  found  memory  he  would  treasure  for  the  rest  of  his  life  but  also  a  be  bit  embarrassed  about.

The seamstress doesn't look towards the man as he approaches her at her loom, it would only serve to possibly make him more comfortable for her to do so. Though, her sight less gaze can also be incredibly unnerving as well.

"good morning," noah greets, but there's no melody to his words. only malaise. "...there's a letter for you."

"Your story has been awfully interesting so far, Mr. Former Oak Family head."

He imagined that suddenly being approached by a perfect stranger was... strange. But, old habits as a Memokeeper tended to be a bitch to kill. In a vast universe where mundanity vastly outweighed the extraordinary, sometimes people like Sunday came along who changed the equation and edited the script entirely. A remote cafe at the end of the road was some of the only shelter against the torrential rainfall pounding the roof. The patrons sat in hazes of cigarette below lurid pendant lights, a smoky atmosphere hung with the stench of burnt coffee. An unglamorous place for one such Sunday.