#hamonqueen

       His body sliced through the air, his feet carrying him at astounding speeds as he raced atop of the roofs in the Beta District. At times he would halt his step, quickly observing the chaos that was ensuing down below. His brows knit in horror as he contemplated the choices that had been placed before him. “I must fight.” There had been no other option for him. His voice came out as a hushed whisper, and no sooner had he finished that sentence had his ears caught wind of an explosion of sorts, one so great that tremors had followed its blare almost immediately after. It hadn’t taken him long to regain his balance, his gaze veering to inspect the area where the blast had originated from. Before he could carefully assess it however, the lights, that had been scattered across the city, illuminating its streets, were now out. A disgruntled sigh passed his lips as he jumped down from the corner of the flat roof that he had been standing on. Since he had been gifted with keen senses, he could make out some of the surrounding area with his eyes alone, yet he began to rely on his sense of hearing and smell. Shrouded in darkness, he walked in silence, his red hues seemingly glowing. 

           Manning the flower crown station had been easy so far. He wasn't the best at making them, but giving simple instructions to children and other festival goers had been easy, as far as he was concerned. As long as he wasn't asked to make one, it'd be fine. A familiar face soon approach the stand and Sabo can't help but smile and lean forward as she neared closer, ❝ Ah, Ms. Lisa Lisa! Are you a lover of flowers as well? ❞ Of course she was. There wasn't a woman alive who didn't love flowers. And if it's a flower crown she wanted...well. ❝ I can make you one, if you'd like! I'm working here at the moment, so it's kind of my job. ❞ That’s probably a bad idea, but his need to impress her is greater than his common sense of what could make him look like a fool right now.

She was not his real mother. His real mother had been buried long ago, a distant memory clouded in the years of early youth. From what he could remember she was kind. Light hair, just as his own. But that was all. 

And upon the surface, it was a simple teacher and student. He’d learned from her countless lessons in the years passing and she, too, learned something of how to properly turn someone around. She had saved him, in many ways. A man who hadn’t deserved a second chance but was given one regardless. Warmth and kindness between them would be misunderstood by a stranger’s eye. It was simply something felt, regardless of words. Felt in quiet company. Sharing a cigarette, or a glance he wasn’t meant to notice. She was a hardened edge of a deafening blade... but mercy, looking at him, came natural in her eyes.

Perhaps he’d never understand, truly. But it didn’t matter. These were the moments that called her mother. That made her a figure of protection and of significance in his life. He felt too much, she had always been correct about that... but she really was too important to lose. He couldn’t accept it otherwise.

These musings had put together a humble idea. A bouquet of flowers from the shop in the city, ordered for his pickup later that day. White gladiolus and pink roses, flower language to represent an admiration for her spirit. Even if she knew, the simple gesture paled in what he could not say. How do you thank someone who had given you an opportunity that, seemingly, the universe did not want to happen? It was beyond any language.

"ask me about my demons"

lamia: how do you feel about children?

     “Children? Ah, yes..small humans an’ shit. Considerin’ I’m was in a group full of ‘em, I can they they’re a buncha idiot brats, but...if yer talking outside of those dumbasses...kids are...”

     “They’re the ones who need t’be protected.”

belias: do you gossip?

     “Kuhuhu...! I ain’t got time fer that shit!”

carreau: do you consider yourself compassionate or harsh to others? why?

@hamonqueen​

Another familiar face in this city, but at least this one didn’t piss Joseph off.

“Oi Lisa Lisa, good to know you survived that last battle unharmed! I figured an old lady like you would have keeled over from everything Kars did.” He wasn’t going to actually show it, but Jojo was relieved to see Lisa Lisa in the city, just like he had been happy to Caesar ever so slightly. Okay maybe mostly just Lisa Lisa, but let’s not sweat the details.

send me a crystal and i’ll tell…

carnelian: an art-related headcanon

chara loves to draw and doodle and color! they’re not particularly good at it, but they sure loved it. if they continued it growing up, they might’ve been a good artist.

calcite: my muse's social tendencies (introverted vs extroverted, parties vs one-on-one conversations, etc.)

chara can be sociable and outgoing but does need downtime, away from others, to recuperate. they like to make all sorts of friends and meet all sorts of people but in most cases, chara does things for their own benefit.

chrysocolla: a money-making headcanon

“You have more reason than the average person to want to return home,”

“Am I wrong?”

Hers was certainly not a face he’d expected to see.

Or really anyone from the universe he’d come to call home, having accepted that he was alone in this strange displacement. And, lonely as it may be, that felt like the best thing -- they had an important job to do, all of them, and it could (and still needed) be done without him. 

But something more selfish spoke to him in seeing the distinct image of a woman, elegant and dark, reaching from her clothing for a cigarette. Red lips held the object, eyes he knew to be blue scanning for a light hidden underneath large sunglasses. Even after so many years, she was something else. Stern and rigid, but just as alluring as the moment they’d met. The only woman who could ever make him waver, really. But he loved that. It was all what he’d come to remember as distinctly her.

And he would never be too intimidated to approach.

“A light?” Of course he had one. A collection, in fact, though he only carried on his person the one he now offered her. They shared this habit, and had often spent Italian evenings looking out at the sea with the scent and swirl of smoke. A son and his mother, or at least something nearly the same. The smile that came was kind, warm with respect. Pleased beyond what his expression and words could say.