MUSICIAN CHALLENGE | ACCEPTINGTANGERINE DREAM -Â COOL AT HEART
âUnderstand, Alphonse, thatthere are some things you canât undo. You canât turn back from them. They liveinside you long after theyâre done and youâve become a different man.â Swirlsof coffee steam shrouded Dolcettoâs face, and his soft breath drew fog in the air. He leanedon the cold railing and watched the river below, winter-dark. Snowflakes meltedon his warm hands, and stuck to Alphonseâs armor. He remembered the needle inhis hand and the prick of it in his skin, the cage bars from both sides. Insideof him the dog slept, and he spoke softly so as not to wake it.
âThink very hard about thedecision youâre making â who you were, who youâve become, whether you will beable to avoid moving backwards when youâre flesh and blood again.â
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Very few people knew the back route into the Devilâs Nest. The chimeras, who needed the safety and the option of an escape. A few of the late King Bradleyâs men in Central. Greed. Sometimes Roa would go back there to think, but Dolcetto still saw blood on the stone. The one time Dolcetto had gone back, sure that if he could face the empty Nest he could face this too, Roa had held him as he heaved onto the stone and then as his whole body shuddered with horrible sobs. If Dolcetto had to run, he would leave by the front door.
No, someone else knew these tunnels. The young man whose footsteps echoed off the walls and the water, sharp but uncertain. It was a quiet day, clouds shrouding the entire sky, and Dolcetto heard the echoing through the open door. He crossed and stopped the phonograph, and his hand went to the blade strapped at his waist. âRoa, who is it?â he said, sharp and rough, and gestured with his chin.
Roa was gone for long moments, in which Dol slid the blade further into the light and tried not to imagine Roaâs body in the water. And then Roaâs figure shadowed the doorway, ushering a tidy blonde kid before him. The kidâs deep tan didnât diminish the splendor of golden eyes. Dolcetto scanned the drape of his clothing for the telltale wrinkles of concealed weapons. Satisfied that he wouldnât be caught off-guard should the kid choose to use them, Dol straightened up, sliding his blade back into his sheath but not releasing the hilt. The stink of the sewer tunnels clung to the young man, and Dolcetto didnât recognize his natural scent under it. Dol stepped back, granting the floor to the young man.
âGo ahead, take a seat,â Dol told him. âYou know thereâs a front door, right, kid?â Still, as he made his way over to the phonograph, he didnât turn his back to the young man. âSay, you look a lot like that Elric kid from Ms. Curtisâs, but youâre not. But I know you, donât I?â
âYou're awesome for making this possible, really! That, and your art it great~ :3
send me a âââ and Iâll draw your muse [x]
So story time. I decided on âghostâ with this, but thought âCrap... how do you draw ghosts in manga-style??â Then I remembered Mark Crilley has a ghost in his story (Brodyâs Ghost). So thatâs why the lines are so light and honestly... I really like using this style.
          Tightly, does he grasp his briefcase, fearing it, too, will disappear along with his sanity. A dream, mayhap - a nightmare, even, but he refuses to believe his current predicament is a product of reality. Domino City is long gone, his surroundings unrecognizable and difficult to take in as paranoia-filled sapphires flick back and forth, attempting ( yet failing ) to piece together exactly how he ended up here.
          One moment, he had been testing the new equipment in the headquarters of his corporation, and the next, he was waking up here with naught but the clothes on his back and the briefcase between slender fingers.
     Priority: Find oneâs footing.
          Lest he wished to be stuck here forever in a place he knew absolutely nothing about, perhaps refraining from rooting himself to this spot would be wise, no matter how reluctant he was to wander in search of assistance. Ah, but the sighting of what appeared to be a blonde-haired figure in the distance snagged his attention, to which he hastily set forth in order to catch up to him ( a human meant civilization - and civilization meant answers ).
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I have been roleplaying since I was 10, I am almost 26 so itâs been a while but I am pretty sure my first muse was Kagome from Inuyasha, I got into anime about the time I got into roleplaying and my sister @bratjas and I would roleplay with good old pen and paper. We had throwing papernfootballs and airplanes down to an art!
â:What drew you to this muse?
I love Winryâs spirit and the fact that sheâs not only smart but a deep character despite the fact that people tend to push her to the side. She isnât a main character but she takes over every scene sheâs in and doesnât NEED to be a main character to be memorable.
âMove the debris! One huge chunk after another until the area is clear!â Major Armstrongâs voice boomed high above the chaotic rumble of the massive project, exerting no extra energy to ensure he was heard by all the group of ground troopers recruited for the endeavor. He possessed a natural talent to project his voice out wherever it may be needed, as it should!
âWe have a long road ahead of us, but we must stand strong and get the job done! TONIGHT! Oh, did I forget to mention? The use of alchemy is strictly prohibited!! That is why you all are here."Â
Why could alchemy not be used? Well, there was no definitive answer given. Maybe it was in respect to the region they were working? Maybe it was to crawl under the skin of those recruited to work, however doubtful. Maybe it was just one of those things they would have to wonder.
The announcement successfully gained a unified groan from those on the receiving end, no one particularly pleased that they were being forced to rely solely on brute strength alone. Completing a task of this magnitude without the use of alchemy was going to take longer than a single night, that was for sure.
What was the rush?Â
Places like that always suffered under the strain of battle. It was those moments, moments spent cleaning up the mess made after the fact, that would not be written in the history books. No one wanted to know about the dirty work. They only wanted to hear of the glory.
Whatever objections the Major heard did not deter him from getting the most important point across, they would not ignore his instructions.
"All possible signs of survivors must be promptly reported to me! No matter how minor the detail, I want to be informed, at once!â
Armstrong stood overlooking the remains of the city. Judging by the damage within the radius of where the workers stood, the likelihood of anyone emerging unscathed was slim to none. That was being extremely optimistic. No. It would be a miracle if they survived at all. That was the reality of things.
Alexâs brows furrowed in thought as he only partly watched the troops construct an archaic pulley system to help transport the heavier pieces from point âAâ to point 'B.â
Hm. No use fretting about facts until proof was uncovered.
Now that his attention shifted back to the present, a sudden realization dawned on him.
âHALT right where you are!â Armstrong commanded the nearest group of soldiers, his eyes damn near bugging out of his head.
The group of five he enthusiastically addressed went about their business, ungracefully attempting to lug an awkwardly shaped slab of concrete across the way. They paid no heed to the Major, not realizing it was them to whom he spoke until his shadow swiped their light.
âSir?â One bravely ventured into unknown territory, opening the forum for their superior to speak his piece.
âThe angle at which the lot of you are holding that stone guarantees failure, and at the very least, ONE BROKEN BONE! Allow me to demonstrate the correct approach!â
Flexing his huge biceps and tightening his chest was all it took to reduce the material of his freshly pressed uniform to tiny strands that fluttered on the ground by his feet, beyond any hope of repair. Most of the group watched the display in silent exasperation, never knowing exactly how to handle the man.
âIs that what our tax dollars fund?â One asked another, staring at the tattered remains of the mans shirt, almost sad that the work of those who constructed it had been in vain.
âThey say thereâs a special budget set aside just to replace every article he destroys. Sad thing is, they have to be specially made for him. WHOAâ!â The man squealed, nearly losing his precious hold on balance when the heavy weight on his arms and shoulders were suddenly lifted. The bolder was swiftly hoisted above the head of Major Armstrong.
The soldiers looked on, their jaws hanging lax at the sheer strength required to pull off the action all by his lonesome. And without the appearance of being overly strained!
âYou need to learn to use the gifts that were born to you! Push your legs to their limits, forcing the muscles to take the pressure off your back! Work hard and one day you can be just like me!!â Armstrong pulled back his arm, launching the bolder at the very top of the pile they started, like it was nothing more than a pebble resting in the palm of his hand.
âIncredible! Major!â
âHAHAHA, childâs play!â Armstrong posed, making sure to showcase his beautifully sculpted body in a way that everyone passing by could stop and admire. âNow thereâs a boy who can show you how itâs done!â One arm extended, gesturing to the glint of light ahead, a reflection off the lingering figure of one Alphonse Elric. Like he produced a radiant glow all his very own!!
Young master Elric, a boy so many years their junior, able to work double what they performed themselves (under normal circumstances). Shameful!!
