#noble-5

If I get 10 "voice"s, I (the mun) will record myself voice acting the character I roleplay.

Akemi had expected a bad attempt at a guess from Jorge, but when he completely nailed it, she cast her gaze to the ground. Eyes wide, fingers curled into fists.

Akemi peered around the room with such an awkwardness that it was practically palpable. Terrible decorations were strewn all over the place, plastic bat lights hung from the doorway on either side, little paper ghosts danced from their strings attaching them to the ceiling. Dry ice cast smoke along the floor.

And she was in a catsuit. 

It was a subpar grade costume for the holiday that she'd only heard of from Jorge. Who was she supposed to be again? Some...comic hero? What on Earth was a comic anyway? Two plastic pistols were attached to her belt, and there was even a red wig that had gone with the outfit, and a pair of heels. Both, she adamantly refused to wear.

The desire for home had brought her here. But home, no longer existed. The planet remained, Aakron, a magnificent metropolis once lay where she sat. She could remember playing just a mile away as a Manipular, not a care in the world. But now all those memories here, were just that. Upon her entrance into the planet’s atmosphere, and the ground came into view, grief overcame her entire being.

"No more…Our home is no more…" Her long fingers dug into the control panel before her.

The small UNSC vessel—which she was unaware of it being designated a Longsword—now lay in silent wait, for more spacial exploration. Perhaps more desperate attempts to find her own kind somewhere among the stars.

Upon her landing, Softly Whispers Newfound Stars was so stricken by grief that fifty percent of her armor had simply fallen away off of her thin frame and lay in a trail leading back to the ship.

What was there for her now? The echoes of old friends and comrades long since passed began to fill her mind. Haunting her. Was she the last? She could hear desperate attempts at comfort from her Ancilla coming from her helmet yards away, but without it on his cries fell upon deaf ears.

Whisper dug her delicate fingers into the grass, her bare skin had not touched anything but the inside of her armor in over a hundred thousand years. The Forerunner bore an absurdly pale blue hue to her, hair a long trail of pastel purple ran down and coiled into the turf beneath her sorrow stricken form. She turned her eyes to the sky above, a ring of the same pastel tone lay around the outermost section of her iris, and a second ring of almost white surrounded her pupils.

Sorrow was quickly replaced by panic as Whisper caught sight of another aircraft making it’s approach to her position. Such a surge of adrenaline through her body prompted her armor to come to life by thought alone, and she was quickly on her feet and the fallen pieces snapped into their rightful positions around her figure.