Chaotic Old

@zeronote

The voice of the announcer echoes, both through his comms and the Battle Arena itself: “There are three squads remaining!”

Two, not including his. That’s possibly eight remaining contenders. His own squad is down to just himself and one other, and he checks the proximity of his ally on his HUD before glancing up at the scoreboard. He’s tied for third with the player controlling the monstrously huge, fire-breathing avatar.

The one I want to avoid, he laments, before grappling over to land in a crouch beside the old man. With only three squads left, scattered across the field, they have a moment to breathe and review their strategy. “We are doing very well, friend!” he greets him. “I have marked the last known positions of our enemies on your HUD!”

There’s the silent question of what do you want to do now?, and Pathfinder turns to scan their surroundings while waiting for an answer. The low ammo warning on his rifle doesn’t particularly worry him. Netero doesn’t need a gun to win, judging by the fact he’s climbed to the top of the board using only his fists.

Intraspace was an interesting concept! That’s for sure. He only found out through the grapevine so to speak and here he was, playing an interesting little shoot out of a game. Not to mention here, in this virtual world, he had all his nen back. It was a good enough chance to stretch out these old muscles and see if he could find someone worth while.

But as he quite literally punched and slapped his way through the teams. The use of weapons were probably giving the others a better chance against him, after all the old man enjoyed the challenge. So when the one with the robot avatar-- or was he an actual robot?-- fell in line beside him, Netero listened to what he had to say.

He chuckled softly, sitting on the balls of his feet with his arms resting on his knees. Then it’s only a few left. Netero rolled one shoulder and glanced back over there current cover.

“Well that certainly is a big one. Probably over compensating for power. So long as no one gets a lucky shot in, I can take care of that if you want to pick off the others?” The ex-Chairman inquired, now idly playing with his beard. “My other suggestion is we both take out the weaker enemies and just tag team the big guy.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“The law only applies if you cannot out run it.”

“Please do not. I don’t want to see that. I’ll need to actually scrub my brain.”

“See what? Flabby old man skin billowing in the wind? Whispy body hair covering every bit? Low hanging--” There’s a loud car horn blaring far too close, drowning out his next words.

“My job is literally to stop you.”

Nahyuta was rather lost in thought, their mind caught up in the number of odd cases that had been popping up lately. Surely it was nothing the prosecutor’s office needed to be worried about in the long run… They’re drawn from their thoughts as they hear a voice nearby, and turn their attention to the man, who directs his next comment at them.

Their style? That was a good question, they supposed. They were the only Khura’inese person they knew of in this city…

“Well, I suppose I decided on it because it’s most comfortable to me. It’s the traditional style of monks in my home country of Khura’in…I am a Khura’inese monk, after all.”

And a prince, which was part of the reason they dressed as fancily as they did, but they preferred not to mention that part. 

“Are there similar styles where you are from?”

“Oh ho, a monk, eh? I believe it’s been quite some time since I’ve found myself in the presence of one. Back in my prime, I isolated myself in nature specifically to dedicate my life to martial arts and prayer but that’s neither here nor there,” Netero grinned, idly tugging at his beard. “Sure there are. Depends on where you come from and personal style I suppose.”

Maybe he should go back to his original aesthetic before that fallout happened. He has nothing but time in this place, that’s for sure.

“My own style was just traditional for Bodhisattva, but I eventually just settled for traditional kimono. As you said, for comfort.” He chortled softly, letting both arms fold behind his back while he looked back up at this fancy stranger.

Kite should have known better than to think the chairman would accept such an answer. It wasn’t like him. He instinctively takes a couple steps back when Netero lands in front of him. What a showoff. 

Wait, what? How does Netero know how his time in Spirale in spent? And who the hell is he to judge? This leisurely old coot has nothing but his damn retirement to deal with. What Kite does by the Cotes Ward lake is hardly brooding. 

It’s not like him to fall for such taunts, nor to be competitive over something as petty as a simple game, but… He glances over and the kids Netero was playing with all seem hopeful to have a replacement player.

“Very well, old man. But you will lose.”

There’s a grin showing under his recently growing in beard, and he clapped his hands together. “Great! You’re on the opposing team with the kids wearing ball caps,” he stated simply as he walked back to the court. “Typical rules of basketball, the only difference happens to be the fact that the ground is frozen. Hence why we’re calling it risky basketball. One of the kids twisted an ankle, nothing serious but it’s not particularly a fair game when someone’s hobbling around.”

Fair isn’t the word used for Netero by any means. Sure, with a bunch of normal street kids, he played it simple. Kite now on the team? It would be anything but fair... For the lanky hunter that is. He smirked.

“Got you a replacement player. He’s a tall one, so your team may have an advantage but let me tell you,” he stared at his own team of street kids. “He’s a pushover.” He gestured towards the court again.

“…I apologize, I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Is it a ball made out of a basket?” 

He’d seen something like that in the markets before, little round wicker spheres woven together by hand. They were usually used for decoration, or to carry around pet crickets for traveling. But this mystery game sounds more complicated with the mysterious old man sprier than he looks—he wonders if the other practices martial arts on the side.

“I’m willing to learn,” he adds agreeably. “If this elder will trouble to instruct me.”

“I suppose not. It’s nothing new where I come from, people tend to play it without rules. Make of your own, and such. No, no, basketball is...” He idly pulled on his beard for a quick moment, trying to find the easiest way to explain such a game.

“Take a basket with no bottom, put it up somewhere. Your goal is to try and get the ball into the basket for points. Your other goal is to try and prevent your opponent from actually getting the ball into the basket to score points. The one with the most points in a certain time frame wins.”

The old man tilted his head, both hands on his hips now. Should be the easiest way to learn.

❧ @zeronote || starter call.

Orianna finds herself on Pearl Street in the Golden Ward, deciding that today is a day well-suited for shopping — perhaps even for treating herself. One of the many proprietors must have something to provide for the lady’s hobbies.

First, though, she seeks out a rather high-end cafe; She has heard plenty about it, both from passing words on the street and searching on her phone. Atmosphere certainly does drive the price of a cup of coffee to new heights, but that’s fine. If it is enjoyable, it will be worth it.

Orianna idles at the polished counter, clarifying to the barista that she would need a few minutes to decide.

“Isaac?”

That’s the barista calling out a name with a to go cup in hand. “Double espresso latte, ready to go.”

Well that old man approached to take his order after a few moments of silence, giving a small acknowledgement of thanks as he took the cup from her and turned. He hadn’t taken a moment to actually get a good look at the various customers who just came in, so when his gaze fell on a woman literally made of metal, an eyebrow quirked up.

How interesting! A robot? Someone with a full body prosthetic? A curse? Not something one would see everyday and he’d seen many strange things in his long life.

“A retirement home? Really? Such normal means to contain an old man, how cruel,” Netero murmured more to himself than anything. Well, he had his goal. To die a second time? Not much of a problem given he already went through it the first time. Better find his old and confused double before anything bad happened to him, yeah?

Kite sets his arm along the back of the chair and brings a hand to his cheek. He lets a quiet out through his nose. It’s easy enough to see that isn’t the ideal situation for the old man, but then, nothing really was. There’s a small feeling of guilt that accompanies him here every week, and it often shows up in his expression. 

“You mean their cynicism hasn’t rubbed off on you yet?” The question is asked in jest. “Your spirit hasn’t aged a day, but you just… can’t–shouldn’t be doing things as though you’re still sixty…” Yeah, that’ll go in one ear and right out the other. It always seems to.

Boyfriend…? “Husband,” the correction is automatic, the word spoken in a tone of fondness. The smile that appears on his face is equally fond, like he’s a lovesick teen again. Kite tugs at a strand of hair.  “…Yeah, Mika and I are still together–I think that’ll always be true. Honestly, It’s like a dream. Sure, we’ve been at each other’s side since we were kids, but… it’s… It’s different now, y’know? He’s my best friend and now my husband? It’s pretty much all I’ve ever wanted…”

He looks up from the floor with a slight blush on his face, and a blank expression that indicates he doesn’t remember what else he was supposed to answer. After his Mika tangent, he’s lost track. “We have been together for a few years now… Why do you still call him my boyfriend…?”

“No, not yet. I’m sure another year or two here and it will. I’ll be calling you up almost every day just to complain,” Netero replied with a grin, moving into the the little kitchen just to start up the coffee machine. An amazing little thing that didn’t even look like your average coffee pot. Oh, and the same warnings about his age were promptly ignored. He’s heard it all before.

While he set up to make his (grand)son coffee for the visit, he listened to him. Smiling fondly as Kite went on a tangent about his husband. The old man glanced back to take a peek at such a fond smile and he turned around completely, leaning against the counter while the coffee machine gurgled behind him.

“Your partner in life should always still be your best friend first and foremost. Besides, every time you correct me, the pure joy in your voice when you talk about your husband is nice to hear.” Compared to the cranky complaints of his neighbors for sure.

“Bring him along some time. It’ll be like old times when he used to climb through your window nearly every week. He’s stopped doing that, yeah? I imagine so given you two live together. Such a strange way of thinking, that one. I’m glad you’re still together and finding the same joy in each other’s presence.” He turned back to the coffee, pulling down a couple plain mugs. In a few moments, he set the mug down on the table near Kite.