[ It would be almost painfully funny how little Mika seemed to care about everything, but the things he actually did care about were so unrelated to each other for it to seem positively surreal; creating and growing, and the other hand, complete and utter annihilation of whatever stood in their way in battle. It would come as a surprise to those who only knew him in one side of another to see Mikazuki like this, the duality of his interest so starkly divided.
A little more than a month here, and already there are subtle changes; he smells faintly of the greenhouse now, of damp earth and greenery, the faint acrid tang of leaves, instead of the motor grease and fuel, the long hours spent in the stuffy hangar pumped with refiltered air. It's a change that he himself barely realises maybe, the subtlety of the change so gradual and minute day by day.
Building, or destroying; there is no middle ground with him. With Mika it's always been hard choices with no room for any compromise.
At Orga's question, he is going to turn to the dirt-covered bundle of paper by his knee, some kind of rag of a journal that's seen much hardship already. The idea to keep a log had been McGillis' idea, something that Mika has taken to heart, apparently. ]
Peony. [ he pronounces the name carefully, feeling out the syllables like he's saying it for the first time. ]
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[ It would be almost painfully funny how little Mika seemed to care about everything, but the things he actually did care about were so unrelated to each other for it to seem positively surreal; creating and growing, and the other hand, complete and utter annihilation of whatever stood in their way in battle. It would come as a surprise to those who only knew him in one side of another to see Mikazuki like this, the duality of his interest so starkly divided.
A little more than a month here, and already there are subtle changes; he smells faintly of the greenhouse now, of damp earth and greenery, the faint acrid tang of leaves, instead of the motor grease and fuel, the long hours spent in the stuffy hangar pumped with refiltered air. It's a change that he himself barely realises maybe, the subtlety of the change so gradual and minute day by day.
Building, or destroying; there is no middle ground with him. With Mika it's always been hard choices with no room for any compromise.
At Orga's question, he is going to turn to the dirt-covered bundle of paper by his knee, some kind of rag of a journal that's seen much hardship already. The idea to keep a log had been McGillis' idea, something that Mika has taken to heart, apparently. ]
Peony. [ he pronounces the name carefully, feeling out the syllables like he's saying it for the first time. ]
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