spellbinders | [JANUARY INTRO LOG

[JANUARY INTRO LOG | WORLD TWO]

Who: All coven members, especially new folk!
Where: In and around the new world’s apartment building where the coven is staying, as well as the rest of Shehui
When: Day 160
Open/Closed: Open to All
IMPORTANT: While some prompts are newbie exclusive, all characters can tag this intro log!

How did you get into this building? This apartment room? What the fuck is going on? Let's refer back to this page for a semi in-depth, wow so detailed, explanation of your current situation. You'll also have a letter slipped under your door with some explanation about your whole coven situation, as well as info that explains you have magic now! And yet what kind of magic is conveniently left out.

Are you up to speed? Great.

Now, here's the question of the hour: what are you going to do about all this?

your flower will be decided

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[ Outwardly on the streets of Shehui, there aren't that many changes in effect in accordance with what happened during the Sunsu festival - people are still going to work and to school, spending their days as normal as they always have - but the questions and the curious staring gaze is more obvious now, enough that even Mika feels it . Even in a place like this, as carefree as it was, there are invisible lines drawn across that cannot be crossed. Here, still, they are strangers yet again.

Their stay here is only but temporary, that much Mika understands - the island that he was briefly introduced to before is the origin for Qri and her servants, their home, but it's nothing more than a brief, hazy series of images and half-memories. That's not their home either. What they are seeking is somewhere ahead of them, just out of reach, or maybe they just need to trace their steps backward to those crooked dirty streets. Simple human warmth, maybe, an idea that it could be something more.

The earth is warm too as Mika carefully works the spade into it, concentrating on digging up the flowering plant without damaging it so that he can transfer it into the pot sitting nearby. The weird atmosphere of the city doesn't deter him from going to his assigned detail, and maybe it's some kind of dedication but also it's partially out of rare, personal interest. Ever since Geir introduced him to this particular garden, he hasn't missed a day once - and Orga being here now doesn't necessarily mean that he would stop now, unless the other boy said differently.

The ground is soft enough for his knees to sink in where he's kneeling down, different from the hard, downtrodden ground of Mars - it's a stark contrast to the dusty soils that he's used to back home.

Finally, the transferring done and the peony bush settled securely into the pot, Mika straightens up and tilts his head to glance sidelong to where Orga is, presumably waiting. ]

Orga, are you bored?

[Once his eyes had been opened to it, he saw the lines of tension that ran invisible beneath the seemingly-benign surface of the streets of Shehui. It was a subtle thing, a kind of nervous energy, like how one subconsciously holds a breath before they fear something surprising was about to happen. He read the cultural anxiety in this, in the way people's eyes swept with concern and suspicion over those leaving their building. That their eyes kept pointedly falling on strangers' throats. Upon seeing this, he had quickly made the strategic purchase of another scarf, thinking it best to remain incognito - or as much as he could be, sticking out as a newcomer as much as he did.

Orga remains without a work detail, though he'd set a deadline to find something to do by the end of the week. The credits he'd been given would last until then, fairly easily... and it freed him up to tag along with Mika to see what he was up to during his work days.

It'd been a good decision.

With Mika preoccupied by the careful work in the garden, Orga's free to beam at him with a look of obvious warmth and pride, something so bright and fervent it might've been visible from several dozen paces. He caught himself like this a few times back home, too, from the few times he caught Mika working on Sakura's farm or on his own projects, trying to get something other than corn to grow in the arid Mars soil.

It is just... nice to see him show interest in something that didn't involve mortal danger. Orga was under no illusions - he knew that Mika was integral to Tekkadan, their strongest weapon against those who would do ill to them or for their own goals, but... he's also a boy he'd known since childhood, one he wants to see happy in other things, as well.

He reigns himself in by the time Mika looks over to him; his gaze is still warm but maybe a little less sappy.]

Mm? [He seems almost surprised by the question, cracking a smile.] Nah. Having a blast.

[His tone is lightly joking, but he's not lying.

He leans forward, away from the wall he'd been leaning on, taking a few long strides over to where Mika was crouched. He looks closer at the plant he'd just transferred from the plot to the pot, curious.] What's this one called? Do you know?

Alright.

[ 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. ]

Do you like it?

[There was a Spartan nature to Mika's interests; he applied himself entirely to things he either had interest in or felt were necessary, and sometimes it had a ripple effect, though to varying degrees of success. Orga had stumbled across him taking lessons to learn to read and write with the younger kids, the idea apparently formed from the impetus to wanting to be able to read manuals for the mobile suits, so he could help with the finer repairs. Reading had proved a unique challenge for him, and Orga wasn't sure where his efforts had stalled out, but his interest in gardening seemed to be purely from himself. He's happy to see both, to see either. As much as Orga had his own promises to fulfill, and Mika would play a sizable part in accomplishing them, he wanted to see the guy happy as well.

Call it a selfish desire.

He tilts his head towards what Mika pulls out of the soil, something he realizes is a journal that has probably seen better days, but it's still what it is. His eyes go a little wide again, surprised, before breaking into a powerful warmth yet again.]

Yeah. I do.

[Yeah, yeah, right, sure. He totally means the flower, or whatever.]

Hey. [He reaches out, ruffling through the smaller boy's hair, unable to stop from grinning.] Look at you! You been sneaking more reading and writing lessons behind my back?

[ closing an eye against the touch to his hair, orga's fingers ruffling through it naturally, confidently, Mika glances sidelong at the other boy with an expression that doesn't visibly match up to the warmth, at least not in an outward reaction. Something about the corner of his lips quirking up, there's an edge of softness about it, cracking through the impassive demeanour like a plant through dry soil, small and secret. ]

I can't help out much around here if I can't.

[ his voice is deadpan, matter of fact, but he curls his fingers around the other's wrist, brushing thumb against the inside of orga's wrist. Soil and warmth and life, not the bitter acrid smear of motor oil. ]

If you like it, I'll grow some more of these.

[Mika always has this sort of muted aspect about him; where some voiced themselves and their opinions loudly and almost proudly wore hearts on their sleeves, Mika had always done practically the opposite, seeming closed-off and even obtuse in the way he expressed things to most. Orga's familiar enough with him to glean the truth, though. He might not take too much pride in this, viewing it as something merely necessary and not exactly thrilling, but that's fine. Orga will take pride in it for him, then.]

Mhm. [It's not questioning; he knows that's Mika's genuine reasoning behind it. But he hopes - or perhaps he knows - that the boy will realize how it opens other doors. Maybe he'd find something he was interested behind one or two of them. Just something to pass the time until they got back home, of course...

The fingers wrapping around his wrist is a familiar, insistent pressure, one he responds to with an easy smile, a momentary connection between them as the rough pad of Mika's thumb passes over where the pulse carried through his wrist. He moves his hand, manipulating it so that it slips into Mika's threading fingers for just a moment and giving him a light squeeze.]

Yeah. You should.

[He looks at the flowers in question.] We should take some back, too. [They'd look nice in the room.

He looks back to Mika.] You got anything around here that I can help with? Might as well lend a hand, rather than distract you.

[The smile accompanying these words didn't really imply much remorse on that front, though. But if Mika finishes up work early, they could find something else to do; this city seemed to have basically everything.]

[ of course, he sees the benefits of learning this, somewhat - in the maybe-distant future, when they have reached where they wanted to be, Mika would like to own a small farm, after all. Something smaller than Sakura's, something he could easily care for even when he's like this. Someday, somewhere, the possibilities exist, a different future that he only need to reach out and grab hold of - some place in this world where they won't be judged by anyone's eyes, some place where they can feel at peace. But that's still something far in the horizon, still more a dream than any potential reality.

Right here and now, shining even brighter than what he can see in front of him, is Orga, and what he promises him. What he had promised. That's more real than any of this, the green grass and the dark earth and the sunlight shining through the glass panel of the dome they are in.

None of this reflect on his outward expression. Mika doesn't have enough words to ever explain this to him, but he doesn't need to anyway; he trusts Orga to understand him regardless. For now, Mika returns the squeeze of the fingers before they let go. ]

You're not distracting.

[ a breathy edge of a laughter, and he turns back to his task. ]

I'll grow some more now, if you pass me the pots there.

[Orga tried to avoid illusions of grandeur. They were dangerous. One could become easily ensorceled by their idealization of the future, allowing it to poison the good that they had in hand at the given moment, making the drive to achieve something outlandish so great that it pushed them into something monumentally stupid. Sure, taking a revolutionary maiden to her place to make a great stand for Mars' independence had been a lofty goal for a bunch of upstart orphans from a backwater colony, but they'd done it. Each step, however, had seemed reachable. The base, the job, the ship, the suits, the battles, the alliances - all up until their final push on Edmonton. That had been Orga's gambit, where they had bid it all, and it had paid off.

Their position back home might've seemed a few years back like a delusion, a daydream he might've had while nursing bruises gained as collateral damage of the First Corps' frustrations.

And now there was Mars.

Fareed had offered it, and despite whatever cautions he might have, Orga had accepted to help him for this prize. Perhaps the biggest delusion he could have: that one day they could own the planet that had looked upon them as garbage, that only ignored the whiskers sprouting from their backs because they feared the strength it gave them. A home for their family. A place for a throne.

Maybe somewhere, deep down, he knows that he is a fool. And a hypocritical one at that.

But in his vision of that future, on Mars, the base is secure, the ships are docked, and the mobile suits rest, ready but without much pressing need for their use, as everyone of Tekkadan extends to what might interest them, what might continue to make them strong and independent. The mines, what Kudelia was doing with the people and children in the city, and a farm that Mika could tend himself - one that could maybe produce something else from a distant sun and harsh soil. That, more than anything they had seen, felt the most like what he had promised all those years ago. That was why he had ignored his own cautions, pushing them into what might prove to be a tenuous situation.

Looking at Mika, content with the work he was doing here, feeling the squeeze of his hand before they parted once more, he thinks again that it was worth it.]

Mm. [And as he speaks, he initially seems blithe, though,] I could be, though. [ending with a slightly sly grin.

He doesn't follow through with it. He merely stands to fetch what Mika indicated. He returns with them after a moment, setting the pots down next to him, eyeing him with curiosity.]

Now?

[Does he mean start to grow some now? Plants take their sweet time, from what he recalls.]

Now.

[ Mika agrees easily enough, like he's merely talking about repairs needing to be done on Barbatos or how nice the weather is today - like it's nothing special, just some every day occurrence. He takes a handful of seeds from the small pouch that's been assigned to him, and holds them in the palm of his hand, concentrating hard; he hasn't had too much practice with this, considering they were pretty adamant about keeping it off the radar, but there wasn't anybody else here but him and Orga..

He concentrates briefly, trying to envision the growth of the flowers, the slow unfurling of the leaves and the petals that he's observed over the past little bit of time since he started working in the greenhouse. That much he's figured out so far - though it makes sense to him, that he won't be able to recreate anything without some basic understanding of what it was. That was part of the reason why he was working so hard to learn things, after all - reading and writing, and now this as well. Destruction was altogether too easy - this was something else entirely.

The seeds meld together, before slowly forming into a small shrubbery in his hand, the flowers only just in their early stages of growth; there's hints of red about the buds. The furrow that'd formed between his brows lift slightly as he lets out a breath, breaking his concentration to look towards where Orga is. ]

The pot.

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[JANUARY INTRO LOG | WORLD TWO]

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