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It was rather an eclectic group of people working with the Dreikreuz. There were some familiar faces and obvious new ones, and the many difference machines that rests in the hangars. And yet he couldn't help but stop at one in particular; a silvery bird knight mech shining brightly amongst them, demanding his attention.
She is the Wind; a Cosmic Wind that blows even in space, singing, calling out to those who dare to lend out their ears and hear Her Voice. Alien and yet familiar, the sort of comfort that trying out one's new favorite dish gives to someone... that's what it felt like to stare at the Cybuster. He couldn't place how this machine spoke to him, but spoke to him she did, and she was loud.
(She was different than speaking to the spirits of the dead as a Newtype. No, this was alive, commanding her existence as a living being, and he felt a difference pressure about it than what Newtype powers does to him. And, quite frankly, he doesn't know why he perceives this as given the pronoun 'she' in the first place.)
"Y'know, you've been staring at Cybuster for quite some time," came a voice behind him. "What's that about, anyway?"
And he forgot about the pilot. The pilot who was behind him, cats at his shoulders, arms crossed, sightly taller than him.
(He is the Wind, too, the Wind Given Human Flesh; mercurial and perspective, timeless wisdom hidden in a teenager. Just as alive as the living being within the Cybuster.)
"Sorry, it's just... there's something about her that's nagging behind my head," Kamille admitted. "There's... something pulling me towards your Cybuster, and I can't identify it."
(TBC)
She is the Wind; a Cosmic Wind that blows even in space, singing, calling out to those who dare to lend out their ears and hear Her Voice. Alien and yet familiar, the sort of comfort that trying out one's new favorite dish gives to someone... that's what it felt like to stare at the Cybuster. He couldn't place how this machine spoke to him, but spoke to him she did, and she was loud.
(She was different than speaking to the spirits of the dead as a Newtype. No, this was alive, commanding her existence as a living being, and he felt a difference pressure about it than what Newtype powers does to him. And, quite frankly, he doesn't know why he perceives this as given the pronoun 'she' in the first place.)
"Y'know, you've been staring at Cybuster for quite some time," came a voice behind him. "What's that about, anyway?"
And he forgot about the pilot. The pilot who was behind him, cats at his shoulders, arms crossed, sightly taller than him.
(He is the Wind, too, the Wind Given Human Flesh; mercurial and perspective, timeless wisdom hidden in a teenager. Just as alive as the living being within the Cybuster.)
"Sorry, it's just... there's something about her that's nagging behind my head," Kamille admitted. "There's... something pulling me towards your Cybuster, and I can't identify it."
(TBC)
