[ it was all . . . pretty okay at first, after he arrived from selena. he was a skittish bundle of a mess, the thoughts were endlessly worrying, some deaths happened on the ship and a couple of reindeer murder cats got loose as well as a cinnamon bug outbreak, but everything turned out okay in the end. they even had movie nights! but nothing would ever prepare him for mission macha, even if he knew what was to come. perhaps he had a gist, thought he knew— but never would he have guessed the feelings and events that would pull down at him. ]
We've been on Macha for . . . A few days? Maybe a week?
[ honestly, he hasn't been keeping track. ]
We just— Haven't stopped.
[ just fighting, walking, fighting— he catches a short glimpse, the dim glow of yamamoto's cuff: orange. ]
You too-? Not on Macha, I mean— [ he tries to gesture, rather sloppily, mostly because he recalls their visit on the space colony selena, knows he's seen yamamoto there— and once on the nehada, anxious to hear of yamamoto's whereabouts . . . he was told of a transfer, to another ship.
but, one could never be too sure. not everyone remembers, he's learned. ]
[ LISTEN ... It's not like Yamamoto keeps his schedule down to the punctilious restraint of fixed timestamps and weekly logs, it's lucky he's even peripherally aware of what day it is (not the weekend, or he wouldn't have been called out afterschool on the day he was drafted, but maybe he's just splitting hairline semantics and his own immediate indifference to anything that isn't fun or baseball, respectively speaking). In any case, it's not like Tsuna isn't up to snuff with handling things when it comes down to the eleventh hour — he's the leader for a reason — but he's momentarily caught by that answer, mouth opening on pop-fly spontaneity. ]
Haven't stopped?
[ A weird way to phrase it, but then they've reached the camp by this point, and Yamamoto's steps visibly slog as he sits down the mangled remains of his camp tent without any further precursor, like it doesn't even matter that he should've gotten it set up long before he went traipsing around to alleviate his concerns on the slimmest of provocations.
He goes quiet at the question, staring at him for a while. A slight tilt of his head, eyes bright and summarily unsettled at once, some confused movement pried halfway between caution and blithe silence.
From what he can recall, he hadn't encountered Tsuna even once until now, but Hibari had been out on the rooftop that night, and he — ] Ahaha, well, I don't think I understand. What do you mean?
[ he shuts his mouth— one, because of the stings under the bandages, the wounds that stretched and brought discomfort to his moving mouth. at least with painkillers, it's lightened, but—
when he speaks next, he tries to keep his mouth as closed as possible, careful not to open too much. ]
I'm just . . . Tired! I'm thinking too much.
[ he manages a smile— although, it's clearly being forced for the sake of conversation. he didn't feel like smiling. he didn't feel in place to smile, which is why it dissipates almost as quick as it comes. a change of direction, perhaps. maybe home would make him feel better. much better— ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ it was all . . . pretty okay at first, after he arrived from selena. he was a skittish bundle of a mess, the thoughts were endlessly worrying, some deaths happened on the ship and a couple of reindeer murder cats got loose as well as a cinnamon bug outbreak, but everything turned out okay in the end. they even had movie nights! but nothing would ever prepare him for mission macha, even if he knew what was to come. perhaps he had a gist, thought he knew— but never would he have guessed the feelings and events that would pull down at him. ]
We've been on Macha for . . . A few days? Maybe a week?
[ honestly, he hasn't been keeping track. ]
We just— Haven't stopped.
[ just fighting, walking, fighting— he catches a short glimpse, the dim glow of yamamoto's cuff: orange. ]
You too-? Not on Macha, I mean— [ he tries to gesture, rather sloppily, mostly because he recalls their visit on the space colony selena, knows he's seen yamamoto there— and once on the nehada, anxious to hear of yamamoto's whereabouts . . . he was told of a transfer, to another ship.
but, one could never be too sure. not everyone remembers, he's learned. ]
no subject
Haven't stopped?
[ A weird way to phrase it, but then they've reached the camp by this point, and Yamamoto's steps visibly slog as he sits down the mangled remains of his camp tent without any further precursor, like it doesn't even matter that he should've gotten it set up long before he went traipsing around to alleviate his concerns on the slimmest of provocations.
He goes quiet at the question, staring at him for a while. A slight tilt of his head, eyes bright and summarily unsettled at once, some confused movement pried halfway between caution and blithe silence.
From what he can recall, he hadn't encountered Tsuna even once until now, but Hibari had been out on the rooftop that night, and he — ] Ahaha, well, I don't think I understand. What do you mean?
no subject
S— sorry, I— Never mind.
[ he shuts his mouth— one, because of the stings under the bandages, the wounds that stretched and brought discomfort to his moving mouth. at least with painkillers, it's lightened, but—
when he speaks next, he tries to keep his mouth as closed as possible, careful not to open too much. ]
I'm just . . . Tired! I'm thinking too much.
[ he manages a smile— although, it's clearly being forced for the sake of conversation. he didn't feel like smiling. he didn't feel in place to smile, which is why it dissipates almost as quick as it comes. a change of direction, perhaps. maybe home would make him feel better. much better— ]
What was the last thing you remember from home?