Author's note. Junk bunk, you can skip and dip on.
Hey, did you know that in Japanese Fukuro means bag? Fukurō is the actual proper spelling. Tough stuff when you're too lazy to figure out how to get the special character ō.
This is part of the larger previous chapter. Why isn't it lumped in? I feel if i do it in one big chunk I'll hyperfocus and man will that take more time than i have spent on this. The fight is coming to the next chapter, I've spent too much teasing it without properly actually factually letting the characters fight. Like not some petty knock off kung fu where I just googled random fighting moves. (Really i should've made the fight last longer than a one off round yknow? Leave the actual bloodyness for the end match.) Well, you only live once.
This entire chapter is fluff. I genuinely don't like some parts of this chapter. I posted it just because I put too much work into just scrapping it. And i feel the need to at least identify what he actually has.
/end transmission/for now…/
They rose out of the mimicking hypogeum, entering into what seemed to be the proper launching bay, the entire room seemed to vibrate each footstep's clack stopping the resonation with the chatter of the arena outside for a mere moment. The echoes bouncing around the room in anticipation of a brand new fight long awaited.
Rows of launchers were strewn out in an orderly fashion, black tiles that seemed to weigh down slightly as he stepped onto the closest one. Charlotte acted likewise, he watched her grasp her necklace with an all too tight tug, a steady walk leading her to the station she desired, one launcher over. Moving forward one foot over the other.
Stability, but there was a sense of too much stress underlying in her head. Too brash he was, but it was too late to change course now. She'd fight hard enough to make it seem like she mattered. But, he could've done better.
Stealth is not subtilty. He knew he could do it, it's just that it pains him too much to follow through on it. Or maybe he just- he just what? Too much thinking.
He took off the kuklos from his finger and palmed it. The frost melted and evaporated already. He palmed it yet again, moving it through his fingers before placing it on thumb readying himself to flick it into the air, completing his hexis.
It was a proper stretching of feathers that kept his mind off the matter at hand just enough for him to be entranced while on task, just as a ceremonial way to start this charade.
A simple coin flip. No, a simple flick. The bad thoughts again, his brain making itself sensible, feel able. He was just flicking a ring.
With a simple ding up into the air it went, soaring high and far, quickly reaching the apex. Seemingly staying in the top of its arc for a few seconds longer than it should, as if it were about to start falling to the floor with a small clatter. Just as that decline was even considering to start, the quiet fizzling began.
The kuklos started dissolving, reacting to reality like sugar in boiling water. Light staining the entire air that surrounds it with a gradual stationary fog of brightness clumping around it only growing in density and mass as time passed until he couldn't even see anything but radiant condensed light.
Suddenly the orb burst into a cloud of wispy feathery almost crystalline shards of luminescence. Micro welders working casually to rematerialize light into usable materiel, shooting out rays of lazy light for general frame construction and quick burst beam's for more delicate internal components.
Each time one of these little spark's completed their purpose they "burnt out" using all their hard light to finalize their process. Rain, a raindrop using up its full reservoir of water to make a part of a small vein in the human body, no bursting on impact, just fitting into the greater whole like a puzzle piece. Except in this case the rain was stationary.
Each time the razor sharp talons fully materialized they clamped hard onto the floor with an intimidating slam that overwrote the raving and ranting of the outside crowd, each of the coarse nail's gently scratching the floor as they clamped up into sitting position.
The puffed chest and its plumage were delicately crafted, each feather being interlocked one into the other, with fine attention made to each of the plumage's pieces, each one finely serrated past a comb's fineness. Stiffening as each settled into its proper place. Coattails mimicking the same process but with more fringed feathers, smooth yet barbed.
The wing's were materialized into velvet like surfaces, broad and rounded, but with stiff leading edges to suit, and more soft trail feathers. Long and flowing, with a small pattern of grooves interlaced in horizontal lines. Expanding into an overarching almost intimidating if they weren't friendly magnitude. The wing's were primed to fly, as if one proper flap would let her glide silently away from here. But, they contracted. Collapsing back side by side into a sitting position in one fell swoop rigiding once settled.
So many scratches littered her chassis, lucky shots popped off by a tropo, gouges from near misses. He'd always wanted to fix them, preen the bad feather's that showed too much of her wear and tear, but there was almost always a feeling of immediate denial to anything short of an absolute necessary repair, it was from him, like he needed to remember every single fight that came with them, looking at one just popped the image back into his head. He didn't seem to be that zealous in this way, but it proved himself wrong.
Everything else was in the process of finalization, the hard light rainstorm turning into a drizzle from the remaining details. Grappling hooks connected to talons, claws. An owl only had its talons. But his claws were necessary, Denial turrets on the feather's ridges interlaced in straight vertical patterns on both sides. Along with collapsible flicker guns hidden away inside the thick wings.
Ichika looked upon his partner, silent and elegant, admiring her craftsmanship as he watched Fukuro's carapace opening to allow both a roof and a floor outstretching his entrance.
He should've not gotten her this color, he liked her multicam pattern that she had when he met her. But no, he had to dye it blue and gray for his next op. It made him look like less of a target, however far one could go with an enormous warmachine. But still it looked ugly, she needed something more fitting. It made sense tactically, just not fashionably.
Fukuro in response to his willingness to wait too long let out the cry of a literal banshee as she inverted her noise cancelers to let out a shriek of pure and utter impatience.
He hurried over, and fit into her machinery like another cog being added smoothly to work interconnectedly. Letting his body be compacted and adjusted to Fukuro as she did him. It was as if something added to the wholeness of himself, expanding upon it.
The light was dim now floating above him in its original location, barely noticeable. Using its remaining power to adjust itself to make his plumicorns, wrapping around the top of his head to match,jagged and scaled yet mimicking a sort of puffy texture with their smoothness. neatly raising and unfurling then falling neatly stacking on top of each other once completed. No more light now, twinkling out in its last detail.
It was safe here, comfortable, a nest one would say. Well he did say that. But he felt off, his proper kit to wear into a fight was comfortable, the proper way. Touching the metal on his skin, it didn't make him feel a closer connection to Fukuro, he wasn't honoring his partner with his best, it was just as if he wasn't fully there. A penny with a corroded head and polished everything else. The value was the same, just not as pretty as it should be.
He could still feel the ghost of his old uniform. Comfortable, filling in the void with quality, not the self that was there. And the pockets, he liked the pockets a lot. He could sleep in it comfortably if he ditched his gear, or at least lay down while closing his eyes and pretending. Seeing his own bare hands put him off in a way.
Muscle memory was weird, there were three layers on him, skin, metal, and the ephemeral lack of his suit. He swore that he could feel the padding on himself ready to keep him cushioned in any impact.
Cold Heart (SEHJ&DL) Powering.
Fukuro's monotone speaking cut him out of his train of reminiscence. She whirred to life by her own demand, powering up from his waiting. Fukuro started listing off important systems now, one by one as if he hadn't heard them before.
Aires Unit (AU) Powering. (0%)
The world around him got glassy and stained in a bubble surrounding everything he could turn to see.
Aires Unit (AU) Powering. (50%)
It slowly cleared up, with the ever present crackle of static in the air slowly dissipating.
Aires Unit (AU) Powering. (50%)
From what he could tell it was the same feeling york had when she put on her contacts.
Aires Unit (AU) Powering. (90%)
The bend in the air was nearly gone.
Aires Unit (AU) Powering. (100%)
Crisp definition.
Horner Intercom (HI) Connected
Silence Nodes (SN) Operational
Plumicorn Connection (PC) Starting
Fluff Text GUI (FTG) Visible…
Rotational Awareness (RA)
The camera's that allowed 360 rotation opened up.
He wasn't paying any proper attention. She was nice enough to do the system checks for him, he just opted to admire seeing her familiar plumage again. Still as a statue. He wondered how Monika was doing without him, nope. Stay on the mission. No way he'd get choked up here.
Pilot To Stratos (PTS) Engaging.
His plumicorns jumped up, into neat long and thin towers of metal. He mentally prepared himself for the drifting, to start the mental conversation.
Worlds of bright green forests and sandstorms the size of mountains were scattered around his mind bouncing around in his head for the merest of microseconds, Ocean's farther than the human eye could see being paired with the skimming of the water below with a delicate touch at supersonic speeds watching the seafoam rise. Rising into the air seeing the cloud's pass below, then diving to the ground rapidly tumbling downward, claws outstretching, talons tightening on prey, the sudden feeling of ground with the coming anticipation of crushed metal and man.
Instantly every single component of Fukuro awakened, the feather's flowing gently to the nonexistent wind in the room reacting to his every movement,
He was extending himself in a way, different from picking up a knife to swing with. It was as if he were the fingers inside of a glove, even past that. The materials and each sewn string connected to each of his cells that made him. Radio signals send little bits of information into the air, billions of little tiny pieces bouncing around, his and hers were mixed to make the whole, all of them swirling around millions of times decoded in less than seconds to output power.
There was a feeling of diffraction. More ghosts on himself, Skin. Metal. Suit. His head started quaking again, like it was splitting apart into different beams of color, except two were defined with a higher clarity. A metronome clicking in between bouncing back and forth. Do then die later.
Why didn't he get his mask? That would make this entire ordeal at least feel familiar. His bare head showing without any sort of protection felt dangerous.
The flick of a wrist, the flick of a wing. His feather's floated in the air, one of the few objects held in aerial stasis, unlike everything else It was all connected not just jumping around behind him.
He glanced at his assistant. Plastic, it was a different style, more jagged design with a bright burning orange color. It looked cleaner as if it never truly got into a fight, a display suit. He had his smooth scratches that littered the entirety of everything.
Although, he should give her a tune up. Something nice, something not vibrant nor brighter, but more stylish.
Suddenly the more organic voice of Fukuro popped in his head in full clarity, accentless but with a sort of collected chill in it, a deeper pitch with a slight unforced energy hidden behind it.
Superficial details are unnecessary, unless you think they're necessary. Then they're necessary. Actually no wait they aren't.
It was like she was rushing out her next sentence before she even spoke it.
You like watching too much instead of doing, I like doing, are we doing yet? Please. I'll be a boring voice again if we do now.
It's close. Then we can go out and hunt.
You think that, and you're right. But we both know, that i know that. That I know. Hurry up.
No, it's fine. Having two people stuck in my head is fine by me, for now. Don't ramble as much, though.
We are both out of our comfort zones, we could be flying over an actual jungle instead of this concrete forest of not being able to do so. I want to do it, can we please do it already? Wait- Wait I'm sorry. I'll clear up once we actually get out there.
That is true, too true. Painfully true. True true.
Oh she has him doing it now. Wait, are these his private thoughts?
Get this over with, already. We both need to do something, sometimes I need to drill it directly into your head. Now go.
You're a head in my head. Can you hear me?
Hello?
He didn't want to leave her hanging. He responded immediately, fumbling his mind to make a message back. Pushing words together.
Gotcha.
Genius wordplay. Still a proper response was necessary.
Alright alright, It's a catch and release. And we have to let them flap around a bit, no claws out anymore. You know the drill.
Anything is better than nothing at this point, now do something now. I've teethed that one next to us for far longer than I like. I'll play with them, savor the moment since they've forced me to.
Alright, he had to do it anyway. He was going to be fine, he was with her before she got too itchy for a proper fight.
He touched the tip of his claw onto the platform button. The metallic plate sunk into the ground, a whirring noise rising from it, then the surprisingly familiar feeling of his magnesis kicked in.
Summer beach ball. Rocketing faster through the air, latched on but not locked in. Huh, guess the tech was universal.
He could move easily if he wanted to in this connected flow he had shared with the plate, it wouldn't be hard. But it was more like willingly sitting in a chair with a buckle.
Dubois was in the same position, she was drawing her face away from him. Uncomfortable but used and hardened. He mentally sent the intercom invite and waited for however long she decided to wait.
There was nothing but time here until they sent themselves off.
When will it happen? Too much waiting, too much teasing for something so little. Picking the meat off of a pigeon. When.
We're both in the cage until they set us loose. Apologies for the too slow.
It's not your fault, it's theirs. Strike us down and they make us walk around like we're part of their town. Why do they keep us here?
I'll find ways to keep you busy. We just need to find a way.
Busy isn't happy. Neither are you, we're just floating through not flying.
We're still in the air aren't we? We'll get out of here.
Wouldn't say that exactly with our feet touching the ground.
The crowd's murmur elevated to an anxious stomp. The air was changing. Right in front of him he could see the literal light at the end of the tunnel, the rows upon circular rows filled with eager viewers barely visible. The air was changing, anticipation was saturating it into every corner.
Almost time, cool your jets.
He was so witty. Such a clever jab couldn't be countered.
He thought, there was obviously no one else who would dare think differently. Get this charade over. I want to snap them.
As if to react to her command, the room flooded with red light for a long moment, Charlotte accepted his invite in the meanwhile. She still didn't bother to give him a proper response, her mic was muted. Whatever suited her he'd accept.
Harsh yellow covered everything, rushing in on their faces to give them a sickly look. Charlotte didn't look too far off from it. She was mumbling something under her breath, he couldn't read it under all the brightness, It seemed as if she was pouring her entire being into whatever words she was releasing.
Green. A quiet moment of still tranquility broken by the blaring of a horn that deafened his augmented ears. He couldn't properly cringe at its insistence before he was pushed through along the track at a quickening speed.
Every single second ramped up the feeling of bursting, the widening exit coming into view along with the entire crowd now raring to see a proper fight, leagues upon leagues of calls blending together into an inaudible cacophony of released suspense.
Just as he was about to fly out the launcher thrust him into the air high up for everyone to see him, the yelling only got louder somehow as more people started calling for them begging to see the electricity spill out from every swing.
It was slightly disorienting being thrown into that large circular arena that dug deep into the earth giving more and more, even more rows upon rows digging in around the circular edges in contour fashion so that no matter where he looked there would be more and more screaming and cheering just with the thin glass separating them and he could see the enraptured faces of the audience.
He was rising in the air letting the wind flow past seeing the mass walls surrounding him with the blinding light of the sun directly above. Who would it judge as the victor?
Him of course, but he wouldn't let it or anyone else know.
.