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Entry tags:
.:Oh shit it's November:.
Who ⬤ Ganymede and Co.
What ⬤ You know what.
When ⬤ Nebulous times.
Where ⬤ Fine Wine, ΩQuiet Winter’s Wanderlust, Gany's McMansion, Net Slum, Protected Forbidden Pilgrim
Content Warnings ⬤ mentions of kidnapping, captivity, transphobia, dissociation, existential depression, and probably incoming other cws, lmao
What ⬤ You know what.
When ⬤ Nebulous times.
Where ⬤ Fine Wine, ΩQuiet Winter’s Wanderlust, Gany's McMansion, Net Slum, Protected Forbidden Pilgrim
Content Warnings ⬤ mentions of kidnapping, captivity, transphobia, dissociation, existential depression, and probably incoming other cws, lmao
no subject
[ What could be interpretted around the breathless, howling laughter, anyway.
Michel clears his throat and focuses himself on the task of stabbing monsters, where he aquits himself well, unlike artistic pursuits. It is flattering that Ganymede is so pleased with the results, though. Spending a little more time with Michel when he has the freedom to choose his outfits should disabuse him of any admiration in short order. ]
I really did just imitate something I'd seen before, and I let the system do the rest...
[ A custom armor set wouldn't make something truly hideous except by design? Probably? But this is nice to move in. Michel deflects a blade from the one monster that isn't stunned and steps in to briskly finish that one first. ]
no subject
[ Ganymede wonders really what kind of words and reaction has been given to make him say something like that. With that being said, he continues to enjoy Michel tearing the monstrosities before them a new one, and imagines Michel stabbing both Cubia and Harold just the same.
Violence is still sexy, including impressive counterattack manuevers. ]
You completely imitated it? There weren't any personal embellishments at all?
[ He's just a little bit skeptical of that, at least. Though, he keeps an eye on the stunned enemies who are continuously eating shit, including the one who just expired by the lightning (heh) blade of an expert swordsman. ]
no subject
[ Twerps. It's clear from the little wrinkle in Michel's nose, the wry quirk of his lips, that there's no real sting in the memory. Brothers being brothers... and it's not as though art was ever a dream of his, anyway.
Well. Not that it was any more impossible than any of his actual dreams. Although here and now he's aquiting himself well as a swordsman... His eight year old self would have been in raptures. He can't resist a showy little flick of the blade when he finishes off the last monster, flourishing it before he sheathes it.
Look. He might have quoted Man in the Iron Mask at Justy, but his heart still favors Three Musketeers. ]
...I don't know. My memory of the original wasn't that precise. Perhaps I did...? It wasn't... nearly as deliberate as you seem to be imagining.
[ If the system had had to work off of Michel's render for the design, well. The results would have been very different. ]
no subject
Kind of like a baby learning steps. But, it doesn't sound like you thought it was terribly bad. And, they must have stuff you could laugh about them too, right?
[ Drop the gossip on your brothers, Michel. Reveal their embarrassing, cringe moments alongside yours. It can be a whole entire tale of familial light-hearted memories committed to memory.
Incidentally, Ganymede's eyes slide along the little show-off maneuver of the blade flick, as well as the subsequent flourish. Unnecessary, perhaps, in practical words, but definitely not extraneous by his imagination. Oh no, it was definitely something needed.
He begins to walk ahead, to where treasure is awaiting them. ]
Hmm...okay, I can believe that. Still, as always, you're clearly a stickler for detail.
[ Turning to face Michel with an impish little smile, and then back on over to open the little box of goodies. ]
no subject
[ Learning what different materials felt like, getting pastels or charcoal or chalk dust all over his fingers and making his mother gasp with indignation at how unladylike he was. The comfortable way a sculpting knife fit in his hand. Watching Georges mix paints and transform them into different colors, how brushstrokes could evoke a texture...
He has no desire to do those things. But he enjoyed watching his brother with his passions. Which in no way stops him from giving a malicious little chuckle at Ganymede's question as he follows. ]
Oh, there's no shortage of things. Didier is a meathead and Georges is ridiculous. I could beat either of them at chess by the time I was ten. [ And he teased them for it ruthlessly! ] Neither of them think before they act. Although, they might say the same about me...
[ Georges is whimsical, Didier is dense, and Michel is simply a hothead. WHen his temper gets the best of him... ah, well. ]
no subject
Is that how playing this game started out, for him? No, he doesn't think so. But, maybe part of the reason he stayed is exactly that; his memories are finite of the real world even now, it's true. Though he has tiny scraps to anchor himself into the real world and this one with a better understanding of both than he would have had if not for the small details given back to him. As well as the network's evidence. ]
You really are a chessmaster, then. You must be the brains of the family, though I never thought you wouldn't think before you acted? Even if you did something silly you don't ever strike mas as impulsive...
[ Once the treasure is opened, there is their loot staring right in front of them...and also their doubles. ]
...Isn't this familiar? I wonder if some things are bound to repeat themselves?
[ Like climbing all over Michel. Though he'd be more receptive to that now, wouldn't he? ]