( i'm glad you were raised to be a kind boy, comes the voice. crackling, deep with anger, glee, a fantastical voice that taunts him--and a voice he's heard plenty of times before. this is not the first time that he's been here, hearing that voice, feeling the licks of blue flame soak through his battle gear, wrenching the material up as it tries to combat the heat. this is not the first time that he's been suspended in the air, pushed up by the flames at his feet and the flames at his brother's feet--this is not the first time that he's endured the aching confusion and worry and disbelief that comes from seeing someone that should be dead, someone that had been the quiet, lurking shadow in their family house, the silent face staring from behind glass and frame.
i'm fine. i'm really happy right now. the arms around him tighten, and he can feel it and not feel it, like there's something distant about it, like it's not quite right. in the distance, he hears a strange voice, some sort of echo that rattles down from the skies-- "humility, isn't it? the poor thing is enduring so much here."
if you get burned by my flames, what kind of expression do you think dad'll show us? comes the crazed sneer of his brother against his ear. he can't keep track of all the different people, here--
another voice chimes in, argumentative. "no, look deeper, he's angry despite it all. wrath is a good candidate."
glazed, his eyes move--from his brother, arms wrapped around him, to the sight of his father, pinned down on the ground. everything feels just a little too watery, like it's the edge of a dream, hovering on the point of consciousness; he can feel the flames building up inside him, pain lancing him, and then--
--and then, it all just pops. his brother's arms loosen, and the sky gets a stranger shimmer around it, and then he's falling, moving, smashing through the barrier of whatever this place is, or whatever this thing is...and landing, face down, on a wet sidewalk.
immediately he forces himself up onto his hands and knees--and retches, lurching forward like he might be sick. it takes a moment to steady his vision, steady the pounding in his chest, steady that feeling of being torched from the inside out; when his head lifts again, it's with a cautious glance, staring at the city around him with a mouth that slowly gapes open in disbelief. this isn't anywhere he's been before, not anywhere he's heard of, or anywhere he recognizes; when he forces himself up onto his feet, he nearly knocks right into someone, immediately bowing his head in apology.
oh. it's a...jellyfish. what? ) Excuse me.
( there's a dip of his head again anyway; manners matter, even if he doesn't understand. this could quite possibly be someone's quirk. still, this jellyfish moves--and bumps right into him again, rubbing at his shoulder. s-sorry...pardon me...i'm...in need of help... it says, in a tinny, small voice--immediately, shouto looks around for someone else to assist him with. whatever this is. jellyfish rescue mission. )
Ah, well. I... I think that we both might need... Sorry, could you...? ( he immediately tries waving down the next person he can see--while the jellyfish bumps up against him, unhelpfully stuck to his shirt sleeve. )
UNDERWATER: SHIPWRECK. (ROLE: ROYAL MERFOLK, RIP)
( a puddle. that's all it had been. a small, shallow, shimmering puddle--and now he's underwater.
it doesn't make any sense. his hands immediately go to his throat, squeezing around it, but nothing happens; it doesn't matter what he does, doesn't matter if the water seeps in through his nose, or even through the gaps of his tightly pressed lips. he expects to feel his lungs go tight, to feel the oxygen buoyed out of them almost immediately; there's no pain, no worry, no sudden ache of drowning. he's breathing underwater, and worse than that: he's breathing underwater with a fish body.
no, that's not quite accurate. one of the first animated movies he had seen, back at the dorm, had been one that the girls had been watching, something about a mermaid princess and her handsome prince and there had been a lot of singing; he remembers the way her body shaped down into something like a dolphin, finned and flecked with scales, and that's the same sort of body he has now. his stomach curves down into a slick tail, skimmed with spots of red and white, like the pretty koi fish they had once kept in the backyard at home--a flex of it and it moves, fins fanning out to create a rift of bubbles as he moves backwards and knocks, immediately, into something hard and firm. wood. it seems to be some sort of broken hull, like the curve at the inside of a ship.
a ship. a shipwreck? what is this place? immediately he paddles forward--and then gets driven back by a group of mermaids going past him, waving a hand at him impatiently. you're supposed to be looking for that gizmo you wanted, aren't you?! you skipped the concert for this! they seem to be on their own hunt, through the shipwreck, though he has no idea...
...what a gizmo is? which means he's going to be carefully picking his way through the wreck, careful and conscious of his long tail, looking for someone to spring the question on, someone to help him, or even just someone that might tell him what's going on here, regardless of what they are or what they're there for. )
ISLAND CITY: WEDDING. (ROLE: MARINER)
( it makes more sense, the next time he falls in.
this is the kind of place this is. some kind of storybook, maybe even a quirk that's creating this whole thing--the people of the "city" beyond this storybook seem to think it's something else, but he doesn't know if that's just another realm inside of a realm inside of a realm, or if they're just playing around in the same way that people are playing around here. he's meant to serve some sort of purpose in the world that's fallen in around him, and it seems this time, he's gifted with the good graces of having actual legs this time, and a rather dashing, uncomfortable set of clothes, the pants tight and rigid, the shirt billowing, suspenders snapped up over his shoulders.
this time, he's next to some sort of great castle, perched on the edge of the shore--the beaches stretch out along the sides of it, and beyond it seems to be a short path that heads up to the town proper. this time, when he's immediately yanked into the castle, he has some kind of bemused idea what to expect. the maids click their tongues at him and lead him up a long, spiral staircase, pushing him through wide double doors--and while he expects all the nonsense, he doesn't expect to be met with the sight of someone else, inside the room.
the doors snap shut behind him, before he can excuse himself. with a soft, short bow of his head down, he lifts it back up again, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. ) They... said you're getting married today.
( this is awkward. he doesn't know how to act the part of a member of the wedding party--the staff had assured him that he would find a suit up here, something befitting 'the best man', but he doesn't even really know what that means.
with a quick scan of mismatched eyes, he takes in the item of the room, and finally, reluctantly, looks back to the person that's in the room with him. )
Do you know who you're marrying? ( ugh, rookie move. stupid question. he presses his lips together. ) I meant. Are you...happy to be getting married...?
DISTRICT SIX.
( this part of the 'real' city seems to be more familiar--the feeling is more similar, and as he wanders through the streets, he finds himself staring up at the overhanging lights and strings of shop banners scattered here and there. beyond the doors of multi-floored buildings, he can hear all kinds of things: arguing, yelling, the sound of skin on skin, grunts and fighting and general physical exertion. it reminds him a little of being at training camp, surrounded by everyone else--that draws a small smile to his face, something there and gone again.
but even here, everyone seems to be focused solely on the 'amplitheater', and here, it seems that idle hands make the devil's work, or whatever the saying is. there's a large group, gathering outside one of the buildings, and they seem to be roping in anyone who walks by, forcing them into the ranks of their 'battle march'. as he gets closer, he can see why: they seem to be wanting to head into that 'amplitheater' in order to take control of as many of the ships as possible, aiming not for treasure or even the enjoyment of the story, but rather, simply for the sake of fighting.
the thought bothers him. it seems ridiculous to fight simply for the sake of fighting--maybe he's just tired of that feeling, the feeling of being constantly pushed to dive into things he doesn't necessarily even believe. he doesn't normally meddle in things unless he's sure of himself, but this? it makes him even more annoyed that when he tries to walk past the group, they seem only too intent on forcing him to stay. apparently they're setting up for some of the sword-fighting matches to prepare for the battles inside the 'amplitheater'--and he's just what they need.
he's been careful not to use his quirk, here: he doesn't know what it will do, or if it will work. but he's tempted to, as a sword is pushed into his hands; he's tempted to, as the crowd parts a little and reveals both the opponents for the sword fight--and, apparently, his companion. )
Do you know how to do this? ( he says, slowly, flicking a narrowed glance at his two v two partner. ) I've never used a sword, before.
OOC & WILDCARD.
( i'm happy to write us up something custom - feel free to send a pm to this journal to discuss, or if you have an idea you'd like to just throw at shouto, i will happily take wildcards here! open to anything, really. shouto is 16, fyi. )
todoroki shouto | my hero academia
( i'm glad you were raised to be a kind boy, comes the voice. crackling, deep with anger, glee, a fantastical voice that taunts him--and a voice he's heard plenty of times before. this is not the first time that he's been here, hearing that voice, feeling the licks of blue flame soak through his battle gear, wrenching the material up as it tries to combat the heat. this is not the first time that he's been suspended in the air, pushed up by the flames at his feet and the flames at his brother's feet--this is not the first time that he's endured the aching confusion and worry and disbelief that comes from seeing someone that should be dead, someone that had been the quiet, lurking shadow in their family house, the silent face staring from behind glass and frame.
i'm fine. i'm really happy right now. the arms around him tighten, and he can feel it and not feel it, like there's something distant about it, like it's not quite right. in the distance, he hears a strange voice, some sort of echo that rattles down from the skies-- "humility, isn't it? the poor thing is enduring so much here."
if you get burned by my flames, what kind of expression do you think dad'll show us? comes the crazed sneer of his brother against his ear. he can't keep track of all the different people, here--
another voice chimes in, argumentative. "no, look deeper, he's angry despite it all. wrath is a good candidate."
glazed, his eyes move--from his brother, arms wrapped around him, to the sight of his father, pinned down on the ground. everything feels just a little too watery, like it's the edge of a dream, hovering on the point of consciousness; he can feel the flames building up inside him, pain lancing him, and then--
--and then, it all just pops. his brother's arms loosen, and the sky gets a stranger shimmer around it, and then he's falling, moving, smashing through the barrier of whatever this place is, or whatever this thing is...and landing, face down, on a wet sidewalk.
immediately he forces himself up onto his hands and knees--and retches, lurching forward like he might be sick. it takes a moment to steady his vision, steady the pounding in his chest, steady that feeling of being torched from the inside out; when his head lifts again, it's with a cautious glance, staring at the city around him with a mouth that slowly gapes open in disbelief. this isn't anywhere he's been before, not anywhere he's heard of, or anywhere he recognizes; when he forces himself up onto his feet, he nearly knocks right into someone, immediately bowing his head in apology.
oh. it's a...jellyfish. what? ) Excuse me.
( there's a dip of his head again anyway; manners matter, even if he doesn't understand. this could quite possibly be someone's quirk. still, this jellyfish moves--and bumps right into him again, rubbing at his shoulder. s-sorry...pardon me...i'm...in need of help... it says, in a tinny, small voice--immediately, shouto looks around for someone else to assist him with. whatever this is. jellyfish rescue mission. )
Ah, well. I... I think that we both might need... Sorry, could you...? ( he immediately tries waving down the next person he can see--while the jellyfish bumps up against him, unhelpfully stuck to his shirt sleeve. )
UNDERWATER: SHIPWRECK. (ROLE: ROYAL MERFOLK, RIP)
( a puddle. that's all it had been. a small, shallow, shimmering puddle--and now he's underwater.
it doesn't make any sense. his hands immediately go to his throat, squeezing around it, but nothing happens; it doesn't matter what he does, doesn't matter if the water seeps in through his nose, or even through the gaps of his tightly pressed lips. he expects to feel his lungs go tight, to feel the oxygen buoyed out of them almost immediately; there's no pain, no worry, no sudden ache of drowning. he's breathing underwater, and worse than that: he's breathing underwater with a fish body.
no, that's not quite accurate. one of the first animated movies he had seen, back at the dorm, had been one that the girls had been watching, something about a mermaid princess and her handsome prince and there had been a lot of singing; he remembers the way her body shaped down into something like a dolphin, finned and flecked with scales, and that's the same sort of body he has now. his stomach curves down into a slick tail, skimmed with spots of red and white, like the pretty koi fish they had once kept in the backyard at home--a flex of it and it moves, fins fanning out to create a rift of bubbles as he moves backwards and knocks, immediately, into something hard and firm. wood. it seems to be some sort of broken hull, like the curve at the inside of a ship.
a ship. a shipwreck? what is this place? immediately he paddles forward--and then gets driven back by a group of mermaids going past him, waving a hand at him impatiently. you're supposed to be looking for that gizmo you wanted, aren't you?! you skipped the concert for this! they seem to be on their own hunt, through the shipwreck, though he has no idea...
...what a gizmo is? which means he's going to be carefully picking his way through the wreck, careful and conscious of his long tail, looking for someone to spring the question on, someone to help him, or even just someone that might tell him what's going on here, regardless of what they are or what they're there for. )
ISLAND CITY: WEDDING. (ROLE: MARINER)
( it makes more sense, the next time he falls in.
this is the kind of place this is. some kind of storybook, maybe even a quirk that's creating this whole thing--the people of the "city" beyond this storybook seem to think it's something else, but he doesn't know if that's just another realm inside of a realm inside of a realm, or if they're just playing around in the same way that people are playing around here. he's meant to serve some sort of purpose in the world that's fallen in around him, and it seems this time, he's gifted with the good graces of having actual legs this time, and a rather dashing, uncomfortable set of clothes, the pants tight and rigid, the shirt billowing, suspenders snapped up over his shoulders.
this time, he's next to some sort of great castle, perched on the edge of the shore--the beaches stretch out along the sides of it, and beyond it seems to be a short path that heads up to the town proper. this time, when he's immediately yanked into the castle, he has some kind of bemused idea what to expect. the maids click their tongues at him and lead him up a long, spiral staircase, pushing him through wide double doors--and while he expects all the nonsense, he doesn't expect to be met with the sight of someone else, inside the room.
the doors snap shut behind him, before he can excuse himself. with a soft, short bow of his head down, he lifts it back up again, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. ) They... said you're getting married today.
( this is awkward. he doesn't know how to act the part of a member of the wedding party--the staff had assured him that he would find a suit up here, something befitting 'the best man', but he doesn't even really know what that means.
with a quick scan of mismatched eyes, he takes in the item of the room, and finally, reluctantly, looks back to the person that's in the room with him. )
Do you know who you're marrying? ( ugh, rookie move. stupid question. he presses his lips together. ) I meant. Are you...happy to be getting married...?
DISTRICT SIX.
( this part of the 'real' city seems to be more familiar--the feeling is more similar, and as he wanders through the streets, he finds himself staring up at the overhanging lights and strings of shop banners scattered here and there. beyond the doors of multi-floored buildings, he can hear all kinds of things: arguing, yelling, the sound of skin on skin, grunts and fighting and general physical exertion. it reminds him a little of being at training camp, surrounded by everyone else--that draws a small smile to his face, something there and gone again.
but even here, everyone seems to be focused solely on the 'amplitheater', and here, it seems that idle hands make the devil's work, or whatever the saying is. there's a large group, gathering outside one of the buildings, and they seem to be roping in anyone who walks by, forcing them into the ranks of their 'battle march'. as he gets closer, he can see why: they seem to be wanting to head into that 'amplitheater' in order to take control of as many of the ships as possible, aiming not for treasure or even the enjoyment of the story, but rather, simply for the sake of fighting.
the thought bothers him. it seems ridiculous to fight simply for the sake of fighting--maybe he's just tired of that feeling, the feeling of being constantly pushed to dive into things he doesn't necessarily even believe. he doesn't normally meddle in things unless he's sure of himself, but this? it makes him even more annoyed that when he tries to walk past the group, they seem only too intent on forcing him to stay. apparently they're setting up for some of the sword-fighting matches to prepare for the battles inside the 'amplitheater'--and he's just what they need.
he's been careful not to use his quirk, here: he doesn't know what it will do, or if it will work. but he's tempted to, as a sword is pushed into his hands; he's tempted to, as the crowd parts a little and reveals both the opponents for the sword fight--and, apparently, his companion. )
Do you know how to do this? ( he says, slowly, flicking a narrowed glance at his two v two partner. ) I've never used a sword, before.
OOC & WILDCARD.
( i'm happy to write us up something custom - feel free to send a pm to this journal to discuss, or if you have an idea you'd like to just throw at shouto, i will happily take wildcards here! open to anything, really. shouto is 16, fyi. )