hyper-light

[hyper-light]

ambadassadcr‌:

“No. They are animals. They walk on four legs, are covered in fleece, and make a ‘baaahh’ sound. These particular ones have aggressive-looking eyes, as well as green fleece. The chiefs have large spiraling horns.”

// Oh--that sounded cuter than he expected. The Drifter gave a slightly more concerned look, shifting his shoulders upward.

                                                                                   ﹁

      How do you train against something with horns?             I assume they charge--do you mean to         increase your physical resistance to blows,             or to outrun a temperamental animal?

      I assure you there are better ways in this world.

﹂

Ah, please don’t say you kill for sport, stranger...

[hyper-light]

@the-owl-boy​

// It had been long enough; the Drifter was well aware that exercising their chain-dash ability would do nothing to raise its time limit. A minute covered plenty of distance in little time, yet they confined most of their time chain-dashing in tight areas no larger than two king-sized beds.

Their intent to practice the ability came from a want to refine it, and with restraints imposed onto it, it helped the Drifter perform better than he had in the world before. Control and discipline meant nothing without persistence, however, so they continued to train their chain-dash as frequently as possible.

Some spaces they practiced onto were littered with rubble, other times they trained on beach sands for greater resistance. For today’s milder routine, they settled with a public park, using the same space they had every other week or so.

Over time and practice, they eventually set patterns on the ground as proof of training, flattened lines of grass forming a triangle with circles of dirt at its points. With warm-up over, they took a moment to rest on top of a circle, reaching for their phone before noticing a wayside observer.  The Drifter slowly bowed his head once in greeting, letting their loyal drone project a screen for them as they rested.

                                                        ﹁

                   Curious, Avian?    Or were you hoping to train here?

﹂

[hyper-light]

                                                                         ﹁

  Could you describe what a gobball looks like?        ...They don’t happen to typically wear             brown leather helmets, do they?

﹂

“If you see any green gobballs around, let me know immediately. I would like to train against something familiar from my world, and it’s Saint Potrick’s Holiday so they should be making a nuisance of themselves.”

[hyper-light]

// That... Sounded like a problem.

                               ﹁

    Is it supposed to?

﹂

“Love…” 

“Drives ya crazy.”

[hyper-light]

fightforanswers‌:

“I know, I know! I need to work on my punchlines!”

He turns to greet the hovering robot, not once acknowledging its faintly glowing companion. If anything, he seems briefly confused by the hand-waving, his optic clicking as he alternates his focus between the Drifter and his fellow machine. Are they together?

“Where do you come from, friend? I don’t recognize your design!”

  ��  // A Sentient working on punchline execution would be a first, count the Drifter surprised. Pathfinder’s design strikes them as incredibly similar to the Sentients of the Bone Wastes, who were known more to be ruthless killers than stand-up comedians.      At first, they assume Pathfinder’s referring to themself, as it wouldn’t be the fifth time someone in Spirale had mistaken the Drifter as a robot. They fold their arms underneath their cloak and prepare to explain, before noticing where Pathfinder was fixing his attention.

                                    ﹁

    Do you mean   this?

                 <-

﹂

     The holographic arrow slowly slides across the screen toward the companion bot. The screen blinks out once it reaches the edge, and the now-exposed Drifter gives a casual wave over to Pathfinder. The companion bot floats downward, closer to its user, so that the next screen projected is off to the side rather than in front of the Drifter.

                                                              ﹁

             Neither sentient, or for sale.

           Its purpose is to assist me with     exploration, combat, & communication.

﹂

[hyper-light]

mid-to-long length starter call capped at 2.

come try your luck by liking this post.

if your muse has previously interacted, reply instead with “hi again”. anyone replying to this call is not counted in the 2-muse limit.

[hyper-light]

                                                   ﹁

              Ah-- try not to fret.            I hear today makes for      quite a discount on chocolate.

﹂

“I wished i have chocolate nor anything to give to someone. Guess my last box was molten due to sunlight.”

[hyper-light]

                                   ﹁

   That’s   not how it w

﹂

// Oh, they get it, they get it. They’re waving their hand through the screen to dissolve it even though the damage is already done.

“‘Road work ahead?’”

“I sure hope it does!”

[hyper-light]

// Being used to the urban din of everyday Spirale, nearby sounds that break the pattern are often noticeable, even if soft. Light further attracts light, and the Drifter draws near, pushing a small soda-can sized drone out of his cape and into the air. It floats in the air, its “eye” projecting a glowing holographic screen of text in front of the duo.

                                            ﹁

   Opposed to outside help?

﹂

‘They’re aware of their tendency to startle strangers, whether from their companion bot, their blunt nature, or inhuman appearance, so the Drifter stays where he is to wait for the other’s response. Given that she was trying to heal herself, the Drifter doesn’t imagine she’ll have too badly of a reaction. Best to be polite even still. They knew very well that wounds shortened the temper.

While she doesn’t have the viola, she’s not completely out of luck. Her voice is a terribly weak substitute for the instrument, and she’s rather unsure if she can manage a spell of any significant power with it. Nevertheless, she’s determined to try, as it could yield something.

Cure wounds, they had said. A spell she uses nearly every time they get into a row with any significant hoard. It should be easy enough to cast. There’s a wound on her arm she can use, caused from scraping herself on a sharp piece of metal. It will do, and so she rolls up her silken sleeve to reveal it, drawing in a breath. 

The singing is a low croon, not quite a lullaby, but a small performance of something soulful and warm. It’s tender really, an old elvish song she’s sung time and time again. It has the right energy, she thinks. And something does click, at least a little bit. Her hands glow softly, an unnatural warmth forming in her palms as she tries to focus herself. It’s so weak in comparison to what she can do. 

And the moment she tries to touch her wound, the glow goes out, despite her singing. Jaw tense, she stops, unaware of anyone who might be observing her attempts.

“Damn this! I can’t even use the little they’ve given me. Outrageous.” 

[hyper-light]

after being removed from the most recent activity check, here to reapply as the Drifter from Hyper Light Drifter. app remains at /app.

Welcome back!

You’ll be staying in APARTMENT 323!

You’ll retain everything from your previous stay!

Enjoy!

–Mod Lyra

[hyper-light]

                                                       ﹁

   If you’re looking to cause trouble,      you could’ve used less words.

﹂

“Who is willing to offer me their horrible body for the sake of testing the effects of arcane goop on their dumb little brains?”

[hyper-light]

                                                                ﹁

     Likewise, it’s the first I’ve heard of it.    Though cold-season holidays are alike,       where warmth & the company of kin             are especially considered.

        What of your plans, stranger...?

﹂

     ▲ ❝ While I know little of the upcoming holiday, the few passing remarks and information I have heard about regarding it make it seem to be quite the lovely holiday. I do hope everyone is able to enjoy themselves. ❞

[hyper-light]

// Presents were rare.

It had been days since a mysterious package had inexplicably begun to exist in the Drifter’s room. It was rather generic-looking; boxy, medium-sized, and covered up in cutesy seasonal gift-wrap, the gift had come from a certain individual that many others had claimed to not know of.

Indeed, instead of rushing into tearing it apart (much less, touching it), the Drifter had been sure to quietly collect what information he could from others about the package. Eavesdropping and lurking around the Internet helped to lessen the Drifter’s suspicion of it, but he’d also heard of the gift going wrong, depending on the sender. More importantly, the gifts often seemed personally tied to the receiver. He had been troubled with this pattern, worrying over what could possibly await inside the box; it was much too small for anything like the Cell or his missing firearms. Was it one of his old companion robots, perhaps? ...Beyond that, just how would a vision of Justice or the unknowable form of Panacea wait for him within?

Back in the privacy of his assigned room, the Drifter knelt down toward the package, cloaks pooling onto the carpet. It had started to collect a very fine film of dust, but nothing substantial enough to have obscured the label on its top. Underneath his name, a neat scrawl of ink:

You’ve always wanted this, but have you ever realized it~? A joyous Snowtide to you.

- Noel 

The package’s wrapping and tape are torn apart with ease, owed to the Drifter’s claws. The box’s top flaps are unfolded, exposing the gift inside with a crown of cardboard. It was something from the world he used to know--he hadn’t even remembered it existed until now.

They stared at it.

A rumble of laughter bubbled up from deep within his chest, rising up into whole-hearted peals. Tears welled up and spilled. He wipes them away; they don’t return. The Drifter hadn’t laughed like this in a while, hadn’t been surprised like this in a while--it felt cathartic and strange and good. The laughter settles back into the quiet as they contemplate their feelings, and the meaning of the gift. They are grateful for Noel, and for Snowtide.

Lifting the thing out of the box, the Drifter rises with it in his hands, then drops it onto the ground.

He kicks it.

The ball rolls and bumps around in the exact way it should. It’s a strange pink and fuzzy elastic sphere, whose sole purpose was to be used in a game of Drifter Soccer.

After a while of messing around with it alone, they head downstairs. It was snowing, but even that wouldn’t deter them from starting a friendly match with someone.

[hyper-light]

cosplaygoddess‌:

@hyper-light

Noire was frantic.  This was the nightmare scenario.  She quickly sent a text to the person she trusted the most.

[      To: The Drifter      From: Noire >>> Can you come over?  I need hello >>> Help* >>>  I don’t know who else to thrust >>> … trust*

The goddess slaps her friend’s hand.  “Cut it out, Neptune.”  Neptune promptly sticks out her tongue, but does stop poke-ing the cell phone.  Noire sighs.  ‘I hope they get here soon…’  She waits by the front door of her apartment, as patiently as is possible, for the Drifter to arrive.  Neptune, bless her heart, waits with Noire, though much less patiently.  

When that friend arrives, they will find an exasperated goddess chastising a purple-haired nuisance attempting (badly) to make pancakes in the kitchen.

// “Noire”’s urgent text was met without a response except for the Read receipt.

The Drifter had been keeping a less-busy, lower profile as of late, prioritizing the discovery of warp pads and quietly helping Spirale’s more vulnerable citizens out with their various problems. It made for a lot of dead time, most of which was allocated to existential contemplation, and the rest into smalltalk through texts.

But it wasn’t that they were ignoring her troubled message; in fact, it had sent them into a frantic rush of energy, galvanizing themself into using whatever possible means to reach Noire’s housing as quickly as possible. Transforming themself into a rush of lightning, wind, and light itself, the Drifter completely fell for Neptune’s trick.

An echo of the past withheld them from knocking the front door off of its hinges, though restraint did not come easy. He comes in without knocking, head sharply turning from one side to another before catching the sight of Noire and her favorite troublemaker. He stops, putting a hand on the doorframe for balance, to account for the incredible whiplash.

With Neptune’s back still turned toward the Drifter, he meets Noire’s eyes. He doesn’t feel the need to use his companion robot to wordlessly ask: What’s the meaning of this?

[hyper-light]

💭.

// If I had accepted that sword, what then? Would it really have stopped him for a time? Or would have it proven ineffective; that it were a test of my will?

I can’t stand the idea of stopping this mockery of Judgement “for a time”, especially by its own blade, but what if...?

[hyper-light]

// Even though the Drifter wasn’t human, he still had his own limits. He was reluctant to let those show, but in the company of Solid Snake, his stiff posture unceremoniously fell to a casual sitting posture.

The cigarette is viewed with a dry-humored glance--it was fortunate their adversaries were not intelligent enough to notice the smoke, or that the Drifter’s typical coughing fits weren’t triggered by it this time. They understood enough that it was meant to calm the nerves, and weren’t in the mood to scold a friend for wanting respite in a situation like this. 

At his question, they meet his eyes, but (rather unhelpfully) neither shake nor nod their head.

@hyper-light

they won’t stop coming, so snake takes it to find a way- a weapon, that can kill them first. that and a smoke break, this has been too much, from the walkers making their way out of the darkest past of his memory, to that of a familiar red glint at the distance- between the cracks in buildings.

snake sighs

“here for a break as well?”

[hyper-light]

For every 💭 I receive, I will write one thought my Muse has had about yours.