I can move mountains, I can work a miracle [OPEN]

[rassera]

WHO: The residents of Nonah 05 + YOU!
WHERE: Nonah, Residence #005
WHEN: All month long (January)
WHAT: Nonah 05 open log for January Shenanigans
WARNINGS: Obligatory Bull and Tetsuo warnings apply.


Starters will be appearing in the comments. If you want something specific from any one person (Kaneda rassera, Tetsuo iamtetsuo, Bull rideme and Ken amadaman), feel free to drop them a line and ask! Otherwise, feel free to add your own starters for the whole household or individual residents as you like.

Comments

[iamtetsuo]

[And ... one day, he does. Or something like him.

Of the birds, only Kazu knows that jacket isn't Tetsuo's trademark. But this time, he's altered his appearance a bit as he meanders his quiet way down the stairs. That black hair? White, with blue tips frosting it, giving it a snowy look. That jacket? Accompanied by a hoodie under it. Something changed.

He wanders somewhat aimlessly, finally beelining to the kitchen to check for anything edible in there he wants. He's not hungry enough to not be picky, so pretty quickly he wanders back with a coke can, stopping at the sight of one of the birds on his way. He hadn't seen her first; she was at an odd corner that obscured her.

His eyes flick from her to the array of parts spread before her, interest glinting behind them before they look off to the side again. He's curious. But it doesn't look like he's curious enough to outright ask.]

[resoundingpledge]

[ It's a good change though. Like . . . seeing a stray cat brought in from the rain, seeing it after its fur is dried and brushed. Wrapped up and warm and starting to move around the house with just a little more confidence . . .

Her hands still, the soft hum in her throat fading as she's finally able to join the sound of his footsteps to the shape of his shoulders, the curve of his cheek. He has nice eyes. Especially now, framed by white and blue . . . ]

It looks good on you.

[ No need for the comm's translator; she says it in Japanese, almost shyly, her choice of words far more polite than Ikki's or even Yayoi's.

Her eyes drop almost immediately after saying it—that wasn't the question he'd asked at all. She rubs the back of her head, the screwdriver in her hand somehow not tangling in the pink tufts of her hair. ]

I mean . . . it's . . .

This is the inner coil. The auxiliary motor, for the rear wheels.

[iamtetsuo]

[Surprised, Tetsuo blinks at the comment - he'd noticed the girl around, sure. It's hard to miss pink hair, no matter how shy or small its owner may act. He'd not realized she had been watching him as well; they hadn't so much as walked past each other in the hall.

One hand strays to his hair, messing idly with it. He doesn't say anything to the compliment, but it, and her answer combined, draws him nearer.]

It's a hub motor, isn't it...?

[He sounds small compared to himself just weeks ago. It can't be helped anymore, for all the wishing otherwise. It's a lot easier to sound bigger over a distance... in person, he's reminded of how much a risk it can be now.

... but..dammit. He wants to know.]

[resoundingpledge]

[ Those few words, and she lights up brighter than if he split the house open and shone a beam of sunlight directly on her. ]

It is!

Here—

[ She spreads a handkerchief on the floor, and uncouples the outer ring from the inner section. Both pieces go on the cloth between them, giving him a better view of the coiled wires and magnetizable metal hidden between the two.

It's not a standard outer rotor design by any stretch, but the base components are at least recognizable. She taps the central section first, and then the outer one. ]

The stator would attached to the main bolt, and this space is where the brake control and bearings would be. The rotor is the most interesting part, though.

[iamtetsuo]

[Eventually he gives up and sits on his knees, paying full attention, mentally logging everything away. His eyes have a glint to them now, darting from piece to piece. So, those do have brakes. He had been wondering.

There's ten billion questions he already wants to cut her off on. What's the voltage? Frequency? but he stops himself somehow. She's going somewhere with this.

He'll be wondering forever what that is if he doesn't find out. She gets silence again, but the attentive, expectant kind - go on.]

[resoundingpledge]

[ He really, really was like a stray cat. Skittish and shy, but maybe . . . with the parts in front of her offered up like tuna and toys, with her hands and self still centred where she sat (and that was important, that he could choose how close he came or how far away he sat, that he didn't feel scared or trapped) . . . maybe, like this, they could talk for a bit.

Her screwdriver turns the ring of the rotor on its side, tilting it so he can see the groove running around inner edge. ]

The divide here, under the auxiliary coil—that's the conduit for the power recovery system. Other parts connect to the driver unit and the battery, but here . . . this is where it starts. This is where everything begins.

[ She slips the two pieces back together, and takes what has to be the main bolt from her lap and runs that through the centre. It's the absolute barest of wheels, but she holds each side of the bolt between thumb and forefinger and runs the 'rim' firmly over the ground anyway. ]

The batteries that run the system . . . they're the same size as the ones in cellphones. Even supercharged, they can't run all the components for long.

[ As she lifts the 'wheel', momentum seems to keep it spinning . . .

. . . and spinning . . .

. . . and no, it's the motor, completely disconnected from any power source and still running. ]

Any transfer of energy incurs a loss. You can't stop entropy. But if you can minimize that loss—if you can transfer kinetic energy to kinetic energy with only losing 1% of that output, if you can recharge just by using the weight of your body and gravity—

[ The motor finally begins to slow, and she looks up at him, offering the best thing she possibly can. ]

Then you can fly.

[ Catnip. ]

[iamtetsuo]

[Cellphones, huh.

He's seen them now, but they're something new to this world; Tetsuo hasn't gotten around to breaking one apart to see how it works - however much power that is, he couldn't say for certain. That's true for a lot here; the tech is so different.

But underneath it, so many of the basic principles remain the same. Electricity fed around an axle. At its simplest, a rotating coil around a magnet. No matter to complexity, it's power converted into motion, potential to kinetic.

As the motor keeps going, his head tilts, eyes first widening, then narrowing in concentration. The motion's there, but the power... that's longer than it should take for momentum to die off. A lot longer. What is he watching?]

That's stored kinetic energy? [Wait.] No - a feedback loop...!

[Was THAT what Kazu meant!?

The temptation to reach out and spin it flares bright in his mind, almost acting before the thought consciously occurs to him. He can feel the power presses against his head, humming with pent-up energy he's not used since it returned, almost buzzing in his skull with raw potential. What would happen if he fed this machine? With what he could do... He shoves the impulse away. He's not done being angry at that very same power for cutting out on him when he needed it.

His eyes meet hers, for once, a fascinated glint replacing the dull, half-lifeless wariness they'd held so often lately.]

What do you mean, 'fly'?

[resoundingpledge]

[ She watches the change come over him, as enraptured with the light coming into is eyes as he is with the motor in her hands. The catch of his breath is like a symphony, and she can only nod as he puts words to that feeling, as his silence finally breaks under the swell of his questions.

She tilts the motor like a gyroscope as it starts to slow, and for a moment . . . just for a moment, the space around them seems filled with potential. Sheets of piano-shaped input keys unfurl in her mind, and she wonders, suddenly, what kind of shape he'd call out of the mist behind him.

What would the tiny kitten across from her grow into?

And the moment is gone. But she was right—he really does have nice eyes. ]

It's what stormriders call it.

[ She lowers the motor again, separating it back into its component pieces. ]

Kinetically activated hub motors that output energy in proportion to a 'kick'. An air cushion system that absorbs the impact shock of a 'land'. And a power retention system that gives both the stamina to run.

Air Treck . . . they're a stormrider's 'wings'. With them, people who have never been off the ground can run, and jump, and soar. Not just with a machine, but with their own skill, and under their own power.

A-T let people 'fly'.

[iamtetsuo]

[No comment as she talks, busy watching where it all goes. Trying to see what makes that work - he heard her just fine. But... how?

What is it about this thing that makes it do that? How? He understands it, and yet... he doesn't understand a thing. He couldn't build one from this lesson alone...]

...

[He sighs at that last bit, shifting his weight.]

I used to fly.

[She might, if she's heard that tone of voice before, recognize it as the wistful, dark bitterness of someone who's had his wings ripped right off his back and shattered into a million pieces in front of him.]

1/2

[resoundingpledge]

[ She knows that tone.

She knows that tone, she recognizes it, and hearing it again—hearing it here, with this quiet boy and his fragile curiosity twists a double-edged knife back into a place in her heart she'd almost thought had healed. It's only by the grace of long practice that her fingers don't fumble, don't drop the last of the parts across the floor.

She doesn't . . .

She doesn't know how to fix this.

She can fix machines. She can build and repair. But there's no screw or gear for 'sadness', there's no part to change for 'hurt', and people, people were so far beyond her skill . . . ]

[resoundingpledge]

[ . . . but not . . . beyond everyone else's. And there's part of an answer, surely, in the colours of his hair, in the growing weight of his steps, in the quiet voices behind his door.

Those are the things teammates are for. ]

. . . start here, with the main bolt. If you build out from there, everything will stay centred. Even a gyroscopic stabilization won't help if the wheels are unbalanced.

[ She turns the screwdriver over in her fingers, once, twice . . . and any inner debates about 'too soon' or 'too late' end when she turns it handle first, putting it down on the handkerchief beside the disassembled parts. ]

For link tuners . . . for mechanics who don't use A-T of our own, the ground is all we know. Our voices are strong, but our wings aren't on our feet—they're here, in the A-T we build. It's the riders who use them that carry our hopes and dreams into the sky.

[iamtetsuo]

[Maybe it's enough for those who've never touched the sky. Never felt the mad rush of leaping high and never stopping, unbound by gravity and feeling its weight pull futilely at their skin and behind their skull. Maybe for those who don't know the siren call of absolute freedom, watching others soar is enough.

But to those who've taken flight, being grounded is like losing part of the soul. The silence in his head finally broke, bringing the maddening, agonizing relief of whispers behind it - the whole thoughts of a city, the raw burn of pure power blazing if he dares to call it.

But he largely hasn't. He's not even tried to lift off the ground again, or lift a car, or catch bullets. He's not exercised any of his powers beyond a few mental exercises, a couple instances of reaching out. And he doesn't even know why, beyond a conviction that he can't anymore.

To those whose power comes from the mind, the spirit means everything.]

What's the point of making it if you don't get to use it?

[resoundingpledge]

[ You want to. It didn't even need to be a question. It wasn't a question, it was a statement, clear as the inward curve of his shoulders. You want to fly.

This shiver shows in her hands, and she curls them tightly into the fabric of her skirt. it's good. Whatever had happened, they weren't gone. Mauled, certainly. Tattered and torn, feathers stripped bare to the bone. But there was something left, held so tight and close he probably hadn't even stretched them out to see how bad the damage was.

He hadn't left them behind. He hadn't torn them off. He still wanted to fly.

Her though . . . she drops her gaze at his question, suddenly bashful, and rubs the back of her head.]

It's . . . not really a 'don't get to' so much as a 'can't', for me. Even if I could, I don't know that I would give up what I have.

[ She picks up the inner coil, turning it over in her hands. ]

It may be a little weird, saying it like this, but stormriders . . . focus a lot on our strengths, on what we can do, more than what we can't.

Everyone only has so much time, and just learning A-T . . . it takes a lot of that. Even simple tricks need practice, over and over again. Hundreds and thousands of times. Parts get worn down, and replaced with new ones . . . and with A-T, almost everything can be customized. People who are good at speed, or distance, agility . . . they adapt their A-T for that, and choose stronger parts as they hone stronger skills. High or low friction wheels, power output or turning sensitivity, the balance between the cushioning system and the breaks . . .

[ And for the strongest, for the Kings of their roads, even more advanced parts than that: the road's regalia, the ultimate in specialization. The ultimate in cost, too . . . it would be another day, still, before Kazu could walk again. And more beyond that before he'd be able to run. ]

For me . . . my strength is knowing what that match is. What a person and their A-T could do if the right parts were all together, if they all worked in harmony. And what . . . they need, if the right parts don't yet exist at all.

I like doing that. I like seeing people fly. And I'm still . . .

I'm a stormrider too. Even on Ring Road, I want to know what I can do, if I give everything I have.

And, especially for the people I care about . . . I want to show them how strong I can be.