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

[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.