[The first thing shown was Nanashii picking through a bunch of what had to be artwork. After a moment though, the rustling paused and a faint frown appeared as the nameless teen picked up a particular image.]
[And that seemed to be when he was recognized, if the shouts of 'Oh god it's Trowa Barton!' were anything to go by. One particularly 'friendly' congoer threw an arm over the teen's shoulders and grinned, looking down at the artwork and ignoring the cold stare leveled at him.]
So, is Quatre any good?
[Naturally that was when the Guide shut itself off.]
[OOC- Don't kill me! >.< xD Replies will be a bit delayed as Nanashii will be teaching the poor congoer a lesson in personal space, and then him getting the heck off the planet.
And yes. That artwork? I'm sure you can use your imagination if the prompts are: bed, Quatre, Trowa, lack of clothes and not sleeping. And something about a carrot.]
[The Guide turned on to show a blank wall. Tools were being used just out of sight from the sound of it. Then there was a pause and a soft hiss of a frustrated breath. The sounds increased though were slower, more deliberate. As if the user had made a mistake and was fixing it with careful deliberation.]
[It was obvious that the user hadn't meant to turn the Guide on, but that happened on the Thor occasionally. A quiet whisper accompanied the tool sounds stopping and the view gave the impression of some height.]
[Frustration. Confusion. Both were obvious in that single whispered word if anyone cared to listen closely enough.]
[And finally a glimpse of the boy was caught as the Guide's view shifted. Showing the single banged teenager with bright green eyes. The nameless boy was frowning more than he usually showed around people, something was obviously bothering him as he walked down the hallway, that being the reason his Guide had moved.]
[The residents of Thor would be treated to the sight of a teenager with a rather unusual hair style, bangs swept over one side of his face and a serious green eye studying the device as he seemed to be walking down a hallway. For those who might remember, he'd arrived the day before. This time, he didn't seem aware he'd pressed the record button.]
[Just as he passed one of the shuttle entrances, a tiny gasp came from the end of the hallway. One so soft that it might have gone unnoticed, had it not been immediately followed by the sound of metal against concrete. Like the echo of a Guide hitting the floor.]
[The sound caught Nanashii’s attention and the slight jerky motions indicating walking stopped. The green eyed boy’s head turned as if to see what had happened. The view shifted to show what he saw, somehow keeping him in sight and showing the blue jumpsuit he wore.]
[His eyes met with those of Midii, staring at him in pure shock. Her face had gone pale, empty hands still frozen in front of her where her Guide had slipped through her fingers. Wavy, blonde hair cascaded down the side of her face, past her shoulders, brushing against a green military jacket.]
[If anyone was watching closely enough, they would see the visible eye widened a fraction in recognition before narrowing back to how it had been before. The teen turned to fully face the girl.]
[She visibly recoiled at the sound of her name, hearing emotion that few others would have been able to detect. When she spoke, there was a noticeable quiver in her voice, like it would crack at any moment:]
Why haven’t you aged?
[It was as if she didn’t hear him, the way she continued to stare. Her eyes taking in every inch of him, as if unable to believe he was really there. Slowly backing away, her Guide was left abandoned where it had fallen.]
[Then, without warning, she turned and ran.]
[He started after her, pausing to pick up the dropped Guide. Pocketing it, he kept going.]
*Indicates Midii Une.
Any replies will be a bit delayed as he’s a bit distracted by catching up to Midii and getting some answers-And Midii obviously does not have her Guide and won't for a couple days. Action is more than welcome!]
[The feed panned on to show a teenager with a rather odd hair cut - short in the back, but with a rather long bang hanging over one side of his face. The bright green eyes weren't looking at the screen, though from the words he spoke, it was quite obvious he'd intended to turn the Guide on. To those familiar with the hangar, the background along with his words would give away his location.]
Do any of the pilots of the mobile suits here want a mechanic? I have experience.
[He looked back to the feed, expression blank as he patiently waited for a response.]
[Trowa activates his Guide, meaning to make a serious-business entry. He even gets partway through it!]
It's interesting. The ship continually has problems with the mission selection program, but there are never missions designed around fixing it. I wonder if they would accept v
[He means to put it away just then, what with the person whose door he'd been knocking on answering it at last. Unfortunately, things don't always go the way you want them to. Funny, you'd think he'd be more careful, considering where he'd been before. Chalk it up to impending godawful distraction and be amazed as Trowa accidentally transfers it to voice function. Whoever the other being is that's talking to him, they have a voice that sounds like rocks grinding against corrugated steel. Sorry about that.]
--ou want, fleshbag?
Didn't ask for no zurkin' telegram.
[As calmly as you please.]
People send them. You don't ask for them.
Hrrm. You skin-trees gonna charge me for this thing?
It's already been paid.
...Hurry up, then. I got an appointment with the polishing salon.
[Trowa clears his throat once, and only once. Given his hesitation to begin after that, it's probably obvious that he isn't at all used to doing this. He's not going to win any space equivalents of the Grammies or anything, but he's not that bad either, if fairly restrained and far moodier sounding than a cheer-up telegram singer really ought to be.]
When you're so very very down
Got your heart way on the ground
And you want to strand yourself out on some planet
Don't come darkening my door
'Cause I don't want you anymore
But hey, be happy, man--my sister's fond of granite.
[There's a silence, and then an angry, rumbling yell, followed by a metallic crunch and the feed ending. Also, if you would like a telegram from Trowa, action it up and I'll have him deliver one~]
[Filtered away from Treize and Dorothy because the boy is not that dense]
Trying to stay off the Guide seemed like a good idea--best not to get attached to people when you can't be sure they'll stay.
[That, and having hair that refused to be anything but pink for three months after that one job? Didn't help the wanting-to-be-social business. Anyway, a slight bit of moodiness leaks into his voice.]
It's an old lesson.
[He goes silent for a bit after that, thinking something over.]
I'm looking for musicians.
...If there are any left.
[The background noise belongs in some kind of factory environment, all clangs and whistles and the heavy thrum of large conveyor belts moving over rollers. Plenty of people are shouting and talking at turns in the background, and someone very close by is using a ratchet of some kind or another. Funny how easy it is to get another job when the company in question goes 2/3 of the month without a single person having signed on to fix their assembly line problems. It's a stroke of luck for him, however minor.]
[Trowa sounds a little odd, in that twitch-at-the-back-of-your-mind sort of way where a person strikes you as speaking of strange things at first, but appears to make perfect sense when you go back and think about it--even if it's a bit unusual for him to say this much in one go over a public line...]
It takes several people to make a good mask.
Most people don't know that. Their mistake is only using themselves for a source of ideas.
In the end, it's too easy to guess the wearer's identity; the outside is the same as the inside. Decorating it doesn't change the basic design.
[Unseen, he sets something down by the Guide; it makes a light clink.]
Rumble started the job, but Nothing worked on the shape. I finished what was left.
I'm going to go to the ball.
[There's just long enough of a silence that it seems like he's about to switch off the Guide before he adds something as an afterthought.]
Polly--I have a favor to ask you. If you're still here. It's unrelated.
I'm not at Banana Slings anymore.
In case anyone was going to come by.
[Someone may have gotten himself fired.]
Haven't been around much, except for work.
I had something to look for. This place is pretty big.
[Distracted sound much?]
But I'm guessing I'd have found it by now. If it was here.
[One of those awkward pauses where you know the person doesn't really want to apologize in case someone asks them to explain themselves, but is doing it anyway? Yeah. He's got that going on.]
[At a loss. Have this before he gives up and ends the feed.]
...At least I'm mostly done working the gears.