#zacharyx99

[sgnjongin]

it’s christmas

@zacharyx99

ares can’t hardly even remember the kid’s name anymore, and why should he? why should he care so much about a scrap of metal, too weak to stand against the sun and the dust and the heat and the desert, too weak to last longer than three minutes against the war machine, against the proto named for an ancient god of blood, too stupid to step out of his way? why should he care about a thing that would purposefully shield criminals, rapists, murderers, thieves-- whether he knew it himself or not, whether he was aware of their conduct or not, it matters nothing to ares, less than nothing, less than the gravel under his feet or the exhaust his motorcycle puffs out as he rides full throttle through the streets of this hideous, meandering city.

for some goddamn reason though, gael seems to think he should, seems to think it’s important that ares troubles himself over dead creatures who were never really alive to begin with, because life belongs to fleshy, hodgepodge beings, doesn’t it? life belongs only to the breakable, to the feeble, to the fragile; so in a way, ares killing this younger proto was doing him a favor. let him taste death and he’ll be granted the mantle of life, at least according to the mechanic apparently, who, granted, tends to believe everything might be sort of alive. he wonders if gael would cry and rage so hard if he smashed his toaster oven or a dresser drawer next time, would they fight and squabble about that too?

he sets his lips into a thin line, his jaw drawn taunt, his eyes glaring into the foggy haze speeding by as he weaves in and out through traffic and pedestrians, ignoring proper safety codes because the paladins will never catch him anyway, hyperion’s eye will never spot him anyway. he revels in the danger of it, however small the infractions are, douses himself in the distraction of pissing other people off even if it’s only for a moment, hissing under his breath as a dark chuckle works its way up from the barrels of his throat.

he stops rather abruptly at his destination, wasting no time pulling over to the side and hauling off the broken pieces of whatever is left of the very-not-alive-not-dead proto he’d ripped apart in the desert, it’s limbs still somewhat twitching despite gael having picked through it already. ares could tell the mechanic hadn’t wanted to mess with it too much, but that’s fine, that’s just fucking fine, he’ll take it to someone he knows would actually pay for this much metal, someone he knows would appreciate it.

“hey sexy!” he calls to the walls of the stairwell, leading up to the good doctor’s place from the bar, skin-covered steel knuckles rapping against the wood of the entrance-way. “you in there? ho ho ho bitch, it’s christmas and i got presents.”

#zacharyx99 #| it's christmas | #asdkjhdj sorry this took me so long

[99lleon]

oddities.

 ( @zacharyx99​ )

     it's not like leon didn't use to go out much — he did, many times, to different places, laboratories, different corporations, sometimes visits to other parts of the city. his maker had taken him to trips many times, they had done sightseeing even. but whenever he goes out by himself now, there are so many things that surprise him, the streets aren't like the ones they lived in, but much more different, filled with crowds, odd people who are always occupied with things leon doesn't understand easily. it's a reason why he likes going out on broad daylight, busy hours, seeing people walk pass the streets, dressed and looking all different.

     although his destination is somewhat clear, the proto takes the long way through the streets, knows that he can kill some time before something tangible comes up. it's then that odd things begin to occur, different people talking to him, offering him things, or as he waits for the traffic to clear, he can see an odd man turning and turning on the corner of the street. one thing becomes too many, and after his hands are full of pamphlefts he can't understand, his head full of questions wanting to be answered, he's quick on his feet to head to the doctor's place. he trusts zachary, and it was at the back of his mind for a couple of days, to see the other, to stop by to see how he was.

     the fact that he has seen so many peculiar things only fuels him on his way to the doctor's place, not too far away from where he has wandered off to. it takes half an hour by feet, and he's too excited to wait before he goes through the doors, obviously confused yet there's a smile on his face as he navigates through the familiar corridors. it's not rare that he stops by at the office, and it's one of the places he feels safe, an unseen bond that binds him to just a few months ago. riku has trusted the man, and leon does the same with his whole heart, doesn't think he'd ever be reported as riku warned him. instead, he's happy, brimming with the curiosity once he makes it to the final door, pushing it open and walking inside as he begins to talk.

     "zachary, hi !" the proto exclaims, making his way further inside as he continues on, holding a block of pamphlets in his hand. "the weirdest things happened today ! at first, there was this lady that kept trying to give me this book — at one point i thought i needed to pay for it— but they didn't want that either ? then there was another one and i really have no idea why they gave me these small books —- then, then, there was this odd dude that kept staring, and mumbling this song ? i really couldn't understand whether he was speaking or singing —-" once he begins, words flow out of his mouth without pause, speaking heatedly about a good proportion of his day. it's a moment later that he pauses, looking up at the doctor for answers he doesn't have himself.

#《 —p ┇zachary. 》 #《 —p ┇oddities. 》 #《 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 ┇—- paras. 》

[boone99-blog1]

Winds of change

The wastelands, such a massive expanse of danger as well as the constantly shifting sand that could scorch one’s feet if unprotected. On a good day if luck holds there are few to no incidents, possibly a small storm or upheaval of the blanket of grainy ground, yet not enough to warrant fear. That doesn’t count for the beasts of nightmares who see this place as their home, their domain that humans and proto dare trespass. 

 The day had started like most; dry and warm with the sun high above yet not quite hot enough to make someone swelter beneath protective gear. Boone had donned said gear, a face mask and goggles, shawl draped across his spindly frame and the typical booted and gloves needed to protect his skin from the unforgiving sand ocean. His partner in crime, Yiska, bears his own makeshift gear to keep visibility as well as breathing optimal and body protected as his fur isn’t thick enough to prevent heavy storms. A few satchels and a flask are slung around Boone’s body along with a knife and gun, his companion fitted with a sort of ‘doggy backpack’ that carries more water as well as extra storage space. It’s times once again to scavenge and sell, his ‘job’ as a merchant. It pays very well yet the risks are extremely high. 

 ///// 

 It’d been at least an hour since leaving the Valkyrie encampment, the occasional scrap salvaged to add to his inventory along with jewelry and trinkets he crafts himself. Time seems to pass quickly, or that may simply be an illusion playing with the young travelers mind. He’s no expert, only living among the nomads for around five or so years yet still it feels like second nature now.

A bark of attention brings Boone to look up, differently colored eyes growing wide behind the thick goggles. When did that cloud form like an ominous blanket of darkness? The wind already starts to pick up, Yiska nudging at his human to move. A quick scan around the area has Boone swearing under his breath until he spots a possible small enclave, part of some vehicle or other discarded heap that just might save their asses. “Go!” Yiska only Heads for the spot when he knows Boone is right after him, easily burying himself flat to his furry belly well hidden from the rising whipping winds. Terror floods the nomad once he can’t fit in as well, instead peeking up only to see the wall of sand moments away from crashing past them both. 

 Despite the fear that leaves him shaking, knowing the outcome won’t be good either way, his jaw sets. Head dipping down to catch his dog’s...his friend’s attention he gives Yiska a head ruffling then mutters “Stay, good boy. You be good.” Then curls himself as far into the enclosure as possible, trying to salvage his most vital areas as well as create a buffer to prevent harm to come to his dog. Since losing his sister and the family proto nobody had been so close to him, had meant as much as the huddled creature beside him. It seems only natural he shield his friend now. “I love you Yiska. Be good for me eh?!” 

He has to shout as the winds hiss then silence him, darkness falling as the storm blocks out the sunlight for what could be an hour or more. Right up until the worst reached the two Yiska had been petted, a soothing gesture for both. After that though only loud whistling and hissing can be heard, deafening and preventing any other noise from escaping its vortex. The petting had stopped long before the storm did.

As the sunlight filters back in and the temperature rises back to what it was before, Yiska climbs his way out to see his friend, his human, torn apart. The left side of his body received the worst treatment as clothing tore away, all the skin of his now exposed left arm and leg as well as his side are a raw red. Part of his mask had been ripped away though miraculously the goggles stayed in place protecting his eyes. The skin of his left cheek and neck show rawness as well, a few lacerations leaving rivulets of blood  to spill down onto his torn shirt. It’s as if half of his body had been stripped only for burns and cuts to cover his skin, the back of his exposed foot missing a chunk of flesh...possibly more than that. The flesh of two fingers seem damaged beyond repair from the second knuckle on, and he doesn’t seem to hear Yiska bark until he does so into his right ear. With blood trickling into the sand, staining it crimson, Boone manages to smile and pet Yiska softly before slumping over.

 The dog carries on while bouncing around the area trying to alert someone, anyone. Periodically he does so while stopping in little breaks to curl around Boone, his human, protectively.

@zacharyx99

#*can you take me higher ; to a place with golden streets // (paras) #zacharyx99 #winds of change #sorry for length #tw: blood #tw: injury