And then the pale boy in white crashes into Trowa. While on the way down he may have looked like he was floating, a feather on the breeze, he lands like what he is: a boy who's (somehow) fallen from a really high tower.
". . . Ow," says Trowa, from underneath a heap of splatted prince.
There's a soft fluttering sound from above which begins just as they pass under the highest tower of the massive building. It could easily be mistaken for the rush of a bird's wings. Though it would have to be a very large bird.
It is not, however, a large bird. Instead it is a pale-haired boy. He is falling, and from the great height of the tower the falling is likely to be followed by a painful landing. He does not seem worried by this fact. Quite the contrary, he seems rather serene.
This time, Duck has dragged Trowa over to look into a nearby shop window. Duo is two steps behind. (He doesn't look up.)
And then the pale boy in white crashes into Trowa. While on the way down he may have looked like he was floating, a feather on the breeze, he lands like what he is: a boy who's (somehow) fallen from a really high tower.
Some sharp observer may recognize two things about the pale boy. First, he has a sort of haunted beauty about him. The sort that makes all the ladies swoon. Second, and perhaps more worrisome, he is wearing no pants.
Trowa is wearing the particular kind of impassivity that signals a certain degree of what the hell, world; Mytho, in his arms, is limp and serene.
And then, from somewhere offstage, comes an exuberant run of chords, and voices lifted in song:
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Okay, okay, take two!
". . . Ow," says Trowa, from underneath a heap of splatted prince.
Uhhh, take three?
It is not, however, a large bird. Instead it is a pale-haired boy. He is falling, and from the great height of the tower the falling is likely to be followed by a painful landing. He does not seem worried by this fact. Quite the contrary, he seems rather serene.
This time, Duck has dragged Trowa over to look into a nearby shop window. Duo is two steps behind. (He doesn't look up.)
WHAM.
"Medic!"
Take ... four! Four!
"Out of my way!" Fakir shouts. "Get out of my way!"
You'd think people would listen. They don't. Fakir manages to knock Duo, Trowa and Duck over before catching Mytho neatly in his arms.
"See?" he says to Mytho. "I told you I'm good enough to make the basketball team."
Re: TAKE FIVE
"Oh oh oh oh I got this one I got this one!" she shouts, bouncing. "Magic Flower Waltz Powers . . . MAAAAAAAAAKE UP!"
TAKE SIX, and for god's sake REMEMBER THE BLOCKING THIS TIME
Some sharp observer may recognize two things about the pale boy. First, he has a sort of haunted beauty about him. The sort that makes all the ladies swoon. Second, and perhaps more worrisome, he is wearing no pants.
Trowa is wearing the particular kind of impassivity that signals a certain degree of what the hell, world; Mytho, in his arms, is limp and serene.
And then, from somewhere offstage, comes an exuberant run of chords, and voices lifted in song:
"IT'S RAINING MEN! HALLELUJAH! IT'S RAINING MEN!"