(open) there's a girl in the garden
Monday, May 5th, 2014 06:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
WHO: Anyone around the Houses / specifically House E
WHAT: This was not the Valhalla Asuka was expecting. In fact, it might just be a head injury.
WHEN: May 5th
WHERE: House E's front lawn
WARNINGS: Swearing Germans
SUMMARY: What happens when you dump a dead, war-weary, one-eyed 28-going-on-14 post-post-apocalyptic mecha pilot in 'ordinary life' suburbia? Lets find out.
[It's the smell that jolts her awake. You could call it 'fresh', or 'clean', and with the lack of subtle rocking motions beneath her she can instinctively tell she's on dry land.
Green grass is not a smell she remembers the name of, but the sheer nostalgia of it hits like a bomb going off.
It's not exactly like waking up on a empty meadow field, but for someone who hasn't seen a world unstained by contaminant red in over a decade, it's a damn sight close enough.]
...Scheisse. That damn brat...
[...must be a head injury. Figures. Stop everyone from dying - again - then crashland and have the world you've lost thrust in your face. How typical.
She stands, feeling weirdly less battered and exhausted than she knows she should, dusting herself off and wondering how long the recovery operation is going to take this time. Will she even remember this afterwards? Oh well, looking around can't exactly hurt...]
WHAT: This was not the Valhalla Asuka was expecting. In fact, it might just be a head injury.
WHEN: May 5th
WHERE: House E's front lawn
WARNINGS: Swearing Germans
SUMMARY: What happens when you dump a dead, war-weary, one-eyed 28-going-on-14 post-post-apocalyptic mecha pilot in 'ordinary life' suburbia? Lets find out.
[It's the smell that jolts her awake. You could call it 'fresh', or 'clean', and with the lack of subtle rocking motions beneath her she can instinctively tell she's on dry land.
Green grass is not a smell she remembers the name of, but the sheer nostalgia of it hits like a bomb going off.
It's not exactly like waking up on a empty meadow field, but for someone who hasn't seen a world unstained by contaminant red in over a decade, it's a damn sight close enough.]
...Scheisse. That damn brat...
[...must be a head injury. Figures. Stop everyone from dying - again - then crashland and have the world you've lost thrust in your face. How typical.
She stands, feeling weirdly less battered and exhausted than she knows she should, dusting herself off and wondering how long the recovery operation is going to take this time. Will she even remember this afterwards? Oh well, looking around can't exactly hurt...]