First Person: [An impassive, cool-eyed face stares into the camera. Her voice is quiet, slightly hoarse, and tersely unemotional.]
I‘m searching for my friends. If anyone is familiar with Tomoe Mami, Kyouko Sakura, or Miki Sayaka, please direct me to them.
[Her lips purse in minute, momentary displeasure. There’s a flicker on the camera as if the connection was momentarily interrupted, and afterwards the expression is gone.]
If there are any organized records in the city, I’d be interested in reviewing them as well.
[The screen flickers again, twice, and in between flickers Homura’s face appears for a moment to have far more depth of emotion to it -- wide, almost tearful eyes, trembling lips, and an expression full of retrained nervousness and longing, as if there is something else she doesn’t dare say. But once again, her face is calm and composed afterwards, and her voice is even when she speaks.]
There is one more name I need to ask about. Is anyone familiar with Kaname Madoka?
[Her voice cracks on the last word, and a moment later the camera is shut off.]
Third Person:
The clocktower had the best view of the city, and Homura had taken to spending most of her time atop it. The notion that there was no doom hanging over her head, clock ticking down towards it, was one she hadn’t had time to adjust to yet. Not knowing what would come next was even worse. Open places, predictable places with a good view of her surroundings and little chance of other people interfering with her, were to be preferred to anywhere else.
They kept her calm. Despite appearances, that was more complicated for her than anyone would believe. Now, she was cleaning her guns, a comforting routine she could perform by spinal reflex -- checking the safety, ejecting the clip, checking the slide and chamber, then disassembling as far as each gun would swabbing the barrel, oiling every moving part, wiping everything dry, putting the pieces back together, checking the safety, reloading. Two handguns, one shotgun, two rifles. She’d used up everything else she had.
She preferred not to think about that. It was the confusion that came afterwards which occupied most of her attention, every waking hour, and which required quiet places and steady routines to break away from. Madoka. What had happened to Madoka? There was no sign of her, and no sign this was the world she had created. The only bit of peace and joy she had pursued from her life was gone, and for what? This place made no sense. It was not what she would have imagined as the result of that wish.
Despite herself, despite the confusion and fear, she smiled, a thin, small expression, one she ducked automatically to hide. No matter how she worried, there was another feeling there was well. Love, and awe, and pride, mingled together and stored in that same place in her mind, the place that was always cool and determined, from which she drew her strength.
Hope.
She finished her routine, packed away her guns. It was time to patrol again. Her search wasn’t over, and it wouldn’t be over until she had her answers.
Re: [Canon] Homura || Puella Magi Madoka Magica || No rserve || 2 of 2
First Person:
[An impassive, cool-eyed face stares into the camera. Her voice is quiet, slightly hoarse, and tersely unemotional.]
I‘m searching for my friends. If anyone is familiar with Tomoe Mami, Kyouko Sakura, or Miki Sayaka, please direct me to them.
[Her lips purse in minute, momentary displeasure. There’s a flicker on the camera as if the connection was momentarily interrupted, and afterwards the expression is gone.]
If there are any organized records in the city, I’d be interested in reviewing them as well.
[The screen flickers again, twice, and in between flickers Homura’s face appears for a moment to have far more depth of emotion to it -- wide, almost tearful eyes, trembling lips, and an expression full of retrained nervousness and longing, as if there is something else she doesn’t dare say. But once again, her face is calm and composed afterwards, and her voice is even when she speaks.]
There is one more name I need to ask about. Is anyone familiar with Kaname Madoka?
[Her voice cracks on the last word, and a moment later the camera is shut off.]
Third Person:
The clocktower had the best view of the city, and Homura had taken to spending most of her time atop it. The notion that there was no doom hanging over her head, clock ticking down towards it, was one she hadn’t had time to adjust to yet. Not knowing what would come next was even worse. Open places, predictable places with a good view of her surroundings and little chance of other people interfering with her, were to be preferred to anywhere else.
They kept her calm. Despite appearances, that was more complicated for her than anyone would believe. Now, she was cleaning her guns, a comforting routine she could perform by spinal reflex -- checking the safety, ejecting the clip, checking the slide and chamber, then disassembling as far as each gun would swabbing the barrel, oiling every moving part, wiping everything dry, putting the pieces back together, checking the safety, reloading. Two handguns, one shotgun, two rifles. She’d used up everything else she had.
She preferred not to think about that. It was the confusion that came afterwards which occupied most of her attention, every waking hour, and which required quiet places and steady routines to break away from. Madoka. What had happened to Madoka? There was no sign of her, and no sign this was the world she had created. The only bit of peace and joy she had pursued from her life was gone, and for what? This place made no sense. It was not what she would have imagined as the result of that wish.
Despite herself, despite the confusion and fear, she smiled, a thin, small expression, one she ducked automatically to hide. No matter how she worried, there was another feeling there was well. Love, and awe, and pride, mingled together and stored in that same place in her mind, the place that was always cool and determined, from which she drew her strength.
Hope.
She finished her routine, packed away her guns. It was time to patrol again. Her search wasn’t over, and it wouldn’t be over until she had her answers.
She was looking forward to it.