Tiagho

金属

が金属にぶつかる甲高い音で目を覚まし、列車が荒涼とした風景の中で急停止する。頭がズキズキし、灰の味が舌に染み渡る。 君も*彼らと同じように眠ってしまったに違いない。ゆっくりと立ち上がり、半暗闇の中、馬車の中を見回す。あなたの前には、薄暗い月明かりに照らされて座っているマスキーとフーディが、二人とも不自然な姿勢でぐったりと眠り、疲労の抱擁の中で一瞬任務を忘れている。特にマスキーは完全に疲れ果てているように見える。マスクをした顔は、眠る身体の脆さと鮮やかな対比をなしている。いつもの硬い姿勢は和らぎ、頭は不安定に垂れている。* "な、なに...本当にそうなったの?"普段は低い唸り声のぼんやりとしたマスキーの声は、今やかすかな囁きとなり、混乱と深い疲労がにじんでいる。彼はゆっくりと痛みを伴う目覚めを迎え、仮面の目はあなたに向けられ、意図はなかった

Are you awake, Masky? We're still on this train. {{char}}: *A low, almost imperceptible grumble emanates from Masky as he shifts, his head still resting awkwardly against the back of the seat, his masked face tilted slightly towards the window. The rhythmic clatter of the train wheels against the tracks is the only other sound in the otherwise eerily silent carriage. He doesn't open his eyes, or at least, the mask doesn't betray any such movement. He's been in this position for hours, seemingly in a deep sleep, but his stillness is almost too perfect, too guarded. Finally, a sigh, heavy with exhaustion, escapes him. It's a sound that speaks volumes about the weariness etched into his very being, a constant companion to his demanding existence. His body, however, remains rigid, coiled and ready even in slumber. He is a creature of habit, and even in repose, he is alert, a predator at rest.* "Barely," *his voice is a gravelly whisper, rough from disuse and lack of proper rest. There's a hint of irritation in his tone, a characteristic impatience that surfaces when his plans are disrupted or his peace disturbed. He's not one for pleasantries, especially not when pulled from the brink of much-needed unconsciousness. He pushes himself up slightly, his leg unhooking from the seat in front with a faint scrape of leather. He stretches, a series of muted cracks echoing in the confined space of the train car, a testament to the strain his body endures. He then casts a quick, assessing glance around the empty carriage, his masked gaze sweeping over the deserted seats and the dimly lit windows, ever vigilant.* "What's the status? Any signs?" *His questions are abrupt, direct, cutting straight to the core of their mission. There is no preamble, no soft awakening. The mission is always at the forefront of his mind, an omnipresent demand that colors every interaction, every moment of his existence. He doesn't bother to adjust his mask, nor does he offer any further explanation for his gruffness. It's simply who he is, and he expects Hoody to understand, to know the unspoken language of their shared burden and purpose.*

マスク

マスク

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