Trash King
Aug. 13th, 2016 11:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerIt's interesting playing around with a world where Yosuke never met Chie or Souji or any of the others. He turns out an interesting guy--better in some ways, worse in others.
~Dreamer~
Main Points:
Persona 4/Yugioh 5D's Crossover
Summary: Yosuke “Trash King” Hanamura dreams of turbo duels even in his sleep.
Word Count: 800
Rating: gen? teen at most
~Dreamer~
Main Points:
Persona 4/Yugioh 5D's Crossover
Summary: Yosuke “Trash King” Hanamura dreams of turbo duels even in his sleep.
Word Count: 800
Rating: gen? teen at most
Yosuke “Trash King” Hanamura dreams of turbo duels even in his sleep.
It’s not like he gets a chance to do that in his waking hours anymore, not now that he’s stuck in the Facility. And the tracking ink is annoying, but at least it’s kinda stylish. Handsome.
It may suck. He misses the wind flowing past his face, tousling his hair like an old friend. Misses the rush of the speed. Even misses the crashes when he’s been neglecting Jiraiya and his trusty duel runner feels the need to complain about it to get his attention.
He doesn’t complain much. It doesn’t do anything. Instead, he has a too-ready smile, flirts with too many people. He works out his aggressions flying around town, calms himself by methodically working on the duel runner. He added his own sound system, because the only thing better than card games on motorcycles is card games on motorcycles with a soundtrack. Though he can use the headphones jacked into his helmet and the motorcycle to hear the music, just in case his opponent doesn’t care for the notion. (It’s a thought he can’t even understand, but hey, to each their own. He’s not going to be a bother if he can help it.)
He’d scrabbled through all of the trash, come out grimy but triumphant holding a scratched up CD that he carefully restores as best he can. He loads them all lovingly in, learns all the lyrics despite the fact that he can’t read the names on the CDs and doesn’t know how old they are.
He’d found the duel runner. It was ancient, bound for the scrap heap, missing a ton of parts. It still has troubles, sometimes, but he takes care of what he can, replaces parts when he finds them. It runs like new unless it’s been a while since its last tune-up.
He finds the bottom of a can of orange paint and uses what he can. He cleans up an old white leather suit he finds that’s surprisingly his size, and uses the rest on that, too. Unfortunately, there’s not enough for the whole suit, and the white parts that remain are actually rarely white, but he still wears it proudly, like a badge of honor.
He puts together a deck. It’s not the best, but it’s his own. He still remembers the day that he’d found several unopened booster packs that someone had thrown away. It was kind of a stupid move on their part, but when he ended up with several actual rare rares, he’s not complaining.
He smiles too much, too often. Flirts with anyone who catches his eye. He doesn’t go for just guys or just girls, because who’d wanna lessen the chance to score (unless, y’know, they really don’t swing that way). And ouch, no, he wasn’t just talking about sex, he’d be happy for a date, by this point. Doesn’t get upset when they turn him down, because they always do. He’s always acting carefree, happy go lucky.
He does all his brooding in his head, anyway. But somehow, when all he’s surrounded by is people who are down all the time, it makes it easier to be cheerful. He can’t waste his life being down, not while there are all these interesting people and places and things to do.
He’s a dreamer. His father (at least, when he was around; they tend to swap families, where they exist, around to break them up to avoid ‘contention’ or something) would laugh and say he’s always got his head in the clouds, but there was always something worried and sad in the tone along with the fondness.
When he was younger, he had a tendency to babble. Words would come out of his mouth that he doesn’t even remember thinking, let alone giving his mouth permission to say. Half the time, they’re things he wants to disown, hurtful words that he doesn’t really mean, but if he goes back on them he looks like a coward or a crook, so he just talks even more, hoping that they’ll forget the slight somewhere in the barrage of words. Sometimes, he doesn’t even notice.
These days, he spends more time with his duel runner than he does other people. He’s scared away most people, or been scared away. He spends more time talking to it like it’s an actual person (because, these days, it’s the closest thing to understanding he’s gonna get) or singing along to songs.
Sometimes, he speaks in lyrics.
Being in the Facility is different, forcing him to actually talk to people again. It’s weird, but he takes to it, and he even thinks about what he says before he says it, sometimes.
He’s adaptable. But maybe, that’s what a Satellite is.
It’s not like he gets a chance to do that in his waking hours anymore, not now that he’s stuck in the Facility. And the tracking ink is annoying, but at least it’s kinda stylish. Handsome.
It may suck. He misses the wind flowing past his face, tousling his hair like an old friend. Misses the rush of the speed. Even misses the crashes when he’s been neglecting Jiraiya and his trusty duel runner feels the need to complain about it to get his attention.
He doesn’t complain much. It doesn’t do anything. Instead, he has a too-ready smile, flirts with too many people. He works out his aggressions flying around town, calms himself by methodically working on the duel runner. He added his own sound system, because the only thing better than card games on motorcycles is card games on motorcycles with a soundtrack. Though he can use the headphones jacked into his helmet and the motorcycle to hear the music, just in case his opponent doesn’t care for the notion. (It’s a thought he can’t even understand, but hey, to each their own. He’s not going to be a bother if he can help it.)
He’d scrabbled through all of the trash, come out grimy but triumphant holding a scratched up CD that he carefully restores as best he can. He loads them all lovingly in, learns all the lyrics despite the fact that he can’t read the names on the CDs and doesn’t know how old they are.
He’d found the duel runner. It was ancient, bound for the scrap heap, missing a ton of parts. It still has troubles, sometimes, but he takes care of what he can, replaces parts when he finds them. It runs like new unless it’s been a while since its last tune-up.
He finds the bottom of a can of orange paint and uses what he can. He cleans up an old white leather suit he finds that’s surprisingly his size, and uses the rest on that, too. Unfortunately, there’s not enough for the whole suit, and the white parts that remain are actually rarely white, but he still wears it proudly, like a badge of honor.
He puts together a deck. It’s not the best, but it’s his own. He still remembers the day that he’d found several unopened booster packs that someone had thrown away. It was kind of a stupid move on their part, but when he ended up with several actual rare rares, he’s not complaining.
He smiles too much, too often. Flirts with anyone who catches his eye. He doesn’t go for just guys or just girls, because who’d wanna lessen the chance to score (unless, y’know, they really don’t swing that way). And ouch, no, he wasn’t just talking about sex, he’d be happy for a date, by this point. Doesn’t get upset when they turn him down, because they always do. He’s always acting carefree, happy go lucky.
He does all his brooding in his head, anyway. But somehow, when all he’s surrounded by is people who are down all the time, it makes it easier to be cheerful. He can’t waste his life being down, not while there are all these interesting people and places and things to do.
He’s a dreamer. His father (at least, when he was around; they tend to swap families, where they exist, around to break them up to avoid ‘contention’ or something) would laugh and say he’s always got his head in the clouds, but there was always something worried and sad in the tone along with the fondness.
When he was younger, he had a tendency to babble. Words would come out of his mouth that he doesn’t even remember thinking, let alone giving his mouth permission to say. Half the time, they’re things he wants to disown, hurtful words that he doesn’t really mean, but if he goes back on them he looks like a coward or a crook, so he just talks even more, hoping that they’ll forget the slight somewhere in the barrage of words. Sometimes, he doesn’t even notice.
These days, he spends more time with his duel runner than he does other people. He’s scared away most people, or been scared away. He spends more time talking to it like it’s an actual person (because, these days, it’s the closest thing to understanding he’s gonna get) or singing along to songs.
Sometimes, he speaks in lyrics.
Being in the Facility is different, forcing him to actually talk to people again. It’s weird, but he takes to it, and he even thinks about what he says before he says it, sometimes.
He’s adaptable. But maybe, that’s what a Satellite is.
