1. A guilty Nightmare (cw: mass death, death of children)
[Upon entering the dream, the intruder would find themselves on the bridge of a ship. It was a strange ship, floating in the sky and made of sheets of metal, with lights of all colors flashing. Harlock stands at the ship's wheel, his knuckles white as he stares at the massive window that takes up much of the floor.
Below, there were shiny, silvery people running and screaming, some sprawled lifeless as buildings were reduced to smokey ruins or infernos. Among the strange-looking people were what looks to be children - bawling, shaking their parents, or eerily still.]
How could you? I thought you were a man of honor! There are civilians - children. Harlock, please for God's sake - why. Tell me why you're doing this. There must be a reason - do you hate them that much?
[Harlock flinches from the voice - masculine, angry, hurt, betrayed - that echoed, the ship rocking as a powerful force hits it. No - he didn't mean to, he didn't know there were civilians, this - he was told this was a military compound, just soldiers. He stiffens, trying to speak, to explain, but it freezes. He... he can't speak. He can't say a damned word. He can't move.]
2. Sports!
[While he enjoy the beauty of ice-skating, he can't see himself doing any of the fancy tricks, and curling offended his sensibilities even when it wasn't boring. Now hockey? He likes it. He bodychecks an opponent to give a teammate and opening to make a play for the goal.]
You can make it! [Post game, he's wiping the blood from the corner of his lip, smirking]
3. He's a Bandit, not a doctor
[He hated feeling useless, he's not a healer, he can barely deal with his own nightmares. If he sees someone running by that's clearly knows what they're doing, he starts moving alongside them, not wanting to interrupt them]
Hey, do you need an extra pair of hands?
[Or like a couple of others, he's in the library, searching the shelves, and stacking books on the table that look like they may have any relevant information, in actually well-organized piles by subject matter.]
Harlock | Blue Court | Novice
[Upon entering the dream, the intruder would find themselves on the bridge of a ship. It was a strange ship, floating in the sky and made of sheets of metal, with lights of all colors flashing. Harlock stands at the ship's wheel, his knuckles white as he stares at the massive window that takes up much of the floor.
Below, there were shiny, silvery people running and screaming, some sprawled lifeless as buildings were reduced to smokey ruins or infernos. Among the strange-looking people were what looks to be children - bawling, shaking their parents, or eerily still.]
How could you? I thought you were a man of honor! There are civilians - children. Harlock, please for God's sake - why. Tell me why you're doing this. There must be a reason - do you hate them that much?
[Harlock flinches from the voice - masculine, angry, hurt, betrayed - that echoed, the ship rocking as a powerful force hits it. No - he didn't mean to, he didn't know there were civilians, this - he was told this was a military compound, just soldiers. He stiffens, trying to speak, to explain, but it freezes. He... he can't speak. He can't say a damned word. He can't move.]
2. Sports!
[While he enjoy the beauty of ice-skating, he can't see himself doing any of the fancy tricks, and curling offended his sensibilities even when it wasn't boring. Now hockey? He likes it. He bodychecks an opponent to give a teammate and opening to make a play for the goal.]
You can make it!
[Post game, he's wiping the blood from the corner of his lip, smirking]
3. He's a Bandit, not a doctor
[He hated feeling useless, he's not a healer, he can barely deal with his own nightmares. If he sees someone running by that's clearly knows what they're doing, he starts moving alongside them, not wanting to interrupt them]
Hey, do you need an extra pair of hands?
[Or like a couple of others, he's in the library, searching the shelves, and stacking books on the table that look like they may have any relevant information, in actually well-organized piles by subject matter.]
Wildcard
[Throw anything at him]