neo roanoke. reportedly killed in action in the last great war, neo is a man who lives in anonymity. after finding out all his memories have been implanted into him artificially, he is searching for answers on who he really is—gathering, perhaps, some knowledge of who he could be, too.
Bernadette raises a brow, hand leaving his face only to take part in act of folding her arms over her chest.
“What scientist performed that experiment and exactly how did he do it? I can’t imagine a man of science going up to twenty to thirty different test subjects and asking to lick them.” She laughed at her horrendously stupid joke before it was cut short by Neo’s statement.
“…I…well my mom has this sort of ability…that I inherited.” She began, moving her weight from her left foot to the right.
“She can read faces. Like-like she can look at someone and tell if they have a good or bad spirit. And I can tell that when I look at you…that you’ve got a pretty nice spirit.” Bernadette smiled, hoping she wasn’t making this sound romantic or anything creepy like that.
“Just because you’ve made some bad decisions in your life doesn’t necessarily make you a bad person. Everyone’s done something terrible in their lifetime-even the purest of people.”
There’s something comforting in the way she talks, in the way she weaves her words and creates sentences. Though the bases of her statements are flimsy at best, it’s… nice, in a way that Neo associates with hot chocolate and hand holding and sharing sweaters, and though corny as hell, he appreciates the attempt. What he doesn’t appreciate is how quickly this has turned into a pseudo-discussion of his inner demons after one measly joke about serial killers (and… all right, maybe joking about murder isn’t so easy-going, but Neo’s got a terrible sense of humour).
“You’re making me feel like an angel,” he says, obvious joking in his tone, but the meaning of her explanation doesn’t lose itself on him. “But, ah… thanks. I guess. Glad my spirit doesn’t make you think of rotting eggs.”
He clears his throat, a little uncomfortable with the fact that he’d had to be given a positive pep talk so early into their first meeting, and then, almost awkwardly (Neo doesn’t think he’s ever been awkward before), he scratches at the back of his head. “I’m Neo, by the way. Neo Roanoke. Hi.” He holds his other hand with a small smile.
“No psychic powers here or anything, but you seem pretty sunshine-y, yourself.”
“This is the smallest?” Bernadette said in awe, hand still tracing the scar back and forth over his skin.
“Gosh you must be a hero then.” She smiled, she had a thing for scars. Not in a sadistic way really, but every scar has a story behind it. That was the best part. However, he didn’t seem to interested in telling her any famous war flashbacks.
“A serial killer!?” Bernadette gasps.
“What a jerk. You shouldn’t judge people just on appearances. You’re far too sweet to be a serial killer.”
A hero. Sweet. Holy shit, this girl is literally naming every single thing Neo is not. But, hey, if it gets him on her good side, he figures it’s okay to pretend. So he’s an amnesiac war captain who manipulated a bunch of kids to fight a war. It’s a mere shadow in comparison to being a hero. The temptation of being the guy people root for–for the first time in his miserable three years of living–is too good to pass up.
(Granted, he’d been doing that against his will. But he still did it, and that counts as a sin.)
“Science says skin tastes salty, not sweet.” He scrunches up his nose a little at the continuous friction, but ultimately isn’t too irritated about it. There’s something about the girl that reminds him an awful lot of someone who used to mean a lot to him–and still does, even if he’d commanded her to quite literally lay down her life. God, he’s never going to have kids.
“And how do you know I don’t kill people?” A glint appears in his eyes. “For all you know I lure ‘em in before laying down an axe into their spines.”
Girl? I’m nineteen! I’m totally legal…in Australia…and several parts of Europe…and probably Asia…I think.
“Wow! Really? Are you sure it won’t hurt?” Bernadette smiles, a nervous hand reaching to trace the rough skin tissue.
He’s hot-I mean, the scar’s hot. Warm. His skin’s really warm…and yeah, he’s also pretty hot. Goddamn.
“How’d you get it-if you don’t mind me asking that is.”
Yes, it hurts. When it all boils down to it every single inch of his skin, his muscles, every nanometre of his nerves–they all burn and scream and stab at him with pain that’s sharp and ever-constant. But Neo only grins and gives a shrug of his shoulder.
“Scars already hurt when they were wounds,” he muses with a small tilt of his lips.
Her fingers are soft, at least. Human. Warm. Neo takes comfort in those small qualities, even when she goes on ahead and asks him of his origin story.
“I tried to be a hero.” Or at least, that’s what people tell him. That this body is damaged and on the verge of falling apart because its previous owner jumped in front of a positron cannon to save a ship. Neo doesn’t have any memory of it. “Believe it or not, this is the smallest scar I have. It’s a shame. I’ve been called a serial killer once.”
This blog is canon in terms of the events in Gundam SEED and all the events in Gundam SEED Destiny up until Phase 42. It assumes that after Neo is given the Skygrasper fighter jet, he does not return to the Archangel and to Murrue Ramius. Rather, he left as he was told, seeking refuge during the remainder of the war until it was safe.
Currently, he still thinks of himself as Neo Roanoke and not as Mu La Flaga—he is, however, slowly receiving memories of his life as Mu, which constantly messes with the false memories that had been implanted into his brain by LOGOS.
