[Katsuki is one of many who has weathered the storm of war, seen its horrors and lived through its darkest days...literally. He's well aware that even after everything is said and done...the scars are still there and they still weigh heavy with the memory of those times past. He only just won his own battle, still has to go back to make sure that damn nerd makes it through his own (he will, Katsuki doesn't doubt Deku's indomitable will for a second), but Katsuki is well aware that the weight of those moments are...heavy, to put it simply. And many hand can ease that burden. When people come together, miracles happen - those shmucks in power pretty much proved that, didn't they? Well, that's the point he's trying to make, too.
Anyone and everyone is welcome to listen, to participate, to sing, to just enjoy. Cipher can't mock them, make them cower, because...as fucking cheesy as it is, when people are united against a common foe, they are unstoppable. He's seen it firsthand, so many times, his classmates being the first group that he would protect and care for with every goddamn cell in his body. They are less a group now and more like pieces of one singular entity - they know one another and work together like a well oiled machine. But past that...so long as a message rings true, harmonizes with the whole, even regular people can resonate. He only clocks that weird bird lady for a moment, their eyes meeting for a second before his gaze is back on his drums, but in that moment, that second, the young Hero could feel the spark behind that woman's dark eyes. It exists in everyone, and it can be a small ember weathering a fierce storm, or a powerful inferno ready to consume all in its path. This? This felt something like a bonefire - big, bright, wild, but warm. Intended for an audience.
And oh, what a performance. He can only catch bits and pieces from the corner of his eye as he plays, but painting and music are both alive. There is a certain flow to each, and they can be wild, messy, and vibrant. It's why art, in all forms, is so personal. He twirls his drumsticks, tossing one up to one of the inky crows, which flow through it and coat the tip with that color...and it starts to splatter over his face, his arms, his drums, his shirt. It's a mess, but it's theirs.
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Anyone and everyone is welcome to listen, to participate, to sing, to just enjoy. Cipher can't mock them, make them cower, because...as fucking cheesy as it is, when people are united against a common foe, they are unstoppable. He's seen it firsthand, so many times, his classmates being the first group that he would protect and care for with every goddamn cell in his body. They are less a group now and more like pieces of one singular entity - they know one another and work together like a well oiled machine. But past that...so long as a message rings true, harmonizes with the whole, even regular people can resonate. He only clocks that weird bird lady for a moment, their eyes meeting for a second before his gaze is back on his drums, but in that moment, that second, the young Hero could feel the spark behind that woman's dark eyes. It exists in everyone, and it can be a small ember weathering a fierce storm, or a powerful inferno ready to consume all in its path. This? This felt something like a bonefire - big, bright, wild, but warm. Intended for an audience.
And oh, what a performance. He can only catch bits and pieces from the corner of his eye as he plays, but painting and music are both alive. There is a certain flow to each, and they can be wild, messy, and vibrant. It's why art, in all forms, is so personal. He twirls his drumsticks, tossing one up to one of the inky crows, which flow through it and coat the tip with that color...and it starts to splatter over his face, his arms, his drums, his shirt. It's a mess, but it's theirs.
It's alive. It's free.]