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Entry tags:
[closed] tanabata blues
⌛ Who: Kaito Nagano and The Real Folk Blues (Setsura Yamaguchi too I guess)
⌛ What: Actually Tanabata
⌛ When: July 7th
⌛ Where: Shibuya, Tokyo
⌛ Warnings:Who knows! It'll probably get spicy or stupid or both Naked people doing the horizontal tango and also maybe a lil teeny tiny bit of body horror 🙂
[ Standing atop one of Shibuya's taller buildings is one (1) Kaito Nagano. It's just a guess, but he's approximated that this is roughly where his apartment complex would stand if he were back home. On the ledge in front of him stands a tall potted bamboo plant. In his hand he has a turquoise-colored paper tag. Some kanji have been brushed onto one side—the empath's wish.
As he reaches forward to hang the paper slip on one of the bamboo's branches, a flood of thoughts clamor in his mind. He's barely been in Nippon for a week, maybe two, yet it feels like an eternity since he last pet his cat, or phoned home, or helped his brother with his homework. The food here is so similar to what he has at home, but the taste becomes bland within bites.
He hasn't eaten since returning from Kyushu.
There's too much familiarity. He feels like he's back in Japan, yet there are no signs of what make Japan home anywhere to be found.
How long will it take to adapt?
Will he adapt?
Kaito finishes adjusting his wish on the bamboo tree before slipping an orange Zippo lighter out of a pocket. With a few flicks, he's ignited a flickering flame—and the paper is set alight. He makes sure to douse the growing blaze before it touches the bamboo's flesh. ]
⌛ What: Actually Tanabata
⌛ When: July 7th
⌛ Where: Shibuya, Tokyo
⌛ Warnings:
[ Standing atop one of Shibuya's taller buildings is one (1) Kaito Nagano. It's just a guess, but he's approximated that this is roughly where his apartment complex would stand if he were back home. On the ledge in front of him stands a tall potted bamboo plant. In his hand he has a turquoise-colored paper tag. Some kanji have been brushed onto one side—the empath's wish.
As he reaches forward to hang the paper slip on one of the bamboo's branches, a flood of thoughts clamor in his mind. He's barely been in Nippon for a week, maybe two, yet it feels like an eternity since he last pet his cat, or phoned home, or helped his brother with his homework. The food here is so similar to what he has at home, but the taste becomes bland within bites.
He hasn't eaten since returning from Kyushu.
There's too much familiarity. He feels like he's back in Japan, yet there are no signs of what make Japan home anywhere to be found.
How long will it take to adapt?
Will he adapt?
Kaito finishes adjusting his wish on the bamboo tree before slipping an orange Zippo lighter out of a pocket. With a few flicks, he's ignited a flickering flame—and the paper is set alight. He makes sure to douse the growing blaze before it touches the bamboo's flesh. ]
1/?
She should have known. Refugee housing is barely more than basic when and where it is and "of good quality" is not something anyone would ever claim of it regardless of a unit's size. Still, the word "bath" inspires certain expectations, expectations that have been unceremoniously dashed and those glittering sparkles with them. She's more than a little partial to baths and there isn't a proper tub; that doesn't detract certain other observations and finely stirred interest, curiosity.
Nudity has never been something that's phased her. The additional long sleeved shirt saw her pause and those scars -- well, she'd canted her head at them. She still is, wondering after them, him. She's always loved scars. Cake, too, but scars are a different sort of story of the flesh with some sort of varied story in accompaniment. ]