She loves me not

CAN I?

Walking down the street with hands in her pockets and her guitar in her back. Eyes were focused on her shoes as her mind was diving further into thought. She took an abrupt turn at the corner, thinking she’d come upon the entrance of the bar she was working yet- *BUFF* Collision of her shoulders. “I’m sorry.” she rushed to apologize as she looked up to the stranger. 

Something walks straight into his side. While he had been zoning out, staring across the street at people enjoying their day and wishing it were him, he hadn’t noticed he was standing in the middle of the sidewalk. A woman around his age is apologizing and he’s not entirely sure why. Was it because she bumped into his side? He rarely apologized when he did that to others. It was a custom almost, to walk into someone in one way or another. With the city streets cluttered and his head often elsewhere, he commonly waltzed right into people’s space. And it wasn’t just him either. Wedge often had the same outcome, especially whenever he was present. That guy was always knocking his elbow into his side or standing in what some liked to call, “Cloud’s space”.  

“That’s better. Do not open it again unless someone asks you for their direction. Oh, and lift the sign a bit higher? It’s hard to see all the way down there.”

He’ll never know what Mello may or may not have said. A shame, really. Instead he merely notes the glare and rising aggression. Finally he lights his new cigarette, pausing to take a drag before addressing anything said to him. 

“Eventually,” he quietly retorts through a dense exhale of smoke, leaning to adjust himself on the chair. Though impossible to get comfortable on such cheap seating he gave it an attempt anyway. If only tiredness hadn’t seeped into his bones, making everything feels worse than it would normally. Thinking on it made him feel even more tired than before and he finds himself fighting back a yawn.

“You caught me,” he scoffs. “Totally was going to marry her so I figured she needed to see how I lived.” He abandons the idea of finding comfort in the cheap cafe chair and settles into a slouch. This time he leans forward, much like the beginning of their conversation and he’s reminded of his game. It sits there still, the protag doing the same idle animation probably for the twentieth time by now. A true hero there. Allowed a blissful respite thanks to their sidetracking. 

What could’ve been an otherwise normal conversation strikes the wrong chord of his musical thoughts. He knows there’s sarcasm in Matt’s comment, but considering it’s even brought up in the first place makes him uncomfortable, to put bluntly. Not being one to deal with discomfort well, the glance he made elsewhere in wait for the response snaps onto his face once more. The ends of his hair swiftly cut through the air, then settle. His glower tightens, fingers curving inward to his palm. He doesn’t clench a fist, but rather rubs his thumb and index finger together. 

tifa vc: but not as dumb as destroying the previous sign with a bike. now shut your pretty face and lead the customers here!

「 ✰ 」 How long it had been! Now there was a face Chikage sorely missed from his trips to Ikebukuro—-now, he nearly beamed upon the sight, his arms outstretched in greeting and a friendly hello resting on the tip of his tongue. The reaction gave him pause, but it didn’t dull his enthusiasm; after all, it just meant that Shizuo remembered him after all this time, right? Though, perhaps calling whatever beef they had even and done with might’ve been one-sided on his part, it seemed.

“Hey man,” his hands raised placatingly, “no one’s guiltin’ anyone.” It was quite the presumption, and Chikage didn’t think he’d done anything to warrant it. But he wasn’t always the most self-aware, was he? “If you’re free, wanna grab a bite to eat? I heard this new burger place opened up around here, and I wanna see if it’s good enough to take a date,” or few, “to.”

His voice sounds out and he almost loses the resistance of spontaneously shutting him down. It wasn’t that Chikage was horrendously annoying or that much of a blight that he couldn’t stand the sight of him-- he simply reminded him of older days. With the city already being so large and growing every passing nightfall, running into someone from the past was practically re-experiencing it. He saw friends like Celty or Shinra often, they were as stated; friends. But the others? The groups and collective faces that had withered away from his mind? Coming across them was almost like coming across a bad photograph of yourself. Upsetting. Jarring. Revolting, even.

He mills about behind her, keeping his appendages close to himself, as if he were walking in an open caged zoo. Compared to the people of the district, he sticks out like a bloodied rag in a basket full of clean linen. His hair is golden, washed and perfectly cut to frame his clear face, of which hosts a disgusted, crimson gaze. The bridge of his nose wrinkles as he walks, shooting looks of repulsion at every sight he’s disgraced with witnessing. Hands in pockets of a freshly made designer jacket, he avoids accidentally touching anything, figuring that if he did, he might drop dead in an instant from how contaminated everything appeared. 

Maybe this was a mistake— Rengoku certainly was drawing a decent amount of attention and the whole purpose of Yamatonokami’s journey was to go unnoticed. Okita may have passed by now but that didn’t mean he could just go doing things recklessly not unless something from the Retrograde appeared. It’s times like this he wishes he had Kashuu here, his partner would know what to do or was at least the more charismatic out of the two. Blue eyes watched carefully as Rengoku shifted his weight, familiarising himself with the movements of this young man.

Tightening his grip around the saya of his sword, he couldn’t help but stare curiously at the trust Rengoku seemed to have for whoever these other students were. One hand raises, adjusting his traveling hat to obscure his features a little better. Sandals would press into the pathway as he followed after the slayer, allowing his arms to remain covered by the traveler’s garb since his movements were rather minimal. As the scenery changes, Yamatonokami can’t help but look around in awe; places with other humans were always fascinating to him since he’s used to only being around other Sword Warriors and the very illusive appearance of his Saniwa. 

“Smells good…” He would comment to himself at the smell of food— Gods, he was getting low on that, wasn’t he? It looks like he’ll have to pick up a few odd jobs to earn some coin. His attention is grabbed when Rengoku’s voice booms in his ears once more.  “Ah? Home-life? Well, it’s lively. It’s far away from any major cities, plenty of farmland and horses to tend to, so there’s a lot of work. But I decided I came to a point in my life where I had to discover things for myself and my master gave me permission to leave.”

Spoken with a simple smile and chuckle passing his lips, Yamatokami stops for a brief moment before bowing his head in apology. “–Forgive me, pardon my rudeness but I never introduced myself. I am Yasusada. What of your name and homelife?” The name was somewhat common enough, so it was safe to use.

Farmland and horses to tend to. Being born to a man who was once a slayer himself, he never was able to experience a life outside of a more populous area. He knew of farmers, he saw them often when traveling, but never had he been able to relate to what it was they did. Often, whenever newer pupils came in, they were part of local chains of business. Many had parents who dabbled in the arts of providing communities by selling various woods, or crafts. Then there was the occasional youth who had a background in agriculture. Always skilled and disciplined, but unfortunately often returned home before they ever got started. For whatever reason, their families would grow ill or a position of power would change and they’d be needed there. He was curious about the phenomena and why it happened so many times. Maybe it was a curse?

“Master, huh? That explains the sword you have!” Without physically pointing to it, he gestures through a flick of his eyes to the hilt. They slowly return to Yamatokami’s face, resting on his characteristics. “No worries about not introducing yourself either. I’ve had several people forget to do it completely! When that happens, they get nicknames.” He pauses briefly to flash an amused grin and give a short glance above the other’s head. A wagon passes the opening of the alley with groaning creaks, carrying off several carts of goods. Nothing important or dangerous. “Ya-su-sa-da. You must be quiet and peaceful.” He starts without looking at him, but gradually pans back to make connection once more. Quietly, he studies his face. “Yasuyasu, I’ll call you that, hmm? Most of my students call me the Flame Pillar,” At least some form of it. “But you can call me Rengoku!”

He thinks about how he could have used his first name, then recalls it’s best to keep it transparent. Not many called him it, and though others couldn’t do much with knowledge of what it was, he preferred to keep it personal. 

Roppi knew the neighborhood well but the reverse was true as well so for now he kept his hood up as he navigated through the people of the city. He was having a meeting in town and he had taken several laps away from his apartment before daring to head back, making sure he wasn’t followed. Even then he still took one of the most crowded ways back to blend in with the crowd headed home for the night though perhaps the red lining on his hood made him stand our amongst the people on it’s own

He was looking down at his phone, texting the person who had him set up the meeting though still making sure he was plenty aware of his surroundings. That was how he realized it seemed someone was now looking at him, long enough to make Roppi feel anxious. His eyes glanced carefully over the crowd around him until he was sure he saw who was focused on him. It was a blonde, a guy who was far easier to find with the stand out hair color, height, and odd outfit. He grabbed his hood, pulling it down further over his face as he tried to move away from the man.

He notices the avoidance almost immediately. Rather than the typical grin or occasional eye roll, there’s aversion. It comes in the form of discomfort by what he can tell, and frankly, it sparks irritation within his chest. He knew that he hurt him, he was aware that he practically destroyed another living being in his fit of rage and desire to prove himself justified; but was he really running away again? 

His top lip twitches and he carefully moves around a pair of teenage girls who had stopped to admire something on a cellphone. One hand comes up to his mouth, reaching for an absent cigarette he would normally pull away to flick. When it finds nothing there, fingers trace over the lining of his chin, then jaw, rubbing into the skin as a coping mechanism. He’d worked hard on his anger issues and here they were, threatening to bark loudly and declare his annoyance not only to the target in question, but to everyone in the area. 

Speedily, he moves in on him, dodging the shorter people here and there. When he approaches, he cuts around him should he try to immediately flee, blocking what areas he can. The inside of his throat gurgles, eyes focusing in on his face. He doesn’t notice the trim of the hood, nor that it’s no longer cream in color, but red.