#7g0d7

Rika remembered faintly a splash of red hair from when she was here last fall -- last winter? Couldn’t recall, but she had the sneaking feeling it belonged to a certain bebop hacker.

It didn’t take away the surprise from seeing said red-head in a... nun’s outfit. And what was with that voice? Rika had briskly walked past, intent to leave him be, but.. no, she couldn’t.

“Luciel, you don’t think anyone is actually falling for that, right?” The worst part is that she was sure there was someone who did.

IT MUST HAVE BEEN THE FATIGUE OF THIS SEASON, the pestering about imitations and the belittling of kin. So to the passing voice, his correction was an instinctive reply without elaborate thought. It seemed that the declaration then rooted fear in him, there was awe and the stillness that marked the insignificant.

While the streets continued living, time died for them painfully and slowly. Moments stretched themselves out like failing limbs before giving in their earthly purpose. He waited for it to form from the awe: horror, to stand in front of one who escaped death since ancient times.

Meow. CD-Scratch.

Everything in this ‘store’ was pretty weird anyway.

“I mean, it has to be a weapon...” Sort of. A good whack to the head and someone is bound to be knocked out.