#kimuromou

In the heart of the blooming Discussion Conference, Lan Zhan arrived under the premise of representing what Gusu called the finest arts of the Jades. The archery competition hosted by the Qishan Wen came with an honor that a Lan could not indulge in greedily. With eyebrows furrowed, Lan Zhan assessed his quiver, gently tracing the feathers of each tucked arrow as if they retained their bird-like hearts. He ignored the lavish banquette unveiled elsewhere as his code forbade it but Zhan had other ways of indulgence that often went unseen. Drawing his bow, Lan Zhan relished the digging pressure of polished silk sunken against the pads of his fingers before releasing the war fang. The arrow sliced through the air with dangerous precision and claimed its prey in the center of a painted target. Regarding his work, Lan Zhan wore a plain expression, neither impressed nor disappointed. This was a simple exercise despite the fascination he received from certain cultivators who enjoyed ogling the otherwise unyielding Lan members.

After two more arrows, Lan Zhan added movement to his routine, engaging in a spinning dance with a lethal weapon in his hands. Each arrow made it to the target no matter which way Lan Zhan's robes whipped from his sharp turns or if his hair crossed his face to chase his dipping head. The faster the disciple turned, the louder arrows wheezed, leaving his taut string and piercing hearts of unseen imaginations. The ghosts pranced about him, filling Lan Zhan's head before he let them go with the arrows, emptying his soul of any sand-like residue. He paused only after his hand swept against an empty quiver. The snow-white whirlwind subsided and Lan Zhan's tender robes settled like petals of a folding tulip, without a single crease to ruin his perfect silhouette. His black hair settled over his shoulders and back and his forehead ribbon remained undisturbed.

Taking a slow breath, Lan Zhan regained his composure and reset his bow by lowering it across his body. Only then did he gaze onward to count how many arrows made it through the center and which he should consider as feedback to further perfect his efforts? His eyes slowly traveled from one target to another, considering the crucial losses, before suddenly the cultivator lost count and paused on a familiar face. This familiarity came from previous events that the Lan sect frequented for alliance purposes. Regarding the man drenched in the crimson colors of the hosting clan, Lan Zhan slowly nodded in a formal greeting.

"Wen Ning." He said coldly and parted ways with his station, walking onward to rip one arrow after another from the pierced targets, refilling his bow.

"Uh, Kimura-san, I was curious to know if you could, uh, if you could share your opinion on the kinds of outfits that guys prefer girls to wear?" Sounding a bit sheepish, Chiyori struggled to maintain a sense of subtlety as she poked her head into her classmate's room.

Earlier this week, a guy had randomly approached her at the mall, requesting her number. He’d sent her a message, and after exchanging a few conversations through texting Chiyori had — suprisingly enough — agreed to meet up with him for a date in three days.

for  a  fleeting  moment,  confusion  makes  its  way  onto  yuuji's  features  as  choso's  words  slowly  process.  each  day  had  been  a  tumultuous  burst  of  adrenaline  that  seemed  to  last  from  that  fateful  night  back  in  october.  it's  been  weeks  now,  and  finally,  there's  a  brief  moment  of  reprieve  as  everyone  prepares  for  that  looming  day  in  december.  the  pain  of  everything  that  happened,  all  so  fast,  lingers  at  the  back  of  yuuji's  mind  —  placed  on  the  backburner  to  prevent  himself  from  breaking  down.  admittedly,  he'd  lost  so  much  that  he  started  to  lose  sight  of  what  he  still  had.      

❝  i...  i  really  appreciate  it,  choso.  we  had  a  rocky  start,  but  you're  not  so  bad  at  all,  ❞   yuuji  offers  him  a  slight  smile,  a  bit  hesitant  still  to  consider  choso  as  his  brother  just  because  it's  so...  out  there.  all  he  really  has  is  his  word,  and  he  knows  choso's  a  great  ally  and  all  that,  but  it's  still  so  weird  for  yuuji  to  wrap  his  head  around.  he  honestly  doesn't  really  understand  it  all  that  much.  something  about  brains  and  body-swapping...?  he's  starting  to  think  that  maybe  he  should  adjust  his  perspective  a  little,  though. 

'i  kind  of  always  wanted  an  older  brother,'  he  thinks.     

But, as it stood, even if Kusakabe didn't necessarily fit the bill as someone who'd be able to make full use of this fledgling sorcerer's cursed technique, a student was a student. And as his teacher, he needed to ensure his safety... more so now that the cursed spirit they were investigating as a simple little 'refresher' for Kimura was starting too look more than your average grade 3-4.

It wouldn't be the first time he'd seen younger sorcerers be assigned improperly to missions, that's for sure.

He thought about it more as the two walked and observed their surroundings; A cursed technique such as Distribution... even in the right hands, it sounded exhausting. Giving and giving. A sigh would leave him.

❝ Alright, surprise quiz: if you run into a cursed spirit higher than your current grade, assume you're well aware their abilities are beyond you and your team's scope, what do you do? ❞ Kusakabe asks as they scoped out an alleyway, looking for traces of where this cursed spirit was.

one thing about satoru — never depend on him to do anything on time, ever. he's always a few minutes late, and he's never sending in paperwork when it's needed. the former is for the sole purpose of being irritating, and the latter is a result of him considering it pointless busywork. 'i will get to it when i get to it!' satoru always says, and he will...

usually...

eventually...

... sometimes.

it just seems so pointless to him as someone with a photographic memory. why does he need to write it all down when it's all in his head? he's got far more important shit to do than waste away filling out papers. isn't this what the managers were for? 

❝ of course i did! anything for my second favorite manager, right shigeo?! since you were busy, i actually had —, ❞ satoru pauses for a moment. perhaps he should've have pieced his lie together before he opened his mouth. obviously, the papers were still untouched in a pile on his desk. 

Even with his reassuring words, her expression remained etched with concern. Sending out an assistant to retrieve a cursed object alone seemed like a rather… rash decision. It wasn't that the sorceress considered Kimura-san incapable, but if things went awry, who knew what the consequences would be?

.using this as a chance to promo it to other moots ! This lets you view previously sent asks, who it was sent too, time, etc !

｡° ⸻ @kimuromou.

       ❝ Just my pride. ❞   Her words are sharp and pointed, prickly like her raised shoulders as she tries to brush off the real damage. By all means, Hiroe was in fact hurt pretty bad by anyone's normal standards. For her though it was another Tuesday. She sighs and rolls her eyes, expression still pinched.   ❝ Tore my good skirt, too...   Ugh! ❞