#sardineinstructor

“Over here!” She called out, her arm waving over to him over as if she, in her pink glory, would be easily missed. “C’mon, hurry!”

The weather could have been better for the meeting. The wind was blowing every which way, flinging the skirt of Iori’s labcoat all over the place. It was taking a considerable amount of strength to keep the box of fabric rolls from toppling into the street...

But at last, the tailor made it to Polka Dots, and forced the door behind him. His hair certainly suffered in the whirlwind gusts...

send one for my muse’s reaction to your muse —

This was exciting, Kimber was excited. She grabbed Valvatorez’s hand and ran down the street, as shadows dissipated and lights flickered off and all around them, the sun broke through the horizon, casting purples and pinks and glorious golden streaks of light. 

It had been too long since Kimber was awake early enough to see the sun rise, and the experience caused an uncontrollable fluttering in her tum tum. Impulsively, she threw her arms around her co-worker and firmly pressed her lips to his cheek, leaving her lipstick stained on his skin.

Ugh... Another pile of messy clothes... With all her hours put into shopping, she’d thought she’d have more of a handle on this sales rep business, but it was as if every time she straightened up a shelf, another would have been riffled through. Was she ever this inconsiderate? She hesitated to recall. She was a rich kid, she was sure she must have done something like this. At some point maybe? She sighed and with a quick flick of her hands, the last of the shirts sat neatly with it’s fellows. 

Worse than riffled shelves, however, was the boredom of a slow hour, where no one would come in, and Kimber would mull about, eyeing the stacks and racks suspiciously. She ducked behind them and quietly, quickly, dashed to the next rack, then tumbled into the next before poking her head up with a sheepish grin. 

THIS IS SO SWEET OH MY GOD 

Today was another mundane day, just like the ones before it. The only difference was Emizel’s newly returned weapons. In all honesty, it felt odd carrying it around after so many days without it. He knew that dragging the metal on the floor wouldn’t damage his scythe—weapons from the Netherworld tended to be above that—but that didn’t stop Emizel from awkwardly adjusting his weapon every few steps to stop its top from scraping against the concrete.

It was during his fifth stop when his ears picked up on the familiar sound of billowing fabric. The flapping of bat wings that soon dissolved into nothingness, it was a distinct sound which signaled the arrival of the one person Emizel thought he would never meet in the city.