Harsh & Cynical

"It is," he says simply. He thought it was unusual for her to ask—perhaps she had an interest in such things. He hadn’t particularly met anyone who seemed to like the subject, outside of university; he supposed that he hadn’t talked to many people, but it still caught his attention, the thought playing on his mind for a moment. She seemed enthusiastic—maybe she was new to it? It wasn’t uncommon to see that particular level of excitement in those who were just beginning to explore a new hobby. Or maybe he was simply not enthusiastic at all. Was it that she wanted the book? The signs seemed to be pointing in that kind of direction. Analysing the situation like this was almost useless, but it was a habit he couldn’t and didn’t want to remove. It was more useful than not.

"It just feels like it's been a while since I saw one, that's all. Keep it."

She denied as casually as she could, seeing it was one of the better books placed upon the shelf behind him. All of them ranged from many different difficulties and many different topics within programming. It was only her first visit after all though, she would have plenty of chances to buy one. It was more likely he needed it more than she did anyway, she had no goals that had to do with programming in life and she only liked to learn about it to appease her own interests. Though, he might be the same.

What an unfriendly way of speaking- a stark contrast to the more cheerful voice her neighbor had used when the she had initiated the conversation. Mikado wonders for a brief second what caused such a drastic change in her attitude- ah.

Perhaps the stranger was what they called… a tsundora?

Either way, Mikado is a little off-put once more when the black haired girl gives her an invitation into her rooms. It is, again, a direct contrast to the negative vibe that was emitting from the other’s voice. Perhaps her intentions aren’t negative at all; certainly, the offer to escape the cold belies the angered tone. And Mikado herself understood it is easy to have a discrepancy between beliefs and the presentation of thoughts; she herself had such a trouble mastering the art of melding together the contours of her face and the position of her body and the range and pitch of her childish voice to certain, keyed patterns of emotions.

"Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind coming in, if you really don’t mind. I don’t have much to do right now." Not to mention getting to be acquainted with a few faces and forming connections is never detrimental. Mikado’s fairly positive she will not be murdered by her neighbor, but still, there’s a split second debate between rejecting the offer or entering for the sake of courtesy. "Please forgive me for bothering you."

The pink haired girl steps over the threshold, allowing the other to close the door behind their backs, effectively shutting out the autumn winds. Mikado bows once (a small tilt of her head, really), before standing in place in the hallway, waiting for the other girl to lead.

"I wouldn't make fun of your name for such a reason; I'm Kumiko Satō." 

Not being the type who knew how to entertain visitors, she tried to hide the fact she wasn't quite sure what to do. Would offering her a drink be a good way to start off—? Might as well try to do so, it was her only idea after all. She grabbed a teabag out of a small box which was placed on her kitchen counter-top, and began the process to make tea for the girl. Kumiko wasn't one who was good at cooking, or doing anything in the kitchen really. She wasn't sure how she came to know how to create tea on the stove either, it probably wasn't a very reasonable way to do if for someone who wasn't very good in the kitchen. While focusing on the tea at hand, she had completely forgotten to even ask the other if she liked tea in the first place. She scrambled back to look at the female and frantically tried to ask, even though it might be too late to ask now when she's already begun.

"Y-you do like to drink tea, correct?"

✯ —— Her lashes flutter away the trickling droplets, bronze melting off the hollows of her cheeks. She raises an arm instinctively, protecting herself from the downpour that tinkers and clatters over rusty roofs, cracking concrete, and gloss grass. It cloaks her in a thin veil, shimmering beneath street lights and the faded moon. She sighs.

Right over the valley, she can see the bus stop, her soggy shoes trudging onward at a rate unbeknownst to the bands of red and blue and whatever medley of colour the vehicles that mark the blank palette are. She speeds forward, kicking up water in each grandiose puddle of water that she steps in; just a couple minutes and she’ll make it— just a couple minutes and she’ll be sheltered.

And just within reach, the bus zooms by, and her opportunity home backtracks a good half-hour.

Making it to the shelter that the bus stop had to offer before she had become completely soaked, as her intentions were, she let out a sigh of relief and started to walk the last few steps in the direction of the bus. It was too late however. The bus had rushed off from the station through the pouring rain before she had the chance to board it; leaving her unaccompanied— or so she thought. A girl spoke up to her, who had been looking downheartedly in the direction the bus had just went off into. Looking behind her to find a girl in drenched clothing, who seemed to be in the same predicament. 

"It would seem so." She said miserably.

"Ah, is that so? I thought it was a wonderful way to greet you. I'm Kumiko."

         Unidentified humans < 1 & 2 > sighted.          Abilities unknown. Low risk detected.          Approach if necessary.

Rhubarb was unsure as to how he had ended up in the bookshop. At least, it wasn’t a place he frequented often; he didn’t see much logic in paying to read, when there was much of the same things on the internet. A strong believer in technology, as always—particularly when he was interested in non-fiction, which was especially easy to access online, it seemed simply pointless. And yet, he was here.

He supposed university insisted in teaching from books often. He could recite the bill. Looking among the shelves, he couldn’t understand why. Didn’t they take up room, while performing functions that could be done by other, more convenient things…?

He pulls out a thick book, at least caught by his favourite topic—programming. As he steps back slightly, opening the pages and scanning a few lines, he bumps into someone—blinking impassively, he glances at the girl. Had she been reaching for a book? “I’m sorry,” he says, stepping back without changing his expression. Should he say something else? “I wasn’t looking.”

Making her way through the many isles and sections that the bookstore had to offer, passing by hundreds of books, she came across the electronic section. She was searching for something to do in the new town she had arrived in so a bookstore would be a wonderful place to start. While passing through the rows, she managed to bump into a stranger. Being focused on the books herself, she figured it was her fault for the collision until the boy began to apologize for his carelessness. He had a somewhat emotionless look on his face, his eyes seemed distant and un-interested. Before doing what she normally would have began to do in a situation like this and scolding him, the book he had in his hand immediately caught her attention and her eyes enlightened at the sight of it.

"Ah!— Is that a book on programming?"

"Who are you?"

But she concedes; the very shine on the facade of the building is enough to inform her that the establishment itself is rather new. She supposes that the ridiculously low living expenses is part of the marketing ploy to gain more tenants. It’s a natural move, and not one she disapproves.

The sun’s still overhanging, albeit not as brightly as it would be during the summer. Its overarching rays casts a blinding white across the neatly painted verandas and radiating a faint warmth wherever it hits her skin. The slight shifts from the icy northern wind bites into her flushed cheeks, reminding her that typhoon season is approaching rapidly. A frown pulls at the corners of Mikado’s lips; it is not very good weather, and she’s keen on the idea of relaxing in her new home.

Home. What a strange concept for an unanchored soul.

(Andwhyisthisyourhome?) (Idon’tknowIdon’tknowIdon’tknow.)

She’s just about to fumble for her keys when the sound of rapid footsteps alert her to another’s presence. She turns at a half-angle, only to be greeted by a sudden question by a female who looked to be a few years older.

"Eh- well, yes! Do you also live here—?"

"I've lived here for a few days now."

That came out proud, much different than she had intended; after all she didn't really think of this place as a home, or rather she didn't feel at home here. Though, having a conversation outside didn't really interest her, and she reached into her pocket for her key, then proceeded to open her door. Unaware the other had been going to do that just a moment before.

"Would you like to come inside, or stay outside alone?" Taking a moment of silent, yet not a long enough one for the other to respond, she added, "I'll go in by myself if you don't hurry."

Again with such a tone— she really wasn't cut out for this. It could have been worse however, maybe she still had a chance. She let out a sigh and reached in through the doorway to turn on the lights, then looked back and hinted the other to the entrance. She hoped she hadn't misunderstood her intentions, after all Kumiko was trying to lead a random girl that she had just met into her home. If she denied that would be fine too, she wouldn't press the matter any farther if that was to occur.

incadescentscharfrichter

toikako