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@torimachikazami

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Paint by numbers
@inkfast
Though the Hinterwelt colony wasnât exactly a one-to-one replica of his hometown, Kazami found that, on occasion, the patchwork city had a strange way of intersecting with it.  And, while he certainly had been looking for model kits within its slab-themed crafts shop, well⌠He didnât exactly expect to find any, let alone a dusty-looking Gouf sandwiched between two seemingly-British World War II-era cruiser tanks.  It certainly was no Zaku, but Kazami was over the moonâliterally and figuratively. Clutching the late 80âs time capsule, as though it would disappear at any moment, he corralled an armful of painting supplies, marched up to the register, and managed to spend nearly the rest of his monthâs allowance.  Not that it mattered; payday was tomorrow.
The walk homeâto his new homeâseemed to stretch on for hours.  The streets seemed to blur in a haze of loose familiarity and, slowly, the feeling grew that maybe, just maybe⌠Kazami had gotten lost?  He whisked away the thought immediately; even in the direst of circumstances, his sense of direction had always steered him right!  Yet, deep down, he knew the backroads of the metallic-suburban amalgam had yet to settle into his muscle memory. His surroundings were a mystery to him, whether he liked it or not.  Panic began to set in.  What if⌠he never made it back? Frantically, Kazami spun around looking for any hint of his dorm.
His expression dropped in exasperation as he realized he was standing directly in front of its entrance. âAt least⌠nobody saw that.â He chuckled in embarrassment, tugging his bags through the front door.  Rummaging through their contents, Kazami began to take stock of his few available paints; one camel yellow, two racing blue, one lavender, one black, and two white. Â
âHmmâŚâ he pondered, staring at the small assortment.  Most of them couldnât serve as touchup paint for his Justice Knight, that much was certain.  However, the lack of a justice-imbued palette wasnât the issue.  Picking up one of the containers, he re-read the name âRacing Blue.â Having only used blues for highlights, the term âRacingâ meant nothing to him.  âIt canât be much different, can it?â  Curiosity piqued, Kazami twisted the bottleâs cap to take a closer lookâŚ
âŚonly to be alerted by the sound of nearby movement, causing him to upend half of its contents down his shirt.  A shrill scream erupted from the now-stained man.
Sweet, sweet failure
@osamudiezai
The Hinterwelt mall was massive, though to Kazami any strip mall with more than seven stores was considerable in size. Â Standing in the entrance, he fumbled with a small plastic bin of neatly arranged guide brochures, affixed beneath a directory of store hours. Â It was far from any of their closing times, heâd discerned, so he would have ample time to window shop.
Unfolding the brochureâs three flaps, Kazami was greeted by a bolded headline in bright red text:  âSTORES HIGHLIGHTED IN YELLOW ARE SUBJECT TO IMMEDIATE CHANGE.*â  âImmediate change?â  Confused, he scratched at his neck.  Never had he seen such a headline anywhere, let alone on a mall directory. âWhat does that even mean? Are they having a hard time keeping stores or something?â  Noting the asterisk at the end of the alert, Kazamiâs vision dropped to the bottom of the handout. There, a single footnote read: â* - Any patrons found within these storefronts during rotation shall be ejected to avoid any cross-matter collisions!  We apologize for the inconvenience!â  His face contorted, as he leered at the term âcross-matter collision.â  A few seconds passed.  ââŚEh?â He read the headline again, then the footnote once more.  Again, the footnote. Â
âEEEEEEHH!?â  He roared, blatantly unaware of the attention he had placed on himself.  Sputtering, he âHold on, what does it me-- rotation?  A-and ejection?  How do they eject⌠collisions?  What does it mean?â  Again, the header.  Again, the footnote.  âWhat the hell does this mean?â
Ultimately, Kazami decided it meant he was not allowed within five feet of any storefront highlighted in yellow. Â Specifically five feet to greaten his chances of not getting levelled by some projectile patron dumb enough to have entered one. Â Unfortunately, due to the layout of the mall, this left him with less than a quarter of the available âstableâ storefronts. Â Reviewing the chickenscratch on hisânow modifiedâbrochure, he headed to the first one on his list.
Before Kazami stood an unassuming storefront, adorned in mahogany paint with gold, cursive lettering. A chocolate shop named, âGodiva,â claiming to be âmore than just chocolate.â Â The name wasnât familiar to him but, hey, it had chocolate and Kazami had some money. Reaching out to the handle of one of its glass doors, he gave a small tug. Â The door jittered slightly, but didnât open. Â âMust be a push,â he mumbled, leaning into it. Â Again, it the door remained closed only this time, having expected a different reaction, Kazamiâs shoulderâfollowed by his faceâplonked against the glass.
Getting over the initial embarrassment and pain, Kazami opened his eyes to see a man standing behind what he assumed to be the storeâs checkout counter.  The man appeared to be smiling at him, perhaps taunting him, as he took a bite into a piece of chocolate.  Disconnecting his face from the door, Kazami peered inside to get a clearer view of the man. As he did, the man waved to him, his smile persistent.  Sheepishly, Kazami waved back.  âHey, uh⌠are you open?â
A nice sear...
@lvnepoet
Initially, Kazami had been lukewarm to the idea of "colony-supplied" food. Â Given the size and circumstance of Hinterwelt itself, the term brought mental imagery of factories pumping out low-quality, borderline illegal slop to sate the poor souls trapped within...
Which is why it came as a surprise to him upon learning that, not only were there multiple supermarkets within the colony... but they were normal, too! Â Or, rather, as normal as you could expect for Hinterwelt. Â Alongside the varied cuts of strange meats and questionable brand-name chips were japanese-native fish and some of his favorite snacks. Â And, to top it off, they were (with restrictions) free! Â
As if he'd never doubted it in the first place, Kazami picked up a package of the first fish he recognized-- a couple of sea breams-- as well as an assortment of well-pairing vegetables them and a few aforementioned snacks before heading back to his apartment to begin cooking.
Rather, to try to begin cooking. Â In his haste, he'd forgotten about his change of living arrangement. Â Gone was his grill, in its place stood an electric stovetop and a cast-iron skillet. Â Kazami stared at the pair for a long while, knowing full well the two would not mimic his standard cooking environment. Â "Well! It's all about confidence, anyway." Â He chimed, smiling nervously, while twisting one of the knobs. Â In the seconds that passed, the stove neither exploded or seemed to change. Â "Maybe it just takes a while while," he thought before turning to fish out a cutting board and knife.
It wasn't until Kazami had finished slicing the first onion half that someone else entered his shared living space. Â He'd been told he had roommates, but up until that point he hadn't met either of them. Â Lifting his face, he took a good look at the man in front of him. Â "Hey there! Are you hungry? Â I'm about to start cooking." Â Without looking Kazami gestured to the stove behind him, its lit burner faintly smoking underneath the pan. Â "I bought enough to share!"
A few hours had passed since his induction into the colonyâs populace and though, admittedly, the bed of Kazamiâs new dormroom was comfortable, his best attempts to sleep were for naught.  He couldnât shake the knowledge that he wasnât where he was supposed to beâoff helping Eldora in their time of need, saving the galaxy, being a âheroâ and all that. No, instead he was on some⌠friendly space station, kicking back in college-like housing, all because of an⌠anomaly?  Despite the unease, Kazami knew if it werenât for his experiences with Eldora and Seiâs insistence that Earth and Eldora were both safeâfor the time beingâ he wouldâve gone haywire.
Instead, he was here. Laying comfortably on his bed⌠with none of his teammates in tow.
Kazami was alone.
âŚ
Kazami was hungry.
That was enough bring him back to his feet; sleep would come later. Â Slipping on his jacket, he gave a knock on each of the other doors within his new home, unsure whether he wanted anyone to answer. Ultimately, nobody did, and he left to explore the colonyâs dining options.
It didnât take long for an establishment to pique Kazamiâs interest. A few blocks up the road from his apartment was a heaping mass of wooden storefront, adorned in neon, proudly displaying its name: âTEXAS ROAD HOUSE.â Â Staring at inappropriately sized cowboy hat spanning the buildingâs roof, Kazami immediately realized two things:
1.)Â Â Â He knew nothing about Texas.
2.)Â Â Â He absolutely had to eat here.
Pushing open one of the double-doors, he scanned the environment.  The walls matched the wooden finish of the eateryâs exterior, adorned with what he assumed to be American(-like?) memorabilia and liquor brands.  Peanuts littered the floor around the sparse number of tables, the limited number making way for a mechanical bull stationed at its core.  Sitting at one of the tables just behind the bull wasâŚ
âMay?!â  Kazami blinked a few times before realizing: Yes, May was, in fact, in this strange Texas-based restaurant.  Simultaneously, this managed to comfort and confuse Kazami.  Stumbling over himself, he hastily made his way to her table.  âYouâre here too!  Iâm glad to see youâre safe andâŚâ
ââŚhang on a moment.  Why arenât you tiny?â

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