mirror mirror, on the wall, what do you give someone who has it all?
Hiroto is bored. He's spent awhile, a week or so, learning the ins and outs of this Chicago place, and so far what he's learning is that he doesn't like it much. Too many rules, not enough outs for when he breaks them. And as far as he can tell, his family isn't nearly as powerful here as they were back home, which means he can't just go back to Japan. Not without some sort of plan and a few carefully laid networks, and those sorts of things were always his brother's forte, not his.
What he has found he likes, though, is his new Riftpower. So right now he's in the training rooms at the Gauche, a smallish pair of speakers settled on a bench near him and blaring something bass-heavy, despite not actually being connected to any sort of music player. He himself has brought only his knives -- and for only having the ones on him when he came through the rift, there's a good number of them -- and is throwing them at the wall opposite. Every time one connects, the music from the speakers changes. He might be looking a bit too satisfied with himself over this.
Elsewhere, on the L train (again), Babel is positively buzzing with energy. She's had a cup of coffee, sure, but it's more the fact that so many people returned from the plagues, that she's got Luke back, that Chicago is pressing on like it do in the face of the apocalyptic plagues and that it will continue to do so in the face of anything. She's staked out a spot on the train and is currently scribbling pictures of anything happy that comes into her head on sheet after sheet of printer paper. Some of these she gives to the people passing her, hoping to at least put a smile on their face or something, and some of them she leaps up and tapes wherever she feels they're necessary. Which is everywhere. This particular traincar might be quickly filling up with silly little marker pictures.
It's a cold, overcast day, but she's got a fuzzy blue jacket and markers and enough happy to share with every stranger who comes by. It's a good day.
Huck is not enjoying the day quite so much, because she's cold and also because while she and Jon really did try to patch up the door that Mac kicked in (after the plagues, sure, but she wasn't going to worry about a door when there were fucking monsters)), the owners of the little hotel said that enough was enough, and they couldn't keep the Pack there if they were going to vomit on the carpet and break down doors.
So Huck's left everyone at school and ditched to go bang on the Kashtta's doors. She doesn't have anywhere else to go but here or home, and there is no way in hell she's going back home. Ever.
What he has found he likes, though, is his new Riftpower. So right now he's in the training rooms at the Gauche, a smallish pair of speakers settled on a bench near him and blaring something bass-heavy, despite not actually being connected to any sort of music player. He himself has brought only his knives -- and for only having the ones on him when he came through the rift, there's a good number of them -- and is throwing them at the wall opposite. Every time one connects, the music from the speakers changes. He might be looking a bit too satisfied with himself over this.
Elsewhere, on the L train (again), Babel is positively buzzing with energy. She's had a cup of coffee, sure, but it's more the fact that so many people returned from the plagues, that she's got Luke back, that Chicago is pressing on like it do in the face of the apocalyptic plagues and that it will continue to do so in the face of anything. She's staked out a spot on the train and is currently scribbling pictures of anything happy that comes into her head on sheet after sheet of printer paper. Some of these she gives to the people passing her, hoping to at least put a smile on their face or something, and some of them she leaps up and tapes wherever she feels they're necessary. Which is everywhere. This particular traincar might be quickly filling up with silly little marker pictures.
It's a cold, overcast day, but she's got a fuzzy blue jacket and markers and enough happy to share with every stranger who comes by. It's a good day.
Huck is not enjoying the day quite so much, because she's cold and also because while she and Jon really did try to patch up the door that Mac kicked in (after the plagues, sure, but she wasn't going to worry about a door when there were fucking monsters)), the owners of the little hotel said that enough was enough, and they couldn't keep the Pack there if they were going to vomit on the carpet and break down doors.
So Huck's left everyone at school and ditched to go bang on the Kashtta's doors. She doesn't have anywhere else to go but here or home, and there is no way in hell she's going back home. Ever.