Dream 001
((Ngh, sorry castmates. I'm an avid anon meme fan, and... well, I'm trying to improve. I hope I don't give an antisocial impression or anything, because I really want to hear from you guys when I screw up. If you can, pester me EVERY time I do something wrong. I want to play her well enough to fit in with you guys because you're all so great, and I can take crit with the best of them. If I'm still a trainwreck, tell me so I can drop, because I'd much rather know when to quit than hold the cast back with my stupidity. D:))
Naoto takes a long swig from the bottle sitting on her desk, her feet propped up on the battered furnishing as she flips through a manila folder. At first, it looks like she's just wearing various shades of black and grey instead of her usual blue, but those paying attention will notice that the room is painted in monochromatic shades, the light filtering in through the Venetian blinds warping and twisting through slow-spinning fan blades. A knock on the door is heard.
"Come in," she calls, her eyes moving ever so slightly toward the door under the shadows provided by the brim of her cap; her voice is much huskier than usual, as if she'd picked up cigarettes at the ripe old age of one.
"She walked through my door like Kashiwagi enters a swimsuit competition; one thing on her mind." Her lips aren't moving anymore, but the voice continues to be heard, with perhaps the slightest hint of a wistful saxophone in the background. "Dame's coat could have bought my office ten times over, eyes like runaway express trains just itching to run someone over. Lips like cherries, scar over her left eye spelling almost as much trouble as her blonde hair."
"...You got something for me?" her lips move once again as she swings her feet down under the desk in that stylishly slobby way, surreptitiously moving the hooch behind another bottle of hooch.
"Uh," the dame replies. It may be higher than usual, but the voice is still recognizable. He looks for a place to sit momentarily, only to find none and settle on standing awkwardly, her posture substandard for a dame. "Naoto Shirogane? Private Eye?" Naoto nods, adjusting her cap. "Great, my husband disappeared, and I need you to find him or somethin'."
"Vague as a politician in a strong wind. My brain took me by the collar and shook me, screaming like a banshee not to take this case. My hooch punched me in the face. It was getting low."
"I'll need a few more details than that, ma-" she starts, but cuts herself off when she looks up into the barrel of a 45.
"The dame pulling a gun this early into the story should have been banned faster than the Hollywood Ten. I stared her down, hoping she wouldn't see my hand dip into the desk drawer for my trusty friend..."
--
...Hmph. Private detectives.
Naoto takes a long swig from the bottle sitting on her desk, her feet propped up on the battered furnishing as she flips through a manila folder. At first, it looks like she's just wearing various shades of black and grey instead of her usual blue, but those paying attention will notice that the room is painted in monochromatic shades, the light filtering in through the Venetian blinds warping and twisting through slow-spinning fan blades. A knock on the door is heard.
"Come in," she calls, her eyes moving ever so slightly toward the door under the shadows provided by the brim of her cap; her voice is much huskier than usual, as if she'd picked up cigarettes at the ripe old age of one.
"She walked through my door like Kashiwagi enters a swimsuit competition; one thing on her mind." Her lips aren't moving anymore, but the voice continues to be heard, with perhaps the slightest hint of a wistful saxophone in the background. "Dame's coat could have bought my office ten times over, eyes like runaway express trains just itching to run someone over. Lips like cherries, scar over her left eye spelling almost as much trouble as her blonde hair."
"...You got something for me?" her lips move once again as she swings her feet down under the desk in that stylishly slobby way, surreptitiously moving the hooch behind another bottle of hooch.
"Uh," the dame replies. It may be higher than usual, but the voice is still recognizable. He looks for a place to sit momentarily, only to find none and settle on standing awkwardly, her posture substandard for a dame. "Naoto Shirogane? Private Eye?" Naoto nods, adjusting her cap. "Great, my husband disappeared, and I need you to find him or somethin'."
"Vague as a politician in a strong wind. My brain took me by the collar and shook me, screaming like a banshee not to take this case. My hooch punched me in the face. It was getting low."
"I'll need a few more details than that, ma-" she starts, but cuts herself off when she looks up into the barrel of a 45.
"The dame pulling a gun this early into the story should have been banned faster than the Hollywood Ten. I stared her down, hoping she wouldn't see my hand dip into the desk drawer for my trusty friend..."
--
...Hmph. Private detectives.