Backdated to New Year's Eve because I'm lazy. [Narrative]
Characters: Arisawa Tatsuki
Content: How Manhattan's favorite bokukko rang in 2009
Location: I have no idea and neither does she.
Time: Leading up to midnight, new year's eve
Warnings: That ain't proper seafood.
Finally, a place with a kitchen. If Tatsuki was going to survive on this crap, she wasn't going to eat it raw. She walked back to the door, cracking her knuckles along the way. She'd learned from the first time to use her feet and elbows more on these things, and the steel-toed boots were a blessing. Sure, she could've gone around with a pipe or a bat like everyone else, but frankly, this was her comfort zone. Whatever that comfort was worth, at least. It had been a while since she'd slept at all, longer still since doing so on a bed. She hadn't eaten a real meal since that pizza from the incident, and even then, she never got to finish. Everyone was disappearing on her. Taken somewhere, by someone or something. Or had they? What if they'd all just stopped existing? Maybe they were just... like herself. Wandering the city like zombies, lost, looking for something. Maybe she'd just disappeared herself. Then again, she hadn't seen anyone in two days... was it three? No, probably two... but the point was, there wasn't anyone to be found, whether she sought them out or not.
Maybe it was that she was the only one left.
Whatever. Just more work to be done, then. She grabbed her prey for the evening by its exoskeletoned leg, much like some stereotypical neanderthal, and dragged it through the doorway. It scraped against the tile floor, making a screeching noise akin to the collective works of Captain Beefheart played simultaneously all the way to the stove. She was hardly lucid enough to care, though, merely letting out a faint "Dameru" at the corpse, her voice faded from days of shouting the names of her friends into empty buildings.
Once dinner was cooking, she took a seat. The adrenaline started to wear off, and the pain set in all over again. Relaxing really shouldn't have sucked this much. But it helped remind her to keep moving. You relax, you get punished for it. So you can't sleep. Go ahead, stop for water and food, but no sleep. There couldn't be any rest, none, until she got what she came out for. No stopping until she knew everyone was okay.
The timer on the oven went off. Dinner was ready. She hadn't realized it, but oddly enough, it managed to begin beeping at precisely the stroke of midnight.
Happy new year, kid.
Content: How Manhattan's favorite bokukko rang in 2009
Location: I have no idea and neither does she.
Time: Leading up to midnight, new year's eve
Warnings: That ain't proper seafood.
Finally, a place with a kitchen. If Tatsuki was going to survive on this crap, she wasn't going to eat it raw. She walked back to the door, cracking her knuckles along the way. She'd learned from the first time to use her feet and elbows more on these things, and the steel-toed boots were a blessing. Sure, she could've gone around with a pipe or a bat like everyone else, but frankly, this was her comfort zone. Whatever that comfort was worth, at least. It had been a while since she'd slept at all, longer still since doing so on a bed. She hadn't eaten a real meal since that pizza from the incident, and even then, she never got to finish. Everyone was disappearing on her. Taken somewhere, by someone or something. Or had they? What if they'd all just stopped existing? Maybe they were just... like herself. Wandering the city like zombies, lost, looking for something. Maybe she'd just disappeared herself. Then again, she hadn't seen anyone in two days... was it three? No, probably two... but the point was, there wasn't anyone to be found, whether she sought them out or not.
Maybe it was that she was the only one left.
Whatever. Just more work to be done, then. She grabbed her prey for the evening by its exoskeletoned leg, much like some stereotypical neanderthal, and dragged it through the doorway. It scraped against the tile floor, making a screeching noise akin to the collective works of Captain Beefheart played simultaneously all the way to the stove. She was hardly lucid enough to care, though, merely letting out a faint "Dameru" at the corpse, her voice faded from days of shouting the names of her friends into empty buildings.
Once dinner was cooking, she took a seat. The adrenaline started to wear off, and the pain set in all over again. Relaxing really shouldn't have sucked this much. But it helped remind her to keep moving. You relax, you get punished for it. So you can't sleep. Go ahead, stop for water and food, but no sleep. There couldn't be any rest, none, until she got what she came out for. No stopping until she knew everyone was okay.
The timer on the oven went off. Dinner was ready. She hadn't realized it, but oddly enough, it managed to begin beeping at precisely the stroke of midnight.
Happy new year, kid.