Gurimamonki
Of course I come home to Ken being all genki about his most used and most replicated of guitars!! I especially loved him attempting to explain how the sustain works without falling into onomatopia and how he stared appologising to Keith because he was using a slightly differnent set up with his knobs!!
Then there was the most recent entry where he ended by stating that he wasn't going to his next concert by bike but rather "by rocket ship, yay!".
SO CUTE!!
edit:
I was reading the translations of the comments for the rocket ship entry when I spotted this:
I'm still debating as to if MK is actually Rin or a random fangirl using his innitials as her handle and yet...
oh god there is such inuendo in that first line!!!
Rin: "do you mean my rocket ship?" *wink*
Ken: *massive death inducing nosebleed*
also this has so become instant digi!!
London was as relaxing/fun as allways and I managed to pull Elle into a discussion on the impossiblity of Ito height which ended with me almost chocking on croquette thanks to the visualisation of him at a Capsule hotel...
any road have a promised chapter two of teather
He’d collapsed into a heavy little ball the instant he’d gotten over the threshold of his entrance hall, moving only when Rhapsody’s barking had become enough that he was certain even his neighbours would complain.
Seeing to his most beloved pet’s simple needs had allowed his head the chance it so desperately needed to switch off a while and he’d lost himself in much repeated routine of feeding, brushing and playing with the hyperactive little ball of fluff.
Eventually she’d grown bored and, with a disinterested snuffling sound, she’d skittered off in search of another form of entertainment or perhaps another piece of pristine clothing to coat in her fur.
He’d smoked a while after that, written down a few snatches of lyric before it became clear that his mood was affecting things just a little too much and then he’d called Baba.
The diminutive guitarist had been recommended to him through a mutual friend at a time when his frustration with the situation in Iceman had begun bubbling its way to the surface. He was an easy going sort of person and gave over a genuine enthusiasm for his work that was all together addictive, however outside of the music things were still…new.
It didn’t help that the first he’d had to do something like this, the first that he’d actively had to be someone other than the shy little boy from Kyoto, it’d been all to easy, for Daisuke had been wearing his friendly public face and Kenichi…
He curses out loud and the voice at the other end enquires,
“Is everything alright, Kuroda-san?”
“No,” the honesty is a welcome relief and earns him a long moment of silence before,
“Would talking help?”
“Maybe,” he responds, before adding, “If we add Sake to the equation.”
“Ah so it’s girl trouble?”
“Something like that, yeh.”
“Then I know the perfect place! I’ll meet you out by Hachi, ok??”
“I don’t know why but I expected something a little less…cliché…from you Baba-san.”
“Ah, yeh, that’d probably be the hair.” There is an ease to the other’s voice now that has him smiling a little for the sound of it and, though he feels a little guilty for using the guitarist as a distraction, he states,
“I should be there in about a half hour.”
“Right, mail me if there’s some unexpected delay!!”
He stares at his phone a moment in the resulting silence, his head swimming with wonderfully distracting thoughts of what to change into and just where he’d put his pass card, then he tosses the thing onto his desk and all but bounces off in the direction of his bedroom
......................................................................................
The doctor had looked at him like he was insane when he’d made the request, and, honestly he most likely had a point. He was the first to admit that he was an impulsive sort of person and the trait meant he’d had plenty of spills since he’d finally invested in a motorbike, however, this last had been bad. Very bad.
His body had hit the tarmac hard enough that it’d not only broken bone, but pushed a few dangerously close to his skin and he’d been told, more than once, how lucky he was that none of his fingers had suffered a similar fate.
The terrible thought of never again being able to play, of having all the music in his head locked up with no where to go, had finally put a scare in him and he’d sworn to give up the bike.
It was likely that, more than infamously stubborn resolve, which had eventually drawn out the positive response he was after and had led to him being out in the sticky September heat with a pocket full of painkillers and his left arm strung tight against him.
He wasn’t certain if he should be angry at himself for getting lost, for forgetting something that had once been so important so very easily, in fact he wasn’t really all too certain of anything right at this moment.
A little of that was the meds and the first distant spikes of pain, the rest…
In the three years that he’d known the strange creature known to the world as Michihiro Kuroda he’d seen plenty of expressions on that elegantly crafted face. In fact, he’d made a little game out of trying to provoke certain reactions from the other, a little because it’d been an excuse to spend more time with him and a little because it was nice to know that he had the power to achieve such things…to get under that seemingly impenetrable shell.
No matter how hard he’d tried, however, he’d never gotten the other to properly loose his temper in front of him. Even on that rain soaked night he’d only seen the spike of anger before he’d been forcefully abandoned.
That he’d see that oddly yearned for release now…that such a simple and seemingly obvious statement had provoked such a thing…
Huffing out a little breath of frustration he fumbles his way to getting a cigarette lit and, blood hot for the rush of the nicotine, he finds someone to beg some directions from.
Ten minutes later he finds himself in the shadow of an odd little building that’d never been fully appreciated until the moment that a certain lithe vocalist had taken up residence.
‘I know it’s a strange place, but it’s got a lot of history. Also…’ he’d coloured then, the rosy hue making him impossibly more attractive and prompting his own body to respond by tightening it’s hold ever so slightly, before enquiring,
‘Also?’
'It was built by a hero of mine…I did tell you I studied architecture before all of this, didn’t I?’
He’d smiled for the adorable uncertainty, for the inherent want to please and the selfless compulsion to give pieces of himself without asking in return, informed the other,
‘You did, I told you that it was cute and then you hit me,’ before he’d kissed him hard and deep.
Skin tingling for the recalled contact, for the lust that’d been sparked in him the instant he’d had the taste of the other once more on his tongue, he knocks firmly on the door.
Silence a moment and then a little canon of enquiring barks that turn fiercer once it becomes clear that there shall be no response from inside the house. Wishing to keep his presence here as low key as possible he presses his head tight to the wood of the door and enquires, “There now, Rappy, it’s only Ken. You remember Ken, don’t you??” Only once she quiets does he realise that his voice had taken on the childish edge he used always on his own dogs and he mentally chastises himself for the somewhat embarrassing habit before falling to the task of finding out Michihiro’s spare key...
The instant the door opens he is met with an enthused body whirling about his feet and, with a long practiced grace, he lowers himself down to her level in order to allow her the access to his face that she desires.
“There now, that’s better! I don’t suppose you know where your owner has gone, do you?” She looks at him a moment, cocks her head to one side and then simply runs off into the house.
“Uh-huh and now you’re talking to dogs like they’re actually people. You really need to get out more, Ito.” He mumbles as he traces the rout to the other’s bedroom.
It still looks as messy as always, the one point of chaos amongst an otherwise perfect home, with various scraps of paper containing lyrics and strange little doodles tossed to every corner of the cramped space, along with random pieces of washing that hadn’t quite made the trip to the dryer. There was also, he noted, evidence of foodstuffs being consumed in the bedroom, likely on days when Michihiro had gotten up late enough that eating on the run had been more requirement than impulse.
That he was eating, even if it was just a little now and then, settled some of the worry he’d felt when he’d seen how gaunt his face had become. Of course he’d have to prompt him into eating enough to round those cheeks out just a little and ease out that particular concern entirely but, for the moment, it was enough.
Glancing, cautiously, over each shoulder he once again bends to the floor and, clumsily, he lifts a shirt up to his nose.
Then there was the most recent entry where he ended by stating that he wasn't going to his next concert by bike but rather "by rocket ship, yay!".
SO CUTE!!
edit:
I was reading the translations of the comments for the rocket ship entry when I spotted this:
I'm still debating as to if MK is actually Rin or a random fangirl using his innitials as her handle and yet...
oh god there is such inuendo in that first line!!!
Rin: "do you mean my rocket ship?" *wink*
Ken: *massive death inducing nosebleed*
also this has so become instant digi!!
London was as relaxing/fun as allways and I managed to pull Elle into a discussion on the impossiblity of Ito height which ended with me almost chocking on croquette thanks to the visualisation of him at a Capsule hotel...
any road have a promised chapter two of teather
He’d collapsed into a heavy little ball the instant he’d gotten over the threshold of his entrance hall, moving only when Rhapsody’s barking had become enough that he was certain even his neighbours would complain.
Seeing to his most beloved pet’s simple needs had allowed his head the chance it so desperately needed to switch off a while and he’d lost himself in much repeated routine of feeding, brushing and playing with the hyperactive little ball of fluff.
Eventually she’d grown bored and, with a disinterested snuffling sound, she’d skittered off in search of another form of entertainment or perhaps another piece of pristine clothing to coat in her fur.
He’d smoked a while after that, written down a few snatches of lyric before it became clear that his mood was affecting things just a little too much and then he’d called Baba.
The diminutive guitarist had been recommended to him through a mutual friend at a time when his frustration with the situation in Iceman had begun bubbling its way to the surface. He was an easy going sort of person and gave over a genuine enthusiasm for his work that was all together addictive, however outside of the music things were still…new.
It didn’t help that the first he’d had to do something like this, the first that he’d actively had to be someone other than the shy little boy from Kyoto, it’d been all to easy, for Daisuke had been wearing his friendly public face and Kenichi…
He curses out loud and the voice at the other end enquires,
“Is everything alright, Kuroda-san?”
“No,” the honesty is a welcome relief and earns him a long moment of silence before,
“Would talking help?”
“Maybe,” he responds, before adding, “If we add Sake to the equation.”
“Ah so it’s girl trouble?”
“Something like that, yeh.”
“Then I know the perfect place! I’ll meet you out by Hachi, ok??”
“I don’t know why but I expected something a little less…cliché…from you Baba-san.”
“Ah, yeh, that’d probably be the hair.” There is an ease to the other’s voice now that has him smiling a little for the sound of it and, though he feels a little guilty for using the guitarist as a distraction, he states,
“I should be there in about a half hour.”
“Right, mail me if there’s some unexpected delay!!”
He stares at his phone a moment in the resulting silence, his head swimming with wonderfully distracting thoughts of what to change into and just where he’d put his pass card, then he tosses the thing onto his desk and all but bounces off in the direction of his bedroom
......................................................................................
The doctor had looked at him like he was insane when he’d made the request, and, honestly he most likely had a point. He was the first to admit that he was an impulsive sort of person and the trait meant he’d had plenty of spills since he’d finally invested in a motorbike, however, this last had been bad. Very bad.
His body had hit the tarmac hard enough that it’d not only broken bone, but pushed a few dangerously close to his skin and he’d been told, more than once, how lucky he was that none of his fingers had suffered a similar fate.
The terrible thought of never again being able to play, of having all the music in his head locked up with no where to go, had finally put a scare in him and he’d sworn to give up the bike.
It was likely that, more than infamously stubborn resolve, which had eventually drawn out the positive response he was after and had led to him being out in the sticky September heat with a pocket full of painkillers and his left arm strung tight against him.
He wasn’t certain if he should be angry at himself for getting lost, for forgetting something that had once been so important so very easily, in fact he wasn’t really all too certain of anything right at this moment.
A little of that was the meds and the first distant spikes of pain, the rest…
In the three years that he’d known the strange creature known to the world as Michihiro Kuroda he’d seen plenty of expressions on that elegantly crafted face. In fact, he’d made a little game out of trying to provoke certain reactions from the other, a little because it’d been an excuse to spend more time with him and a little because it was nice to know that he had the power to achieve such things…to get under that seemingly impenetrable shell.
No matter how hard he’d tried, however, he’d never gotten the other to properly loose his temper in front of him. Even on that rain soaked night he’d only seen the spike of anger before he’d been forcefully abandoned.
That he’d see that oddly yearned for release now…that such a simple and seemingly obvious statement had provoked such a thing…
Huffing out a little breath of frustration he fumbles his way to getting a cigarette lit and, blood hot for the rush of the nicotine, he finds someone to beg some directions from.
Ten minutes later he finds himself in the shadow of an odd little building that’d never been fully appreciated until the moment that a certain lithe vocalist had taken up residence.
‘I know it’s a strange place, but it’s got a lot of history. Also…’ he’d coloured then, the rosy hue making him impossibly more attractive and prompting his own body to respond by tightening it’s hold ever so slightly, before enquiring,
‘Also?’
'It was built by a hero of mine…I did tell you I studied architecture before all of this, didn’t I?’
He’d smiled for the adorable uncertainty, for the inherent want to please and the selfless compulsion to give pieces of himself without asking in return, informed the other,
‘You did, I told you that it was cute and then you hit me,’ before he’d kissed him hard and deep.
Skin tingling for the recalled contact, for the lust that’d been sparked in him the instant he’d had the taste of the other once more on his tongue, he knocks firmly on the door.
Silence a moment and then a little canon of enquiring barks that turn fiercer once it becomes clear that there shall be no response from inside the house. Wishing to keep his presence here as low key as possible he presses his head tight to the wood of the door and enquires, “There now, Rappy, it’s only Ken. You remember Ken, don’t you??” Only once she quiets does he realise that his voice had taken on the childish edge he used always on his own dogs and he mentally chastises himself for the somewhat embarrassing habit before falling to the task of finding out Michihiro’s spare key...
The instant the door opens he is met with an enthused body whirling about his feet and, with a long practiced grace, he lowers himself down to her level in order to allow her the access to his face that she desires.
“There now, that’s better! I don’t suppose you know where your owner has gone, do you?” She looks at him a moment, cocks her head to one side and then simply runs off into the house.
“Uh-huh and now you’re talking to dogs like they’re actually people. You really need to get out more, Ito.” He mumbles as he traces the rout to the other’s bedroom.
It still looks as messy as always, the one point of chaos amongst an otherwise perfect home, with various scraps of paper containing lyrics and strange little doodles tossed to every corner of the cramped space, along with random pieces of washing that hadn’t quite made the trip to the dryer. There was also, he noted, evidence of foodstuffs being consumed in the bedroom, likely on days when Michihiro had gotten up late enough that eating on the run had been more requirement than impulse.
That he was eating, even if it was just a little now and then, settled some of the worry he’d felt when he’d seen how gaunt his face had become. Of course he’d have to prompt him into eating enough to round those cheeks out just a little and ease out that particular concern entirely but, for the moment, it was enough.
Glancing, cautiously, over each shoulder he once again bends to the floor and, clumsily, he lifts a shirt up to his nose.