You can push me around, you will not win.
Day: 39 (backlogged)
Characters: Harry Osborn 2ndineverything & Sho Minamimoto zetta_sho
Summary: Without eyedrops, Harry decides to give Sho a hand.
DAY/NIGHT & Time: Night
Status: Incomplete
Sho hated accepting help from others. More than anything, he hated the feeling of being indebted to people, or that he wasn't strong enough or able to take care of himself. He was Sho Minamimoto, the youngest reaper to ever be made Game Master, the prodigy with an intelligence that was over nine thousand, and the strength to match it as well. No other reaper in the game could come close to him, not even the Conductor, Kitaniji, with his insignificant game with Joshua, could stop him.
The reaper had been adamant on not accepting help, extraneous variables only muddying up the equation until it was even farther and more tasteless than when Sho had begun. He didn't need other people, and yet...
Since arriving in this place, though, he'd been talking more openly about things, especially with giving information about back home, something he'd never really do. However, it was almost worth it to know that Joshua was hating every second that the Sho spent talking about Shibuya, about the Reaper's Game... About the Composer.
This was different though, in this place, he didn't have all the numbers, all the equations lined out, and suddenly, the Composer's value was only so much, and was marginalized by the overwhelming x that constituted St. Edelweiss asylum. And if he couldn't even get factoring eyedrops on his own, then yeah, he'd need some help.
So, when Harry had jumped at the chance to help him out, Sho figured that it was better than actually asking someone for assistance. Besides, Harry had been one of the more interesting people that he'd spoken too, so it seemed appropriate that they finally meet.
Besides, even though he'd played it off, and made excuses for all that he was seeing, the blood tears were blinding, and painful, it stung his eyes, and even when he tried to wipe it off, he could still only see in indistinguishable blurs. He couldn't have made it to the showers for water on his own, so he really didn't have much choice than to lean against the wall outside his cell, arms crossed and waiting on Harry to show up.
Characters: Harry Osborn 2ndineverything & Sho Minamimoto zetta_sho
Summary: Without eyedrops, Harry decides to give Sho a hand.
DAY/NIGHT & Time: Night
Status: Incomplete
Sho hated accepting help from others. More than anything, he hated the feeling of being indebted to people, or that he wasn't strong enough or able to take care of himself. He was Sho Minamimoto, the youngest reaper to ever be made Game Master, the prodigy with an intelligence that was over nine thousand, and the strength to match it as well. No other reaper in the game could come close to him, not even the Conductor, Kitaniji, with his insignificant game with Joshua, could stop him.
The reaper had been adamant on not accepting help, extraneous variables only muddying up the equation until it was even farther and more tasteless than when Sho had begun. He didn't need other people, and yet...
Since arriving in this place, though, he'd been talking more openly about things, especially with giving information about back home, something he'd never really do. However, it was almost worth it to know that Joshua was hating every second that the Sho spent talking about Shibuya, about the Reaper's Game... About the Composer.
This was different though, in this place, he didn't have all the numbers, all the equations lined out, and suddenly, the Composer's value was only so much, and was marginalized by the overwhelming x that constituted St. Edelweiss asylum. And if he couldn't even get factoring eyedrops on his own, then yeah, he'd need some help.
So, when Harry had jumped at the chance to help him out, Sho figured that it was better than actually asking someone for assistance. Besides, Harry had been one of the more interesting people that he'd spoken too, so it seemed appropriate that they finally meet.
Besides, even though he'd played it off, and made excuses for all that he was seeing, the blood tears were blinding, and painful, it stung his eyes, and even when he tried to wipe it off, he could still only see in indistinguishable blurs. He couldn't have made it to the showers for water on his own, so he really didn't have much choice than to lean against the wall outside his cell, arms crossed and waiting on Harry to show up.