I love you, you love me [Closed/Active]
Characters: Yukimi, Ace, Machi
Setting: The attic
Time: Night 13
Summary: Machi reunites with Yukimi and meets Ace.
Warnings: Language and traumatized pianists. Also, Barney. (wait what no-)
It was pretty amazing how much you could get used to in this house. A couple of months ago, Yukimi would've called bullshit on this whole flood thing and stomped around till he found the leaky water pipe and sealed it shut. Now... well, here he was, hanging out on the stairs to the attic next to Ace with a sack of canned food, water, books, and blankets, all ready to accept it and hole up here for however long it took to go down. He hoped it wouldn't be too long- the stairs sure as hell weren't comfortable to sleep on, and all those unpeople up in the attic proper were just freaking him out. No way was he going to sleep when he might wake up with some faceless fallout-zombie staring him down. No fucking way.
The problem now, as it always was, was boredom. There just wasn't much to do up here. The idea of starting a newsletter was getting more appealing by the day, though he still rejected it every time he thought up headlines- and what would he do for the obits? Today we mourn the death of Portgas D. Ace, who will be alive again before this goes to press. Oh, and that- going to press. For everything this house had, it didn't have a copy machine. So he passed the time with these books instead. He'd been fortunate to find a puzzle book, and bored enough to be almost excited about it.
"Five down, seven-letter word," he read, tapping his pencil against his chin. "Zamboni milieu." He glanced up at Ace, raising his eyebrows. "Any clue?"
Setting: The attic
Time: Night 13
Summary: Machi reunites with Yukimi and meets Ace.
Warnings: Language and traumatized pianists. Also, Barney. (wait what no-)
It was pretty amazing how much you could get used to in this house. A couple of months ago, Yukimi would've called bullshit on this whole flood thing and stomped around till he found the leaky water pipe and sealed it shut. Now... well, here he was, hanging out on the stairs to the attic next to Ace with a sack of canned food, water, books, and blankets, all ready to accept it and hole up here for however long it took to go down. He hoped it wouldn't be too long- the stairs sure as hell weren't comfortable to sleep on, and all those unpeople up in the attic proper were just freaking him out. No way was he going to sleep when he might wake up with some faceless fallout-zombie staring him down. No fucking way.
The problem now, as it always was, was boredom. There just wasn't much to do up here. The idea of starting a newsletter was getting more appealing by the day, though he still rejected it every time he thought up headlines- and what would he do for the obits? Today we mourn the death of Portgas D. Ace, who will be alive again before this goes to press. Oh, and that- going to press. For everything this house had, it didn't have a copy machine. So he passed the time with these books instead. He'd been fortunate to find a puzzle book, and bored enough to be almost excited about it.
"Five down, seven-letter word," he read, tapping his pencil against his chin. "Zamboni milieu." He glanced up at Ace, raising his eyebrows. "Any clue?"