(Untitled)

[righttocarry]

Who: Tohru Adachi (righttocarry) & Nagi Kengamine (internecineowl)
When: idk. in the evening? of... a day?
Where: Ramen ya Soba.
Format: 3rd Person Prose, present tense.
What: Two perfectly normal and pleasant men having an ordinary conversation. Yes.
Warnings: Adachi's internal monologue can be, ahem, unpleasant.

Comments

SORRY FOR THE DELAY GDI. I SAY THAT A LOT. BUT MY SLEEP SCHEDULE. MY SLEEP SCHEDULE SOB

[internecineowl]

Around dinnertime, the crowd starts to shift, and the atmosphere changes and new people start to come in. Strange, really, the way this shop works - its clientele has always been a mixed lot of Scorched and Anatolians - the former called by the neutral territory and the latter by the call of "exotic" cuisine - something outside the normal Euro-esque flavors. It's part of the human condition, seeking new experiences in little things. Many of then do end up coming back, in the end. Still, Nagi tends to notice the newer faces - call it a habit from his days in DW. There, you needed to remember everyone: their faces, their handles, what they could do, in case you had to face them in the Carnival Corpse

IT'S OKAY, WHEN I SAY "TECTONIC" I MEAN "TECTONIC"

[righttocarry]

Adachi opens the menu and scans the list, trailing a finger down the paper as he reads. It's pretty impressive - this place is about as unlike Japan as you can get, but this seems to be a real serious kind of ramen shop, the type of place Adachi spent late nights in when he'd been studying at the Academy. They've got a surprising amount of variation. Adachi's impressed despite himself

HEY LOOK. I'M. ALIVE. SOB.

[internecineowl]

Nagi jots down the order on a little notebook - spiral-topped and cardboard covered, a little treat he'd picked up from the Found Goods store. At home, they came in packages of six, but here there had only been three left inside the opened plastic wrapping. Still, it seemed more efficient than writing on parchment. It isn't until after he's gotten the order down that he notices the man is stumbling a little - or, more to the point, not saying anything when he's clearly considering saying something.

Awkwardness, always a little odd. But Nagi, for his part, had never been given to social awkwardness anyway. He glances up and smiles.

"Ah, is there something you'd like to say?"

It isn't hard to guess the... question? Or subject matter, as the case may be. He does get asked about his voice frequently enough, but the questions will vary between Anatolian Natives and the more recent arrivals. From the former, Why do you talk that way? From the latter, Oh, you must be---, and his answer: yes, that's me. Or, because I have no