Youji † 004
Who: Youji Kudou and Ken Hidaka.
Where: Somni, Zephry Pointe room 513.
Style: Third.
Status: Closed, please.
Strangely, Youji hadn't noticed his appetite was missing until he regained it.
He'd never been a big eater, and had observed, with a curiously interested sort of detachment, that his desire for food declined steadily with each passing year. Prior to the week-long jungle escapade, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been properly hungry. What little inclination to eat he did have, he usually suppressed with cigarettes, drugs, alcohol, sex, or sleep.
True enough, if Ken was over and happened to have a snack with him, Youji would wheedle (or, more commonly, steal) some away from him, but that was more to be social than for any real desire to eat. Exactly how he'd survived this long was anyone's guess, although he supposed the occasional social meal was enough. He'd noticed he was beginning to lose his appetite as long as three years ago, shortly after killing Neu. Asuka. The grief and depression had never quite left him, and had, in subsequent years, summarily eradicated his will to live. This, he supposed, was the underlying psychological cause for him never being very hungry anymore, but he hadn't noticed the complete absence of hunger he'd felt (or not felt) in Somarium until he'd realized, while wandering around, listening for familiar voices on his walkie-talkie, that he'd eat tree bark if it meant surviving another night.
He'd only recently found a reason to keep going, to want to keep meeting new sunrises, and even then, that reason was for the memory of a dead woman; a woman he himself killed. It probably wasn't sane, it certainly wasn't healthy, but such concerns had never stopped Youji before and damned if they would start now.
He wondered if it was that renewed interest in life or if it was the memory of how hungry he'd been in that jungle that lured him out of his apartment for groceries that afternoon. The shelves had seemed barer than the norm, but Youji chalked that up to paranoia: he'd come back to an apartment full of spoiled food after days of practical starvation, and doubted he was the only one. It was only natural to be selfish after that, jealously mindful of the need for such a primal necessity as basic nutrition, and since the flowers in the shop tended to miraculously restock themselves, Youji doubted the issue was altogether too pressing.
Besides, for all he knew, the half-barren grocer's shelves were the norm; Ken had taken over most of the little housekeeping chores since the beginning of the "extended visit" he'd been on ever since Omi was turned into a child and Loki had beaten him up. Why, exactly, the extended visit persisted was unclear to Youji--although he did, as always, have his suspicions--but that was the extent of the attention he gave the issue. He was curious and trying to form opinions; nothing else.
It took a bit of maneuvering to work the elevator without setting his bags down, and every bit of graceful stealth he possessed not to make a sound as he walked down the fifth floor to his apartment; didn't want to risk a face-to-face meeting with the others, and sure as hell not with the cops.
Another shift of the bags to his other arm, and Youji managed to crack open the door to Room 513. The sight awaiting him warranted a tilt of the head, a lopsided smirk, and a question:
"Are you moving out, or are you moving in?"
Where: Somni, Zephry Pointe room 513.
Style: Third.
Status: Closed, please.
Strangely, Youji hadn't noticed his appetite was missing until he regained it.
He'd never been a big eater, and had observed, with a curiously interested sort of detachment, that his desire for food declined steadily with each passing year. Prior to the week-long jungle escapade, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been properly hungry. What little inclination to eat he did have, he usually suppressed with cigarettes, drugs, alcohol, sex, or sleep.
True enough, if Ken was over and happened to have a snack with him, Youji would wheedle (or, more commonly, steal) some away from him, but that was more to be social than for any real desire to eat. Exactly how he'd survived this long was anyone's guess, although he supposed the occasional social meal was enough. He'd noticed he was beginning to lose his appetite as long as three years ago, shortly after killing Neu. Asuka. The grief and depression had never quite left him, and had, in subsequent years, summarily eradicated his will to live. This, he supposed, was the underlying psychological cause for him never being very hungry anymore, but he hadn't noticed the complete absence of hunger he'd felt (or not felt) in Somarium until he'd realized, while wandering around, listening for familiar voices on his walkie-talkie, that he'd eat tree bark if it meant surviving another night.
He'd only recently found a reason to keep going, to want to keep meeting new sunrises, and even then, that reason was for the memory of a dead woman; a woman he himself killed. It probably wasn't sane, it certainly wasn't healthy, but such concerns had never stopped Youji before and damned if they would start now.
He wondered if it was that renewed interest in life or if it was the memory of how hungry he'd been in that jungle that lured him out of his apartment for groceries that afternoon. The shelves had seemed barer than the norm, but Youji chalked that up to paranoia: he'd come back to an apartment full of spoiled food after days of practical starvation, and doubted he was the only one. It was only natural to be selfish after that, jealously mindful of the need for such a primal necessity as basic nutrition, and since the flowers in the shop tended to miraculously restock themselves, Youji doubted the issue was altogether too pressing.
Besides, for all he knew, the half-barren grocer's shelves were the norm; Ken had taken over most of the little housekeeping chores since the beginning of the "extended visit" he'd been on ever since Omi was turned into a child and Loki had beaten him up. Why, exactly, the extended visit persisted was unclear to Youji--although he did, as always, have his suspicions--but that was the extent of the attention he gave the issue. He was curious and trying to form opinions; nothing else.
It took a bit of maneuvering to work the elevator without setting his bags down, and every bit of graceful stealth he possessed not to make a sound as he walked down the fifth floor to his apartment; didn't want to risk a face-to-face meeting with the others, and sure as hell not with the cops.
Another shift of the bags to his other arm, and Youji managed to crack open the door to Room 513. The sight awaiting him warranted a tilt of the head, a lopsided smirk, and a question:
"Are you moving out, or are you moving in?"