fifteen minutes later finds choso on yonder rooftop, settling into some little niche amongst the tiles that has evidently served as The Break Area, if the battered cans filled with old and new cigarette butts are any indication. he starts off the time-honoured ritual of adding to the pile by striking a battered little match, a tiny pinprick of light like a guiding beacon for wayward sorcerers and their improbable stingrays. ]
( He comes like the most foul of disney princesses, legs crossed as he sits astride the back of his curse. It brings him to hover nearby Choso, his gaze keen as it settles on him. Without a word, Geto leans over to hand the still warm box of his leftovers, and then he climbs down, joining him on the rooftop. )
Is this where you spend your time?
( The stingray hovers for a moment then vanishes again, Geto humming as he starts to pat down his own pockets. )
[ it is with a lit cigarette clenched between his teeth that choso accepts the box with all the reverence as if it were a benediction from on high. (and maybe it is in some small, strange way, with the way his lips curl up in the faintest semblance of a smile as the warmth seeps into his palms.)
being busy inspecting the goods, he only watches Geto Suguru with half his attention, following the man’s journey from manta to rooftop from his periphery. choso, he thinks unbidden of the cats back in neo-tokyo, sleek and graceful for all their vitriol and claws. ]
Not— [ he starts, and stops, counting the sleepless nights since the 19th before amending: ]
Not usually, but more lately. It is peaceful. No one bothers to climb this high in the late hours.
[ as Geto pats about, choso holds out a slightly-squashed olive branch in the shape of a cigarette carton, edges all softened by impact, like it had lived a little too long in a busy guy’s pocket. its label reads as some common brand, noted only for its easy affordability. ]
( He stops patting, reaches out to pluck a cigarette from the packet with only the slightest hint of reticence. In his efforts to be more ... something it feels strange to decline. And while it's not his brand he hangs around Silco and his odious cigar fog enough that he won't be too put off. )
It's nicer than some of the other places I've taken to smoking. ( A mild comment, again unused to sharing but aiming for an easier comradery. ) When I was younger a friend and I would hide behind the trashcans at the school. I was the lookout.
( He holds the cigarette between his teeth, easy. )
That’s prime delinquent activity right there. I didn’t take you for a delinquent with that kind of face.
[ naughty lads and lasses. calling on every little tv drama he’s seen, choso cannot help but wonder if they smoked in the gymnasium or in street alleys too. truancy and delinquency and juvenile law-breaking, oh my.
but he’s not enough of a hall monitor to deny a man a light. from within voluminous sleeves, choso produces an equally-battered lighter. he calls on more movie memories as he flicks it to life and holds it out to Geto with hands cupped, the very image of a gokudo to a superior. ]
( Ever so slightly amused as he ducks closer to light the end, the fall of his bangs briefly covering his eye before he straightens himself up again, sweeps them aside. )
A wicked one? ( There's the slightest hint of mischief in his gaze. This is not Geto attempting to be anything but a vague shithead. Not cruel, but not necessarily kind either. The middle ground of his morality. ) Surely all evil villains must start somewhere. Why not smoking on school property?
[ in the time it takes to light Geto’s cigarette and in the moment after, choso looks at the sorcerer with a consideration he hasn’t held since the first day they’d met over a giant boar’s corpse. he looks at features thrown into relief in a small flame’s light, looks at the shape of them softened by the forgiving dark.
a lifetime ago in a ruined tokyo, this had been just another face, another arrangement of parts lined up under careful stitching. a year later of life and experience has taught choso some of what humanity sees. ]
A beautiful face. The kind that humans would kill for.
[ his tone is easy, objective; this is not a compliment, but facts laid out by an observer, idle as a guest of an art museum. the cigarette balanced easily between lips and teeth slurs choso’s words only slightly, eerie face wreathed in smoke. ]
( He blinks slow like a cat, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. ) Ah.
( And then, a sniff. )
Haven't you heard I'm reformed these days? No using my pretty face to ensnare people into my evil schemes. I hardly even have mischievous ones! But it's been a while since someone called me beautiful, so I might as well take it.
[ the problem now as it wasn’t then is that now, with humanity’s grime under his nails and soot in his lungs, now when Geto Suguru moves and his mouth curls just so, choso cannot watch for long because something else thrums deep in his bones like a damnation.
so he looks away, choso does, drops his gaze and hoods his eyes as he takes a draw, staring instead on the leftovers box nearby as the old familiar taste of smoke settles on his tongue. ]
You’re cleaning up well enough. Yuji likes you, which speaks more for your character than you can.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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wait.
wait a sec. ]
nyeh
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You don't think it suits me?
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something more purple
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I like blue.
( You know, for reasons. )
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blue is
[ unnerving. eerie. inhuman. monstrous. ]
weird but ok
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( No. )
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but it’s a pain to impart
so no
bother yuji with it when we get him back
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[ unless, apparently, it’s geto. ]
but also because you’re going to wear blue anyway
like some kind of weirdo
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( It will be purple the next time he sees Choso. )
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do you smoke?
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Rover-san told me to cut back but then she left, so. Are you allowed to smoke?
( On account of being an infant who doesn't chew. )
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i smoke when i want to
and i want to right now
do you want to?
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But yes, fine. I suppose I can bring you those leftovers in person.
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the roof is a good place. the monks don’t climb up that high past a certain hour.
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I'll meet you up there in fifteen.
( He's using the stingray to get up there though, so he's not climbing either. )
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fifteen minutes later finds choso on yonder rooftop, settling into some little niche amongst the tiles that has evidently served as The Break Area, if the battered cans filled with old and new cigarette butts are any indication. he starts off the time-honoured ritual of adding to the pile by striking a battered little match, a tiny pinprick of light like a guiding beacon for wayward sorcerers and their improbable stingrays. ]
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Is this where you spend your time?
( The stingray hovers for a moment then vanishes again, Geto humming as he starts to pat down his own pockets. )
It's quiet.
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being busy inspecting the goods, he only watches Geto Suguru with half his attention, following the man’s journey from manta to rooftop from his periphery. choso, he thinks unbidden of the cats back in neo-tokyo, sleek and graceful for all their vitriol and claws. ]
Not— [ he starts, and stops, counting the sleepless nights since the 19th before amending: ]
Not usually, but more lately. It is peaceful. No one bothers to climb this high in the late hours.
[ as Geto pats about, choso holds out a slightly-squashed olive branch in the shape of a cigarette carton, edges all softened by impact, like it had lived a little too long in a busy guy’s pocket. its label reads as some common brand, noted only for its easy affordability. ]
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It's nicer than some of the other places I've taken to smoking. ( A mild comment, again unused to sharing but aiming for an easier comradery. ) When I was younger a friend and I would hide behind the trashcans at the school. I was the lookout.
( He holds the cigarette between his teeth, easy. )
Do you have a light?
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[ naughty lads and lasses. calling on every little tv drama he’s seen, choso cannot help but wonder if they smoked in the gymnasium or in street alleys too. truancy and delinquency and juvenile law-breaking, oh my.
but he’s not enough of a hall monitor to deny a man a light. from within voluminous sleeves, choso produces an equally-battered lighter. he calls on more movie memories as he flicks it to life and holds it out to Geto with hands cupped, the very image of a gokudo to a superior. ]
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( Ever so slightly amused as he ducks closer to light the end, the fall of his bangs briefly covering his eye before he straightens himself up again, sweeps them aside. )
A wicked one? ( There's the slightest hint of mischief in his gaze. This is not Geto attempting to be anything but a vague shithead. Not cruel, but not necessarily kind either. The middle ground of his morality. ) Surely all evil villains must start somewhere. Why not smoking on school property?
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a lifetime ago in a ruined tokyo, this had been just another face, another arrangement of parts lined up under careful stitching. a year later of life and experience has taught choso some of what humanity sees. ]
A beautiful face. The kind that humans would kill for.
[ his tone is easy, objective; this is not a compliment, but facts laid out by an observer, idle as a guest of an art museum. the cigarette balanced easily between lips and teeth slurs choso’s words only slightly, eerie face wreathed in smoke. ]
It makes you the dangerous kind of villain.
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( And then, a sniff. )
Haven't you heard I'm reformed these days? No using my pretty face to ensnare people into my evil schemes. I hardly even have mischievous ones! But it's been a while since someone called me beautiful, so I might as well take it.
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so he looks away, choso does, drops his gaze and hoods his eyes as he takes a draw, staring instead on the leftovers box nearby as the old familiar taste of smoke settles on his tongue. ]
You’re cleaning up well enough. Yuji likes you, which speaks more for your character than you can.
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that icon is so cute.
you earned a whole smile, geto-kun; take it to the grave
gonna keep choso around like a lil tamagotchi
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