[...Perhaps he was taking too long in the bathroom.
The shower was the only sound breaking the utter silence that befell Koumei's mind as he blindly stared at his own reflection in the mirror, not fully comprehending what he was seeing-- and knowing in his gut that this was more real than anything he had seen thus far. A vicious looking scar, starting under his ribcage and extending over his chest, was apparently his souvenir from a misspent night on the town celebrating Squalo's 23rd birthday. He had met with those strange men with the helmets, but he couldn't quite recall the details of what happened in his own drunken haze...
Now he knew why.
Eyes wide and his breath held as he thought over that battlefield and his overwhelming sense of surprise that dominated the scenario, he gave no thought to the notion that others might want to use the bathroom at 2 in the afternoon.
And the water was starting to go cold.
Perhaps knock? He needs it.]
2
[A distraction. That was what he needed and, while it wouldn't make anything right, it would certainly make the immediate moment a little more tolerable. Thus, Koumei took to the town to do a little shopping and freshen up his wardrobe for the spring. With his hair tied back into a messy braid and a wide brimmed hat upon his head, he felt like he had made a decent disguise for himself. The wide sunglasses added to it-- and helped hide his own emotion as he looked through the racks.
While he favored the boho prints and loose cuts, he knew he would need to find something a little different in order to keep people distracted from his new little problem. Scarves were part of the order of the day, as were smarter looking jackets to replace his loose hoodies and some button up shirts in fresher colors to replace the old.
Spring was a time of change-- and he certainly needed it.]
3
[Later in the evening, Koumei could be found at Brad's Diner nursing a thick, chocolatey milkshake as he poured his focus over his scattered notebooks and journals-- ostensibly songwriting, although it could have been something else. His writing at some point had slipped into something fluid and unrecognizeable that could have been construed as Arabic, but it was impossible to tell. The writer himself gave the change no thought, and the characters flowed from his pen as naturally as water flows down a stream.
He needed to get some of these details in concrete form, just in case he was misunderstanding something, and he needed to have it in a format that he could possibly share if he found that he needed a second opinion.
This was all too much for one mind to handle, even one as keen as his.]
no subject
[...Perhaps he was taking too long in the bathroom.
The shower was the only sound breaking the utter silence that befell Koumei's mind as he blindly stared at his own reflection in the mirror, not fully comprehending what he was seeing-- and knowing in his gut that this was more real than anything he had seen thus far. A vicious looking scar, starting under his ribcage and extending over his chest, was apparently his souvenir from a misspent night on the town celebrating Squalo's 23rd birthday. He had met with those strange men with the helmets, but he couldn't quite recall the details of what happened in his own drunken haze...
Now he knew why.
Eyes wide and his breath held as he thought over that battlefield and his overwhelming sense of surprise that dominated the scenario, he gave no thought to the notion that others might want to use the bathroom at 2 in the afternoon.
And the water was starting to go cold.
Perhaps knock? He needs it.]
2
[A distraction. That was what he needed and, while it wouldn't make anything right, it would certainly make the immediate moment a little more tolerable. Thus, Koumei took to the town to do a little shopping and freshen up his wardrobe for the spring. With his hair tied back into a messy braid and a wide brimmed hat upon his head, he felt like he had made a decent disguise for himself. The wide sunglasses added to it-- and helped hide his own emotion as he looked through the racks.
While he favored the boho prints and loose cuts, he knew he would need to find something a little different in order to keep people distracted from his new little problem. Scarves were part of the order of the day, as were smarter looking jackets to replace his loose hoodies and some button up shirts in fresher colors to replace the old.
Spring was a time of change-- and he certainly needed it.]
3
[Later in the evening, Koumei could be found at Brad's Diner nursing a thick, chocolatey milkshake as he poured his focus over his scattered notebooks and journals-- ostensibly songwriting, although it could have been something else. His writing at some point had slipped into something fluid and unrecognizeable that could have been construed as Arabic, but it was impossible to tell. The writer himself gave the change no thought, and the characters flowed from his pen as naturally as water flows down a stream.
He needed to get some of these details in concrete form, just in case he was misunderstanding something, and he needed to have it in a format that he could possibly share if he found that he needed a second opinion.
This was all too much for one mind to handle, even one as keen as his.]