2025-10-20: It Kind Of Is About The Shoes
- Log: It Kind Of Is About the Shoes
- Cast: Umie Akabane, Shiryuu Ryouhara
- Where: Umie's Goddamn Apartment, Seriously, Why Can't She Have Normal Relationships Like Normal People
- OOC Date: October 20, 2025
- IC Date: July 29, 2012
- Summary: Umie arrives back to her apartment after a long shift, where she finds an unlikely visitor is already there. He has a message, and Umie has no way of refusing. After all, it really is about the shoes.
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
First off, Umie's apartment is small. The walls are painted white, and the layout is longer than it is wide, with a narrow doorway that walks by a small kitchen area into the main room, with the bathroom situated behind a door next to the kitchen. It's the main room that is the disaster.
A small table is set into the corner, where drying masks hang clipped to metal wire hangers, each hanging from a stretched out hanger that hangs from a long painted over hook for some long forgotten device. They balance there, like a strange mobile, over a table covered in newspaper and a crafting mat, with a narrow thin small shelving unit there to house various paint supplies.
There's an unmade futon, sitting in front of a TV on the wall. There's suggestions of a rug underneath, like there was some idea of decorating before the tenant finally gave up. Clothing hangs from a rack or just strewn about within easy access; an empty konbini plastic container lies on the 'craft table', along with an capped bottle of water.
There's a pair of frosted sliding window that face out into an alleyway several stories up. Usually, these would be locked, but unfortunately (for Umie), it's far too warm to keep them locked and closed, when she's there.
The front door into the apartment opens, and Umie strolls in, shoving it closed with her foot. Off go the sensible, boring loafers in the entryway, next to her sneakers, and off comes the Triple Seven uniform in a practiced, impatient motion; a t-shirt and cotton shorts are slipped on in the blink of an eye as she moves to the windows, wiping her face as she clicks on the stand fan (again with her foot) and opens the window. Some clothing is tossed over an object that could register as a dresser (again, with Umie's toes), so it's not like Umie's completely hopeless. ".... Why does it have to be so goddamn hot..."
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
"... I would have told you to keep something decent on, but.."
It's -really- hard to tell when Ryouhara is about, she'll notice. It's not particularly like he doesn't stand out like a sore thumb, a blotch of dark color in a pile of devillishly urban fabric against the otherwise white walls. It's like Harajuku decided to hurl a fistful of designer brands whole and ham-fisted into the tiny apartment. But he has a certain method and means of being just still enough to be mistaken for ..well, more.
By the time she can clock that he's not an pile of clothing sitting on the futon, the young man's movement kind of -- kind of -- gives him away, a -deeply- uncomfortable little sigh raking from the silver-haired onmitsu as he shifts his weight forward onto the edge of her futon. No, for real -- he's moved all of the stuff to one side of it and -- honestly, it's the most comfortable place to wait and --
Some clothes fly past Shiryuu to land on the dresser. "my god in heaven."
Shiryuu does not explain further. He should not have to. His face says it all, patiently, politely mortified.
"Well -- I was going to fight you," he starts, and it certainly seems like he understands a random house attack to be a rational act. "It was going to be good. I was going to send you flying through the window over there, see if you knew how to triangle jump." He points, at the now open window. "But.." He tries to explain once, inhaling. Exhaling. Twice, before he finally just pinches the bridge of his nose.
"I've been here for a whole two hours. And --" Another struggle to put his problem to words. "-- listen. You need to keep better food in here."
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
Forgive Umie. It's been a particularly long shift. The foot traffic never seemed to stop despite school finals tightening down the local schools' abilities to contribute with traffic. A guy came in who only spoke English, and Umie's English was just good enough to make it seem like she knew more than she did, leaving both sides of the conversation boggling over the chasm that stood between them and being able to understand one another. And then another mother tried to hook Umie up with her son, sight unseen, with the air of 'I can fix you' as she looked at Umie's hair and nails.
Maybe Umie should start wearing more makeup? Nnngh, that runs into her jobs. That 'clean look' is expensive enough, and--
there's someone here, oh right, they were speaking earlier
_they were speaking earlier_
Unfortunately, she's already walked past the kitchenette area, where she could possibly grab a knife or a sadly unused pan. Over here there are... masks?
Two get chucked at Shiryuu like knives; one has a floral design, another a white fox design. However, being paper maiche, they're no better than being assaulted with one of Umie's clothes.
"_Who attacks someone in their own apartment_?!" Umie exclaims, pointing at Shiryuu. (Many people do. It's why Umie picked the apartment she did, thinking that a balcony allowed *too* much access from two points.)
However, it also meant an apartment that was nice and warm.
"You ate my food?!" Umie yells. "My katsudon...?" She's rushing over to the small minifridge, looking to see if Shiryuu had rummaged through it.
"_I work at a konbini_," Umie hisses over her shoulder.
Wait. "_Did you watch me change clothes_?!" Her resonance was hidden before, but by now, it's out in all its gremlin glory.
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
"IIeh-- ...hhhh."
He sighs. Again, as if he could really just kind of breathe away the vibes. Brown eyes cut from beneath his tilted brow as she kind of walks away from him, continuing on her merry way before it settles in that he's speaking with her.
Then he has to swat away her masks, a little -thwock- of the moulded paper masks drumming them in two seperate directions. To his merit, he doesn't even take his sword out of its sheath, or even the red cloth wrapping it's been brownbagged in. To her respect, he actually took the effort of untying the bag before she arrived, but any thought to actually unsheathing it has been dead and buried for the past ... how long's it been? Two hours?
Yeah, like one hour and forty five minutes.
"...get that out of your system?" he asks.
One of the little masks -- the floral one, if it matters -- spins on its nose on the floor over Shiryuu's nettled look.
"Anyway... it's not like you're in a fortress. Where else should I attack you? Work? How would that even go? Am I going to break your arm with a stale egg sandwich? That's not even interesting to me."
Shiryuu leans back, long and lean frame burying itself in the one mooring of orderly comfort he's managed to nestle into in the entire apartment. His grey hair spills back as he hangs his head over the back of the futon, carefully deciding that looking at the ceiling is better than anything else. Well. To be honest, he'd look at her, but she seems kind of excitable right now. He rests his hand on the end of his sword bag, bracing on it like one would an idle cane. In case she feels the need to attack him again callously.
"I wouldn't quite call it food by normal standards," Shiryuu interjects as Umie makes a dash for the minifridge. Yes, the katsudon is missing. No, he didn't eat it.
It's in the trash. A couple of expired sauces are in there too. He didn't actually eat anything.. This is probably why he's more nettled than amused right now.
Did he watch her change? "Oof...listen. Trust me when I say this, senpai..."
He tilts his head. Still not looking at her, but his voice is a little spiced that he even has to explain this. "You wouldn't even be a tenth of the nudity I've seen this week. It's fine."
He doesn't explain that one any further.
Then his brow screws, bunching as a thought occurs to him. "Or -- did you want me to compliment you? I don't know what your vibe is yet. Other than a mess--"
He's getting off on a tangent. Sigh. "Ugh -- nevermind, j-- listen -- go put on some real shoes. I went through your clothes and I couldn't find your secret shoe stash. Wear something that's not embarassing. If I can't Rider Kick you through a wall or something, we're going out."
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
At least there's one big difference between Umie's mess and, say, other sorts of messes that could likely be found in apartments in this very building: it's not a stinky mess. It's a nice smelling mess.
But it's still a mess.
And it's a mess that's gotten slightly larger because two masks have been swatted away by Shiryuu's deft hand.
"It won't be out of my system until you *leave my apartment*," Umie says, trying to think where her actual *weapons* are, like... her coat. It's on the coathanger, near the door.
Which is, again, at the other end of the apartment. "Attacking me at work was good enough for the Old Maid, so I don't see why it's not good enough for you," Umie grumbles, her bare feet inching towards the other side of the apartment, inch by inch. "A stale egg sando is still *food*." Akechi would back her up on that, wouldn't he? (... he'd probably say something like 'ha ha ha, why are you bringing me up in this conversation'.)
Now by the minifridge, Umie notices the lack of katsudon, which, she happens to see in the trash, along with some expired sauces. Umie does the math in her head.
It's only been maybe.... two hours. Which means it's not been out longer than maybe... one hour, thirty minutes, maybe. Still eatable!
Umie fishes the container out of the trash and, picking off a few sauce packets, stuffs it back in the fridge, giving an icy glare at Shiryuu as she whams the fridge door closed.
"You couldn't even give your associate a serviceable umbrella before you sent him after me," she adds. "I wouldn't be so smug."
Before she could add onto her comment, Shiryuu responds to her earlier comment about watching her change, which manages to completely subvert whatever edge Umie felt she had in the conversation. "What the hell kind of life do you even live?!" she sputters.
Compliment her? "... Pretty sure someone who breaks into my apartment and critiques my choice of good is *not* my type," she interjects dryly, her eyebrows level. "Besides, if I wanted to be complimented I'd at least _choose my outfits_. "
Wait. "Secret... shoe stash? Rider kick?" There's perplexed look on the blonde's face so oblivious that it seems to silence the entire room. One could even appreciate the conversations going on in the alleyway below; it seems to be something about baseball.
"What makes you think I have money for more than one good pair of shoes? I'm not going to ruin my work loafers trying to 'triangle jump' or whatever. Those are for surviving having to stand for hours on end, not parkour jumping around." Umie sighs, tucking one bang behind her ear. "Lemme get to my clothes rack. I'm not going out like this."
====ONE ASSUMED AWKWARD BATHROOM CHANGE LATER====
Umie steps out in.... a nicer t-shirt ("because I'm not wearing my nice clothes if you're going to get them messed up"), denim shorts, and... well not her secret stash of sneakers; she's not wearing her shoes in her apartment like a _barbarian_. "Can't believe I'm agreeing to this... you attacked my friend, asshole." She then crosses over to where her shoes are and takes one look at her 'going out' sneakers--
.... well, they're not bad, by Umie's standards. Mementos has probably worn them in, and soon, the black coloration isn't going to hide the stains. Still. She slips her low rise socks into them and laces them up securely, turning to grab her jacket off the pole. "Turn off the fan and lock the window, will you?" She shoots him a flat look. "Wouldn't want any home invaders coming in while I'm out, would we?"
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
Sniff-- "Yeah, that's the point --" Shiryuu starts, as if he had an allergy to backtalk -- "Sando is food, not a weapon. Between this and that butterknife you tried to foist on --" he chokes on his words halfway through trying to reason it out, before he just finally settles on talking with his hands, fencing in some space with two flat hands set parallel to eachother, his sword clenched firmly in one thumb against his palm. Every word is chopped into that little fenced space for emphasis. "Urgh.. listen. I don't know which two-bit, 2chan losers you've been listening to about which places are okay to fight in, but there's an art to these things."
He finally just waves his free hand, "--nevermind, nevermind. It's not like we can fight anyway now. Do you always work this late? Wait, what are you --"
Shiryuu's mouth hangs open in bald shock, as the beast goes through the trash and takes out the trash and puts the trash in the fridge. His thoughts are probably clearly written on his face, as Umie takes that moment to chastise him about Kurou. He was wondering why Kurou was wandering around soaking wet that week. But more importantly, trash udon.
"gh--did you give him that umbrella out of a dumpster too?" Shiryuu finally manages. "You'd better not had taught him any of your ways."
Things are going rapidly downhill from there, as the two escalate to full-on bickering. Shiryuu's face flushes slightly as Umie finds a vibe he finds quite objectionable. Her type?? "Iehhh-- don't misunderstand, you knave." the onmitsu glumly protests, suddenly finding the time to tie his sword bag again, with a harsh -snop- of the cordage. "It's just business!"
As to whether he's referencing her specifically or the situations that would allow her to be in any state of undress without evincing a noticable reaction from him, it's not really made clear. "oh my god." She doesn't even know about Kamen Rider. He doesn't even really watch anime and he knows about Kamen Rider. She has no business questioning his methods. What next? Gundam?
You know what, he's glad he didn't take his shoes off. Take that, Umie's floor.
"Here, wear this! This isn't bad!" the young man helps, throwing a nice looking shirt in the direction of the bathroom while she tries to get dressed. He's politely not looking, in case she has some sort of need to go streaking like a hurricane through her house (again!) and may in fact be suggesting clothes to keep her in the bathroom, because what he thought was only a small percentage of her wardrobe is on the futon on which he's seated and he was clearly mistaken about that. Nope, she rejects everything he likes. And then offends him with her shoes some more. "
"I thought women were supposed -- you are --" the boy sighs, straightening to tuck his sword behind his pack again. "-- .. if anyone asks, we don't know eachother. Come on."
He does, because he's that kind of person, turn off the fan (grudgingly, why does she keep it so hot, is she a lizard?). As far as the windows go, "your sash locks suck," Shiryuu points out, latching them. "Don't worry though, I bugged the place, so we'll know if anybody breaks in."
Somewhere down the hall, "you're gonna have to be more specific, you know I attack a lot of people, right...?"
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
Sorry, Shiryuu. If you didn't want backtalk, you shouldn't have invaded Umie's apartment and waited for her to come, like some sort of... shinobi!! "What the hell is a 2chan?! And for the last time, the blade's not meant to be used that way, it's meant to catch and hold your opponent's weapon! If it gets too sharp, it'd slice through my coat. And yeah, again, part time gig worker."
Which is why throwing away perfectly decent food is out of the question. Umie just stares at Shiryuu, as if daring him to object. "It was only out an hour. Even if the first thing you did was ransack my fridge, then that's *two* hours at most. You think food poisoning is going to set in that quickly?!" It can, but Umie's going to take that risk...
.... just because it pisses Shiryuu off.
"No, but the umbrella he was holding might as well be from one." She sighs, folding her arms. "The Triple Seven had some on sale. I'm not sure how long they'll last, but he has one. If you're going to throw him at me, try not to make be feel like I need to help him?"
Bickerbickerbicker. Two Chariots, racing in circles. "Knave?" Umie's lips twist in an open smile. "My, my, you *do* like it when someone talks back to you~ probably not so used to it, are you?" she says, adopting a sweet tone to her voice. "You missed me so much that you have to invade my apartment and go through my things..." Her eyelids lower, as she leans forward, despite being too far away for it to pass over any intimate boundary. "You--"
Ah, but his anime and manga references has to get in the way of her trying to maliciously flirt with him like it was a blunt weapon. "Women are supposed to what?" Umie says, dropping her tone with an icy cold stare. "If this is about shoes..." She groans, rubbing her temple. "Look, I'm on a budget. You know how many shoes I've lost in Mementos or running away from some demon during the Dark Hour? It cuts into my 'cute shoes budget'.
"You say that like you've told me your name," Umie grumbles. "And if you're going to criticize my sash locks, then offer advice! Give me a break, this is my first apartmen--"
Shiryuu bugged the place. ".... well, now I have a reason to clean, I guess..." Umie groans, as they get into the wall. "And his name is Aragaki-kun! You attacked him because he knows me, don't you lie to me!!"
It's going to be a long ways to Shinjuku.
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
"That's what sheaths are for! If it cuts through your coat, you're storing it wrong -- that 'not supposed to cut' sai stuff is what they tell you when they want to foist cheap pieces of garbage off on you!" "It's not about how long it was out, that Hanamaru-tier garbage is ninety percent salt! It was probably pre-growing moss! I almost died just looking at it!" "Wh-- UGH, I'm just not used to mouthy people wearing trash bags at me so aggressively! Don't think just because you tied up your hair for me that I'm going to forget you wouldn't wear your nice stuff!" "If you fought at one hundred percent maybe the Shadows would cough up more valuable stuff!" "Oh my god, why are you fraternizing with the literal worst school now!? First you're hanging out with cops and now this! You are the most impossible woman!"
That poor taxi driver.
Luckily, Umie has successfully nettled Shiryuu into something approaching silence by the time they get to the shop. It's worth noting that there is an atmos in Shibuya as well, 'yeah, but that one sucks.' He apparently prefers this one, a larger affair with more choices, a shoe shop with sneakers winding across the wall, set on shelves and extending out around the bend and all around as far as the eye can see. A television screen has been set up in the front, advertising the latest pop-up, something about an ONI brand coming out next month.
The onmitsu steps into the shop with something resembling relief, stretching out his arms after a cramped trip trying not to jab his spicy rideshare in the eye with a sword-that-is-absolutely-not-a-sword. Possibly not even on purpose. "Listen. At some point you're going to have to realize that it kind of is about the shoes," the onmitsu replies. "The better a shoe you buy, the better they're gonna hold up." Pause. "Unless you like to throw your shoes at innocent people too. I can't do anything about that."
He breathes outward lightly, finally hiking his pack a little higher on his shoulder, pulling at a hidden strap. "Anyway... we can get some coffee in here, if you want. But we're going to get you some actual shoes. Ones that aren't going to embarass us both when we fight. Now, I know the staff. If you behave here, I might take you to my secret weapon at some point."
He pauses, tersely.
"Uh, that means no going through the trash looking for snacks. That's just going to mess up my vibe..."
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
"How in the world do I sheath something that's tied to a rope?!" "How does something with so much salt grow moss?" "You were talking about fighting me! I don't want to get my nice clothes all bloody! Be thankful this t-shirt looks cute on me." "Oho, so you *do* want me to wear something nice for you~ maybe a cute blouse that shows some shoulder? You're probably the sort into a woman who wears a yukata well, though. You'll have to wait until the fireworks festival for *that* however~" "And if I get injured, I can't work or do other things. It's a balance, you know." "Wait, Gekkoukan?! That's one of the best schools! What the *hell* are you even on about with that?"
The taxi driver has likely had an easier time ferrying feuding couples than these two.
"... Wait, I thought you were kidding when you were talking a shoe shop." Umie squints at the now quiet Shiryuu as they (thankfully) exit the taxi. "I mean, I don't mind a bit of shopping, but this is outside of my price range," she says, waving a red-nailed hand at the displays.
'Listen, at some point you're going to have to realize that it kind of is about the shoes.' Now, it's Umie that's being stunned into silence, as she studies Shiryuu's back posture as they enter the store. He's relaxing, stretching out, like a desert prince walking into his personal oasis.
Coffee. Secret weapon. New shoes.
What is going on here? ".... Was this because I was... nice to your associate?" No, Shiryuu's made it very clear what the situation is about.
Still, she's flummoxed. While her social armor has been about color and style, it hasn't carried into the cognitive world, where utility has been the name of the game. To step it up has been a thing she's tried to ponder in the back of her mind, but it's always been blown back by a near-miss with a rampaging demon, or someone who may or may not be trying to kill her.
Style is for people in groups, to leverage image and mystique as you carry your message in your actions.
.... What sort of message exists in 'survive, failure is not an option'?
Wait, no, Umie's getting carried away. The important questions is, why would you give an advantage to someone you want to fight with?
Wait. WAIT.
"......... oh god, is this..." Umie stares at Shiryuu, the whites around her reddish brown eyes becoming visible. ".... you're..."
Oh. Oh no. Oh no, she can't do this
"... is this a rival situation...?" She adjusts the red bracelet on her left wrist, idly. "Because I'm not sure I could survive being someone's rival about now..." UMIE YOU HAVE BEEN AROUND AKECHI TOO MUCH
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
That whole off-the-shoulder yukata (he lost track of the details) thing is going to stick with him for awhile. She's so annoying, really. He definitely should have Rider Kicked her.
Right now though, yes, Shiryuu is in his element. A subtly and darkly amused face passing and contorting through the lens of a random commercial glass shape, swimming amongst the endless shoe displays like a shark in a school of fish. He is looking at a displayed lime green Onitsuka Tiger sitting on a podium with a positively devillish expression. Oh, later for you.
He's dimly aware that his raccoon-inclined cohort is somewhat undone by the vibes of "atmos." Of course he is. He seems not to care, honestly, enjoying some modicum of peace and quiet to browse before he finally has to explain.
"Listen, it's fine," Shiryuu interjects, preying on a weak pair of Roshe Runs on one side. "I make enough through my IP and merch, konbini queen. But if you're going to be the senpai, you have to look the part."
While she struggles, the young man holds up a galaxy-print Converse in hand, waving to one of the staff with a 'yo' before focusing on Umie and her crashout. Or more appropriately, holding the shoe over her silhouette and one eye. "Yeah, I guess the T-shirt is alright," he grudgingly admits offhand, before slowly lowering the shoe at arm's length until it just about blocks out at least one of those localized disasters on her feet, mentally fitting it to her. Mm. No. Too busy.
"What?" Shiryuu puts the shoe back on the shelf. "Uffh. Rival? What is this, the Bakumatsu? You can't be my rival yet. I'm not as good as some of my predecessors, but if I had a rival, I would destroy him. Or her. Or them. It's too much for my vibe."
Shiryuu breathes outward, this time a -hair- kinder.
"Call this ... 'I'm not okay with you settling for second rate.'"
This time, the boy in the voluminous plurality of clothing cocks his hip in annoyance, pushing a hand through his mop of hair in mild exasperation until it's out of his eyes. It sticks weirdly, unbeknownst to him. Seriously, there is a visible sprig of grey sticking ramrod straight upwards. He looks back, oblivious when one of the clerks giggles behind him. "...anyway..."
His hands stuff into his pockets.
"Enough playing around. We'll pick some things out. If there's enough left over, I'll get you a jacket. Let's talk about something actually important. Like... I think you're an Adidas girl at heart."
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
There have been places where Umie's made that exact face, but it's rarely been in the open, walking among merchandise like a lion strolling along the savannah, looking at gazelle.
... This must be what it's like to be rich, Umie thinks.
Wait. This guy's rich?
..... Oh, of course he is. The cut and make of his clothing can't be some cheap knockoffs, as far as Umie can tell, and the way he talks makes it clear that he's all about living a finer life.
".... IP?" What sort of business is this guy even running?
"A proper senpai would speak with actions, not looks," she claims, her voice trailing away as she looks at a nice pair of sneakers. That's a nice red, it'd go well with-- what is she saying?! She can't be bought like this!! And oh *course* the t-shirt is alright--
But her shoes *are* going to need being replaced sooner rather than later. Cognitive strengthening or no, she's just too built on utility to believe her 'armor' is 'just as good as the real thing', unless it's...
'but if I had a rival, I would destroy him. Or her. Or them. It's too much for my vibe.'
"And that's exactly why I can't be someone's rival," Umie grumbles. "A fri--" oh god that's how that starts "acquaintance of mine is just as intense about these thing--"
Shiryuu's next comment throws Umie for a loop, as she looks up towards him her lips open in a confused lower-case 'o'.
".... Not everything will be," she coyly says, with a half smirk. "With all sorts of stylish people wandering all over," Persona users, she means, but she can't be candid about that here, "I have to update, especially if I want to survive."
The cocky attitude softens to a lull, a sober sentiment in the blonde's eyes. That one woman, 'Yumi?' had said something about the hydra's heads, and how they act independently. Would that count for Shiryuu, in this case? "An outfit to enter a sacred place and not be seen," she paraphrases, not mentioning the rest of the context, or even where she'll get it from. She'll let the Peacock Silk part be a surprise, through it will mean visiting Tsumugi again...
"And something that'll let me take back what was stolen from me." When she figures out what it is.
Then, as if she didn't say those words at all, she picks up a pair of sneakers with the gaudiest, most eye-melting color combo ever. ".... I guess there's people that can make these work,"
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
"Good," he replies. "So senpai-action your narrow ass over here and start looking at some of these." Shiryuu's clearly had enough of Umie's mess -- in every definition of the term -- and in his place of power, so there's no escape.
One could very well imagine him lounging like a dragon on a pile of rare Nike collaborations, laughing malevolently. Luckily for all, the white crow contractor is a little more subtle than that. Even so, provided an unlimited number of shoes to browse he is much more relaxed. Fashions seem to be his vibe. At least he's not talking about his merch anymore.
Oh, but he is already off on a tangent while Umie is recovering. "Look, this is one of the models from theSoloist collab from Takahiro Miyashita," the young man notices, lifting up a grey shoe in muted respect. "Miyashita-sensei did some good work with his Number (N)ine line, some of those are going for a lot, but this is his latest work. There's an American style to it. Note the understated coloring. Pure Miyashita. These would be great for you, they just look good in any situation. I don't know why."
One of the clerks behind him giggles again. He's about to look when he remembers Umie was talking about rivalries just a minute ago.
"--hey wait, what did you say?" She gets a look from the contractor. "Who's he?" She didn't say. "Are you fraternizing with more police?" She didn't say that either. "Are the police taking rivals now? Was it that Suou? He's still got a fresh beating due from me. Ugh."
Shiryuu exhibits a range of emotions in a very short period of time before settling himself symbolically by setting the theSoloist storm grey shoe on the row with its friends reverently. He sighs.
"Well. At least you know what it takes to be a player in today's world. You might be a good senpai yet." He pauses, his mouth flattening. "But.."
Somber and calm, the contractor mulls. "...the way you say that, makes it seem like the kind of vendetta that gets people killed. Interesting."
He gets distracted by shoes easily, she'll notice. Shiryuu peers at the colorblocked Converse, a colorful explosion looks like it fell out of a grandma's knitting basket right before Christmas. It's nice, but... "Ehn. Stussy is.." he makes a hand and wiggles it at the midline.