Post by Arashiyama Kiyoshi on May 5, 2010 19:44:54 GMT -5
April 28
Evening
It was starting to get a little bit late, Kiyoshi supposed as he ducked through an alley on his way through a series of more-or-less shortcuts to Shibuya station. To make the train home, after all, he'd need to hurry on his way. He had something of a little gift to wrap for someone now, the teen holding a shopping back in hand with a certain sort of smug self-satisfaction. He was, after all, clearly a genius and the best kind of friend anyone could possibly ask for.
There was the not entirely familiar sound, known only through movies and television, of a butterfly knife getting snapped open. Even when asked later, he couldn't recall exactly what was said. Something about not turning around, giving up his wallet, and all that nonsense. It was terribly cliche, he'd recall later, but one couldn't exactly expect a common criminal to have any grasp of using the language properly.
Kiyoshi froze, half-turning his head on instinct, but careful not to show his face. He could see behind him somewhat then, peripheral vision confirming exactly what he thought was going on. He dropped his bag, fingers splaying outwards.
"Oh my," he gasped in a rather good impersonation of a terrified teenager. "Please, I'll give you anything you want."
It was no coincidence that there was a dielectric breakdown between his fingertips when be pressed his thumb and middle finger together.
Oh no, this was not going down the way this filthy punk thought it was.
Evening
It was starting to get a little bit late, Kiyoshi supposed as he ducked through an alley on his way through a series of more-or-less shortcuts to Shibuya station. To make the train home, after all, he'd need to hurry on his way. He had something of a little gift to wrap for someone now, the teen holding a shopping back in hand with a certain sort of smug self-satisfaction. He was, after all, clearly a genius and the best kind of friend anyone could possibly ask for.
There was the not entirely familiar sound, known only through movies and television, of a butterfly knife getting snapped open. Even when asked later, he couldn't recall exactly what was said. Something about not turning around, giving up his wallet, and all that nonsense. It was terribly cliche, he'd recall later, but one couldn't exactly expect a common criminal to have any grasp of using the language properly.
Kiyoshi froze, half-turning his head on instinct, but careful not to show his face. He could see behind him somewhat then, peripheral vision confirming exactly what he thought was going on. He dropped his bag, fingers splaying outwards.
"Oh my," he gasped in a rather good impersonation of a terrified teenager. "Please, I'll give you anything you want."
It was no coincidence that there was a dielectric breakdown between his fingertips when be pressed his thumb and middle finger together.
Oh no, this was not going down the way this filthy punk thought it was.
