NOCT OVERFLOW

[swordhardy]

OVERFLOW & EVENTS

credit

Comments

[formant]

( in the alcohol, they had achieved their mission of straight-forward simplicity: a single bottle of sake, and though shinsou has absolutely no eye for the quality of this kind of stuff, it certainly looks fancy. after his last calamitous run-in with alcohol (of a half-dozen different varieties), he finds himself slightly wary. hopefully it isn't that bad. hopefully it's true that being less diversified in what he drank would make it less likely he'd spend most of the following day horizontal and wishing he could sink into the earth.

the snacks, though... it had seemed simple enough to obtain the senbei, but pocky... maybe that had been a little too specific to ask for. were brand names just not something they could expect to find around here? regardless... the elaborate assortment of biscuits and pastries was way more than he expected. he almost feels bad sending rokurou on what seems to have been a wild goose chase, but...

he looks sidelong over to the guy in question, who is looks on to him with the bright, expectant eyes of someone craving some form of recognition. shinsou can almost imagine the rapidly wagging tail (and he doesn't even think that's included in any of rokurou's transformations).

it's fine. it's not like having too many snacks has ever been a bad thing. shinsou cracks a warm smile, giving a soft, half-nervous chuckle. ) You really didn't need to get so much, but... You went above and beyond. ( he reaches up to give him a single pat on the shoulder, leaning into the gesture so it's just a bit of a friendly shove. ) If they had any pocky here, you would've found it, but - honestly, these are probably better.

( pocky is something you grab at the conbini, but some of these look like they came out of a patisserie? he reaches out to grab one of the pirouline wafers, biting off one half of it and gesturing toward the bottle of sake with the other half. ) So... what did you get?

( he remembers how much rokurou had had to say about that one knife — he has a sneaking suspicion he has similar vested interest in this. )

[swordhardy]

None of these are pocky? Ah, well ... I'll find it next time.

[ Even though he hadn't managed to hit the nail on the head that imaginary tail is furiously beating—and though he says nothing to allude to it, Rokurou looks quite pleased with the praise he doesn't even realize he was begging for with a dangerous pair of puppydog eyes.

It's not as though the snacks had even been the important part of this entire endeavor. Clearing his throat, Rokurou turns his attention back to the bottle, grabbing it by the neck to show Shinsou the label. ]

This is a Hana Kizakura White Peach sake. [ helping himself to a seat on the couch, Rokurou takes care to open the bottle even though he doesn't pour it into the awaiting sake cups just yet, ] There are so many different types of sake that, to keep things simple, we’ll going to focus only on some major types.

[ Yes, this is a class and one of his special interests, so buckle up kiddo. ]

There are five main types to remember. First is junmai—which means pure rice sake. Junmai sake tends to have a rich full body with an intense, slightly acidic flavor. They're particularly nice when served warm or at room temperature.

Second, honjozo. The rice quality is the same as junmai, but honjozo contain a small amount of distilled brewers alcohol, which is added to smooth out the flavor and aroma of the sake. Honjozo are often light and easy to drink, and are good both warm or cold. Third, Ginjo, which uses premium rice and brewed using special yeast and fermentation techniques. The result is usually light, fruity, and complex. Typically quite fragrant. It’s easy to drink and best served at either room temperature or chilled, but that's to taste.

Fourth, daiginjo—which is super premium sake and usually what you'll see the richer folks drinking. It needs very precise brewing methods and uses premium rice. Daiginjo are usually served chilled to bring out their complex flavors and aromas.

And fifth is futsushu, which is basically shit. A typical table sake they might give you at the bar. Low quality rice that's barely been polished, it's almost a guaranteed bad hangover, but it'll get the job done if you just want to drink for cheap.

[ Tipping the nose of the bottle, he finally pours two cups and slides one over to Shinsou to try. ]

Try and guess which this one is.

[ Light, sweet, easy to drink with faint floral and peach notes. Whichever could this one be .... it's a mystery. ]

[formant]

Nah. Not quite.

( he at the very least makes that confirmation gentle. really, the suggestion had been an offhand one, and now it looks like they're set for assorted sweets for at least the next few days. shinsou's pleased enough in that, even if noctium's version of pocky still remained elusive to them (if it existed at all).

even before rokurou clears his throat, shinsou had an idea that he was going to be in for another lecture. he'd entered the same kind of excitable fixation when speaking about alcohol as he had when he'd laser-focused on the knife that shinsou had temporarily "borrowed" from him. still, it's not that he's unhappy or wary of that. there's always something enjoyable in watching someone do something they were highly skilled at or listening to them talk about something they were very knowledgable on. he can only hope to absorb as much information as he can in a short amount of time.

he hasn't been in class for some time at this point, but he tries his best to resume that student-like mentality.

he nods dutifully as he sits on the couch next to rokurou, inspecting the bottle when proffered. otherwise, he listens, and he listens well; it's a quality of shinsou's, and it has been useful considering he isn't exactly the most energetic conversationalist. he has the open mien of someone attentive and receptive. he does what he can to memorize the names and types (should he be taking notes...? hm), and when rokurou pours the sake cups full, he takes it and ruminates on the question. curious, he lifts the cup up to smell -- sure enough, it's faint, but he can detect the edge of the sweet scent of peach. )

Mm... ( he hums thoughtfully, then answering, ) Futsushu, right? ( said with a perfectly straight face as he takes a sip, and even then, his expression doesn't modulate much. the thing about shinsou is that he's not a terribly great liar when it matters. still (almost frustratingly) lawful good, despite what someone might think of a person with a power like his quirk, he tends to think honesty is the best policy with anything weighty enough to come back around and bite him in the ass later. attempting to lie about something like that would make him obviously anxious; a dead give-away.

dumb shit that didn't matter, though? a surprisingly good liar. a perfectly-composed poker face. he already thinks he likes the sake more than most of the alcohol he had tried with guanshan. it was easy to drink without the sour kick of aftertaste that cheap beer had, and it didn't scour his throat like liquor. anyways, he's let rokurou sit too long with his poor answer. he gives him a sly, broad smile, setting the cup back down on the table. )

Just kidding. From what you said, I'd think the third one. Ginjo?

[swordhardy]

[ Shinsou really is a good one.

When Rokurou speaks, the younger man listens, giving attention to a subject that he doesn't much care about. It's akin to respect, and not for the subject matter itself—the fact that his eyes haven't glazed over in a matter of seconds into that spiel is telling. It's things like this that the daemon notices—not necessarily something he'll comment on, but a thought he'll tuck in mental library stores of the people he's met. Even when exasperated, Shinsou's a good sport.

He also absorbs knowledge well. Smart—probably quick with application, too, though that's a guess based on what the daemon's gleaned. It's quite a bit of intel in one sitting, offered without breaks, a means to test as much as it is to impart alcoholic wisdom. Shinsou is promising prey—with a few more years of hard work, he might be too appealing to resist. ]

Futsushu! [ he laughs the word once Shinsou's serious visage cracks a hair, held out longer than a few beats, ] If you really thought so, you'd have the tongue of an emperor.

[ Really, almost giving him a heart attack there .... ]

You're right, it's Ginjo. I almost picked up a few for you to try but figured one's good enough to start with. [ you know, after switching through a couple at the bar; variety is the spice of life, but sometimes simple is good too. ] I like something light when having snacks like this. It's easy to drink and peach pairs well with chocolate.

[ He may have missed the mark on pocky but some of his buscuit choices are dipped in chocolate—he helps himself to one, snapping a piece of cookie between his teeth. A bite he follows up with a sip, just enough to wet his tongue with the flavor. ]

Another part of drinking is pairing it with foods that have complementary flavors. Chocolate can be heavy, so cutting that with something fresh is nice.

[formant]

( though the majority of shinsou's social experience has been here (and back home, only within the last year or so), he's by nature a more passive participant in conversation, happily willing to listen with keen attention and provide occasional questions and insight. it works out well in this case; he can allow rokurou to carry the lion's share of the conversational weight, and even though he probably wouldn't be taking a fraction of the guy's personal interest in fine sake, he can at the very least appreciate the effort of teaching him by putting away a few facts that he can present again now and again, just to prove he had been listening.

still, if given the opportunity to mess with someone... he will usually take it. especially now, having gone through the gradual months-long process of uncoiling himself from how severe and serious he'd grown in his training with aizawa-sensei. he chuckles to himself at rokurou's reaction, looking down at the small glass in his hand as he swirls the faintly-colored alcohol with a flick of the wrist. though as soon as rokurou reaches for a snack, his attention leaps back up to him, his energy shifting as he remembers what had happened when they had made takoyaki.

fortunately for both of them (but mostly shinsou), rokurou manages to eat and drink before starting to speak again, so the risk of choking once again is diminished. though... it mostly seems to have been in demonstration. shinsou is relieved, but he doesn't fully relax just yet. )

Huh. ( he reaches out for one of the chocolate-dipped biscuits as well. ) I didn't know so much thought went into things like that. ( he imitates rokurou, taking a bite of the cookie before following that with a sip of the sake.

he's... not entirely sure he gets it. he thinks the sake is far more palatable than a lot of the other alcohol he's drank thus far, but there's a distance separating "I can drink this" and "I like drinking this." something like that would probably have to develop with time, as would the maturity of taste which distinguishing between different types and flavors might require.

all that having been said, even as young and unrefined as he is, he can detect some synergy between the sweetness of the chocolate and the floral tinge of the alcohol, even if it's slight. after a moment's consideration he sighs, a brief rush of an exhale through his nose. nothing's ever really come naturally to him; like rokurou, he's the type that has to work tirelessly to achieve anything extraordinary. but still, there's always a faint disappointment when he seems to fail at first jump. )

I, uh - I think I understand what you mean. ( a positively rousing affirmation. )

[swordhardy]

[ Rokurou watches as Shinsou gives it the old college try. A good kid, a considerate kid, humoring the daemon on something that's so clearly out of the range of interest. Yet he still does it—Rokurou watches as Shinsou's brow creases with thought and focus, knowing too well how everything must be knocking around his skull as he tries to put the slew of knowledge with the action. It's been a long time since he first started drinking but he hasn't forgotten how it had only seemed like a strange blend of sweet with a somewhat vinegary-tart aftertaste once the juice began to fade off. They're memories that share the same lingering flavor of bittersweet.

Sipping from his own cup, a soft chuckle tickles his throat when the tentative response finally comes. ]

It's something you'll notice the more with time. It'll probably take you a few years to really get it. [ happy and content, Rokurou rests his chin on his hand, resting comfortably against the arm of the couch. ] My brother said the same thing to me when I started trying it. I thought he was full of it at the time, but it's true. Things like your taste change as you get older.

[ Ah—he pauses, considering something, and then adds with another little grin, ]

But my favorite snack hasn't changed. I'll eat candied sweet potatoes until the day I die. That's a combination of savory and sweet that just can't be beat.

[ Unable to resist, he reaches out to pat the top of Shinsou's head. He'd noticed how the boy hadn't seemed to love it when he had done it before, but it's so cottony and purple, Rokurou can't stop himself from giving it an affectionate scrub. ]

Just a few sips is fine. Sake isn't a drink you have to pound down.

[formant]

( out of his immediate interest, sure, but... there's something to it more than just humoring rokurou — that's certainly a part of it, but just like when guanshan had taken him out drinking, there's something to this that's almost ceremonial. a sort of rite-of-passage that he shoulders like a challenge, not wanting to either waste the opportunity or take it for granted. after the impromptu lecture he had gotten on different types of knives on the night they'd first met, he'd had a vague inkling that rokurou might be so thorough when he'd agreed to this. so he had come with the expectation to try to absorb as much information as he could.

because, hey, maybe he could use it later to help himself look cool and refined in front of others far less intimately initiated with all the varieties of sake. maybe.

his shoulders sink at the response, but he doesn't argue; he just issues a short, slightly defeated nod. more and more he feels like that's the response he gets: it takes time. shinsou isn't necessarily in a rush to grow up. he's especially conflicted about that now, when every year that might pass here takes him further and further away from the life he would have had back at school. further away from the person he had been back there, back then. somehow being too young and inexperienced to enjoy something properly and somewhat weary of rushing headlong into remediating that ended up the worst of both worlds.

he glances back up to rokurou as he continues, thoughtfulness pressing a crease in-between his brows. he doesn't voice it just yet. he's trying to remember if rokurou had mentioned having a brother before. shinsou isn't really the type to pry, so when information is offered willingly, he holds onto it — the type of kid perceptive enough that even things said in passing were likely to stick in the surface of his mind. )

Candied sweet potatoes, huh... I'll keep that in mind. ( since he thinks that might be something even he can manage on his own. any further reply is delayed by the hand settling onto the crown of his head, ruffling through the shock of wild purple hair. shinsou... puts up with it. he's of two minds on it. on one hand, he can sense the affection in the gesture, and he'd gravitate towards any shred of that he could find. but there's something about it that makes him feel like he's being treated like a kid, even if that's not necessarily the intent.

that's probably something more tangled up in shinsou's insecurities than anything else. )

Mn, ( he hums in reply as he lightly shakes his head, letting rokurou know that he'd given him a moment to do as he'd wanted, but now that moment was over. ) Good. I'm done with that kind of alcohol for a while. ( he still gets a little green around the gills, remembering that last vodka shot. he lifts his cup of sake back to his lips, taking another pensive sip.

after: ) How old were you when you first started drinking, then? ( a brief pause, then, somewhat hesitant, ) Was it your brother who gave you some?

[swordhardy]

[ There used to be stray cats around the Rangetsu clan's property. Proud, scrappy things, scarred from fighting amongst each other and swiping at the smaller daemons that would try to break in from the outskirts. Shigure used to dote upon them, bringing them fresh water and food, attempting to exchange goods for a little bit of feline affection. Rokurou never fed them—Shigure did, so he would never, that was his brother's vice—but would watch from a distance how they would tolerate Shigure's strong hand patting over their heads for the sake of fresh tuna.

Never for long. They would swipe with their paws and scratch him quickly enough—and it's those cats that Shinsou reminds him of now. Proud but tolerant. Knowing better than to test the thread, Rokurou's hand drops off soon enough with a hint of nostalgia tinting over the flavor of the sake. A little piece of him had always wanted to go and feed the cats too, maybe stroke the top of a head ... but he would never do anything Shigure did, contrary on principle.

(It probably wouldn't make Shinsou feel any better to know that he's being treated like a cat, not a kid.) ]

It was. My father died when I was very young—I barely even remember him—so I guess my brother was... well. [ he hesitates, a rare crease pressing itself between his brows as that offending hand raises to rub over his own neck; an old habit. ] I actually had five older brothers. Four of them died when I was pretty young, too. And then my mother was killed ... my oldest brother ended up showing me a lot. He was ten years older than me, so he assumed that responsibility until I could care for myself.

[ There's much unspoken there. A sordid history, a messy relationship, a complicated clan with some strange values and traditions... it's a lot to unpack, which is why he usually doesn't. ]

I think I was about thirteen when I started? I could already die on a mission at that age, so stopping me from drinking seemed silly even if I wasn't technically of age. The lord we served certainly didn't care.

[ He shrugs, dropping his arm back down to reach for his cup. ]

That's how it was in my clan.

[formant]

( he is just as reticent about it as pretty much everything about himself, but shinsou has his own deep-seated affection for cats, much like rokurou's brother. he had never been allowed one of his own in the house (allergies, on his father's side), but that hadn't stopped him from taking sizable detours out of his day-to-day to visit with cats that he'd happen across in the city. he had a way with them because they functioned on similar wavelengths. standoffish to many though very attached to a select few, patient but wary, and demanding of patience in that wariness. it hadn't been until he'd come here and started transforming into something vaguely cat-like on a semi-regular basis that he'd realized that he vastly prefers to be around cats than to be one himself. fur is hot and itchy, for one, and the other is that —

he can't really stand how it makes people treat him, sometimes. he now understands all the cats that would hiss and spit when strangers would approach and expect to be able to pet them. he'd do the same!

perhaps he senses a similarity to that and how rokurou treats him now, but if he does, he decides to overlook it. he also decides to extend to the older man a willingness to put up with his bullshit out of an... appreciation? feeling of gratitude? he doesn't really know. he does know that there's a part of him that kind of likes the attention, but the rest ends up conflicted on exactly what type it was and where it stemmed from.

he listens, thoughtful, occasionally drinking from his cup of sake — a cup that starts to run empty, by the end of rokurou's answer on his family. shinsou is careful to maintain his expression. impassive as always, though there's a heartfelt sort of hesitance reflected in the look in his eyes. he doesn't seem offput by how much rokurou had shared; if anything, he's... happy to have a greater understanding of the guy and just how different the worlds they came from were from one another. tragic circumstances were not unheard of, where shinsou is from — there were plenty of heroes that died in the line of duty and left their children to be raised by relatives (or no one at all) — but he gets the sense that the inherent danger either posed by rokurou's world or to his family (or a complicated intermingling of the two) was on an entirely different scale of magnitude than what he was familiar with. to have lost so much of his family so early...

and it didn't take one as insightful as shinsou to glean that these would be dangerous waters to plunge into with thoughtless questions, their shallows perilously scattered with the wreckage and debris of the past. he accepts the information in a way that is customary to him, also pausing to think over it in a way that is much the same. )

Back home, ( he ventures, holding his cup of sake between both hands in front of him, ) I - could be a professional hero for a few years before being able to drink legally. A hero-in-training with a provisional license, even longer.

( he chuckles, the sound half-derisive. ) Kind of stupid, when you think about it. ( trusted by the common public to patrol the streets and protect them from the heinous machinations of villains, but not allowed to drink a beer on off-hours? there were plenty of newly-minted heroes that didn't make it through those first few years, as well. there were some who didn't make it through school.

he doesn't seem quite finished talking, though he perches for a moment on the knife's edge of deciding whether or not to continue — it reflects in his physicality, too, with a rounding of his shoulders. )

Where you come from... It seems like a harsh place.

[swordhardy]

[ There's no remorse or sorrow to be found, from the dameon's posture to expression. It's all very matter of fact, as though he might be telling a story that belongs to another man. When the words come, it almost does feel that way—there's strong dissonance between who he used to be and who he is now. A life far away, belonging to someone who would hate the daemon sitting beside Shinsou now on principle alone. The Rangetsu hunted the daemons that tried to scuttle onto their lands; it's laughably ironic how he's become one since, even more so that he feels more comfortable this way than he ever did when he was human.

He senses Shinsou's hesitance. Appreciates it with a little wry smile, even if he finds it unnecessary. If he hadn't wanted him to know he wouldn't have said anything. It's quite easy to omit what you want, depending on how you phrase what you're saying. Even now, with what seems a load left out in the open, lacks so much context and detail.

When the cup is held forward in the curve of the young hero's hands, Rokurou tips the bottle and fills it. ]

True enough. My clan had its own particularities, too.

[ Already brandishing the bottle, Rokurou tops his own cup off before returning the base back to the table. A moment to mull over what Shinsou's told him in turn. This isn't the first time he's heard of that society, he realizes—where heroes are some kind of profession—but he's again struck with how problematic that structure could be. Once you start commodifying heroism, it seems to him that it can bring with it a slew of both class and moral quandaries ... and he has to wonder if some villainy could end up a direct result of such a structure. The Abbey back home was the direct progenitor of several of its own foes. Velvet, the so-called Lord of Calamity herself, is only one vengeance-riddled figure.

But—eh, what does he, the farthest thing from a hero, know? Maybe it works back where Shinsou's from. Fighting from a young age is incredibly familiar to him, so he doesn't blink at the thought of just how young one could be before delving directly into danger. ]

Is that what you're trying to be? A professional hero?

[ It is stupid that they don't allow them to drink when they're putting their lives on the line, but that goes unsaid. ]

[formant]

( the phlegmatic way by which rokurou recounts the details of his past speaks even louder than the words themselves. it's easy enough for shinsou to admit that his own abrasions are far less grievous, but the circumstances which had produced them had been extremely different. was it easier to become apathetic to hardship when the world that you lived in made so many more things harsh and difficult? the place where shinsou comes from seems almost mild and mundane in comparison (which is a crazy thing to think, considering what sort of place it is), or at the very least his own life there had been. with less to harden his heart, the comparatively minor wounds persisted, stubborn to heal properly; he doesn't give indication to them often, but the keen and insightful can catch glimpses of them through gaps in his usual stoicism.

it's always been a front, regardless — a carefully-developed defensive mechanism. beneath a stony-faced countenance, shinsou has a soft heart that was honest to a fault, an entangling streak of sentimentality that had never tangled his feet or his tongue even a fraction as much as it had here.

rokurou obliges to refill his cup, and he nods, both in gratitude and in acknowledgement of what he said.

his is a society with more than its fair share of problems. shinsou has experienced facets of this that most people don't even realize, having borne the brunt of discrimination and unwarranted suspicion for nearly his entire life. perhaps it should have made him bitter of the whole construction of it all, more incisive and critical of a social architecture which alienated people who were born with bodies or intrinsic abilities which were either inconvenient to others or perceived as threatening or overly dangerous. give him a few years back home, and maybe he would get to that point; he had already nearly had to give up on his dream of becoming a hero because his quirk was spectacularly poor at fighting giant robots (the yardstick by which the school with the most exemplary hero program measured by, apparently). a surprising number of villains had once wanted to be heroes, but for some reason or other had failed. but as he is now, he is still blindered by his own youthful idealism and internal drive to do good; he still wants to be every inch the hero he believes he can be, the kind of hero his mentor would be proud to have put himself out on a limb to train for a second chance.

maybe that's his own miniature rebellion against hero society: becoming a hero would force people to come to terms with someone with a quirk like his attaining such a position of power and renown. but, considering it was just playing back into that society at large... it really wasn't much of a rebellion at all, was it?

he'd probably continue to think about it more, either here or if he ever returned back to the life he'd left trailing off back home. but he's still as dead-set on his goal as he's ever been, as dogged in his determination as anyone else with a chip on their shoulder and everything to prove. )

...Yeah. ( he pauses, taking a sip of the sake before continuing. he holds it in his mouth a moment longer than usual, attempting to better judge the complicated combination of taste before once again giving up. ) I don't have much experience, though. I'd only just gotten my transfer approved at my school. I, uh - didn't pass the first entrance exam.

( he shifts in place, slowly turning the cup of sake in an aimless fidget — anyone who spends any amount of time with shinsou would pick up that he tended to worry at things with his hands. ) I know other people can think it's a pretty weird thing to want to be. Professionally, at least.