NOCT OVERFLOW

[swordhardy]

OVERFLOW & EVENTS

credit

Comments

[swordhardy]

[ Oh, definitely not. Maybe Rokurou won't tell Guanshan right now, wanting to enjoy the privilege of relishing this all for himself for a while. But later? All bets are aaawwwffffffffff. Though he might just keep the picture for himself in the end—some things are just too damn good to share.

He stays quiet when Shinsou begins to sip some water, watching him with that amusement stamped into the arch of his eyebrow and quirk of his mouth. Shinsou's sidelong glance is nothing but funny when he's tinted green, hair sticking up at odd(er) angles.

At the suggestion that someone lives here the daemon gives the room another scan. True enough, now that he isn't focused on Shinsou and his mesh shirt, it does look more stocked than your average weekend cabana might be stocked. Clothes, food, a bed, a desk... the more he picks up, the more obvious it becomes. It's not just a weekend getaway. More like a retirement settlement, someone living their best life just off the water, buying an expensive pad with their retirement savings. ]

Can't say since I wasn't there. [ which is—trrrruuuuue. a means of trying to gentle the blow of stark truth while Shinsou's nursing that hangover. ] Buuuuut you don't live here and there wasn't anyone here when I got in. No one outside either.

[ While rubbing his neck, Rokurou rolls his head, eyes rolling up at the ceiling in consideration. ]

Hmmmm ... maybe someone brought you back here since you were so drunk? Some people are nice enough to let you sleep it off. It's happened to me a few times. Sort of like a bar code, you know?

[ Editing and omitting quite a bit to keep the story PG—he seriously doubts Shinsou got drunk, let some girls do body shots off his pecs, and then went back to their apartment to fuck and then sleep. ]

If not, [ and it's the obvious likely answer that Shinsou broke in, ] we'll just apologize.

[formant]

( rokurou better hope that shinsou's hangover addles his memory, then, because he has his ways of making sure incriminating photos like that one disappear and never come to light.

he'd come to a similar conclusion that rokurou does, upon closer inspection of the cabana. shinsou groans, hanging his head — he appreciates the daemon doing his best to soften the blow of this possibility on his conscience and heroic sensibilities, though he has nagging doubts. )

Well... I've never broken into anywhere before. If I did, something would probably be - well. Broken.

( slowly, agonizingly, he gets to his feet. his footsteps are more like shuffling shambles; he makes his way to the sliding door, pushing it half-way open and taking a look at the porch outside, the steps leading down to the sand and the ocean. he can still see the footprints that rokurou had left, approaching this place. he doesn't see any broken glass or anything... and when he turns back toward the building, he sees the key stuck in the lock. ) Oh. ( he takes it out, showing it to rokurou.

if this was an instance of bar code or whatever, did some stranger give him the key to his place? that would be pretty generous, even for a gem to a gembonded. did he find it under a mat or a rock or something? he doesn't think he had been in any state to find much of anything besides trouble last night, but it's not impossible. if someone left a way into their house lying around, was it really breaking in...?

yes. yes, of course it was. fuck.

he slumps his way back over to half-sit and half-collapse next to rokurou, grunting at a starburst of pain behind his left eye. he presses the water bottle to his forehead again, fidgeting with the key between his fingers. ) Yeah. I guess there's all there is to do about it. 'S why I said I'd fix it... If anything is broken, I can pay. ( hopefully. no, jobless and withdrawn as he is, he isn't exactly flush with cash. it's around this point he realizes the state of what he's wearing. he freezes, sets the key aside, and pulls at the hem of the frankly ridiculous shirt. amazing. incredible! how much more embarrassing could it get!

...

wait. )

Rokurou. ( said in low undertone as he checks his (empty) pockets. ) Can you call my phone?

[swordhardy]

[ Rokurou doesn't refute Shinsou's statement even if he doesn't necessarily agree—it seems like dangerous territory to tell the boy that he seems like the type that could cat-prowl in through someone's slightly ajar window without leaving behind any evidence. While he shambles toward the front door, the daemon remains comfortably on the bed, smile ever-present with arms tucked comfortably in a cross over his chest as Shinsou tries to piece together his night. Just another coming of age moment, aah?

His lips do purse to form a circle when Shinsou holds up the key. He hadn't noticed it when he came inside, but since the door hadn't been locked, it isn't terribly surprising. So either someone gave it to him or he found it outside beneath the mat—all in all, pretty innocent. The room is still in a perfectly fine state, not a puddle of vomit to be seen as proof that he had snuck in like goldilocks and slept in the bear's bed.

He's about to suggest they just leave since it doesn't look like anything's broken when the young hero freezes again. Curious, the daemon tilts his head, already fondling for the phone in his pocket. ]

Sure. [ tap tap tap, his phone lights up as it segues into connecting and ringing Shinsou's line, ] I figured those weren't your clothes. Think you swapped with someone?

[ Ah, does that mean his phone isn't here? That would be the biggest problem if so. ]

It's ringing.

[formant]

( dangerous territory, certainly, because those sound like villainous actions, and shinsou would never allow himself to do something like that. he could act stupid when drunk, sure (doesn't everyone?), but he has to believe he wouldn't go about throwing moral convictions built up over a decade-plus out the window once his blood-alcohol concentration reached a certain threshold.

sure, the supposed crime afoot here is relatively victimless — he hasn't even managed to make much of a mess — but it's still breaking and entering, and shinsou is still enough of a boy scout that it makes him feel doubly sick to his stomach to think about.

so he has to believe a good samaritan had taken pity on him at some point in the wee hours of the morning (not too much of a stretch, given the state he is in now) and with great magnanimity extended the hospitality of their own home... or he had somehow managed to find or procure the key on his own. regardless, he's already planning on trying to make whatever restitution he can before he moves on from this place. )

Of course they're not, ( he mutters in half-undertone, sounding aghast. the only thing keeping him from scavenging an actual shirt from the dresser nearby is an aversion of doing any further Crime. ) I... think something happened to what I was wearing, so...

( his expression contorts; he's trying to remember, but... the details are a blur. why does fire keep registering when he tries to pry at that particular part of the evening?

"it's ringing." he waits. and waits... and waits a moment longer.

nothing. he groans, pinching at the bridge of his nose. )

I must've... left it somewhere, or - ran out of batteries, maybe...

( yeah, it's a Problem. )

[swordhardy]

I don't know a lot about phones ... but do they ring if they're out of battery? It's probably at the bar you were at.

[ Or club or bonfire or wherever Shinsou ended up during the course of the night. There are plenty of party spots around, and even that doesn't discount the fact that he could have dropped it somewhere strange along the way between point A and point B. Or someone having taken it. Broken. Dropped in the ocean, forever lost. Snatched by some unknown stalker making a shrine to Shinsou and his magnificent shock of purple hair as they speak. ]

Uhhhh, you know what? Let's just get you a new one.

[ Or find it later, but no need to stress about that right now. Instead, Rokurou turns his attention back on to the more affronting piece of evidents: Shinsou's garish shirt. It might be distinct enough to stand out against the blur of the evening with a little bit of digging.

Plucking at the sleeve, ]

Focus on this instead. Does it jar any memories? Did you take it from here last night when you got in? [ ah............. ] You—don't tell me you went streaking...

[ Is this the type of drunk Shinsou's turned out to be?? Not impossible. It's always the quiet ones you have to watch out for, they do say that. Maybe alcohol really makes the kid lose all his inhibitions and cut loose. Real loose. ]

[formant]

No... If it's out of batteries, it's dead.

( not that it couldn't be brought back to life, of course, but...

he really doesn't want to think about having to get another one. out of vague curiosity he'd once looked up how much a replacement cost, and it was way out of his price range, even with how modest his current living expenses were (the main factor being that his level of manna generation was similarly modest, as if to keep pace with it). he would also squirm to have any help offered to him, so the best option by far at this point was to... try to backtrack and find it. or maybe someone could find it, charge it (if it needed it), and try to return it to him? that seems a little too optimistic to expect... )

I'd rather not... ( despairing...

he lists further and further away from rokurou at the tugging at his sleeve, crossing his arms (not that it really helps...) and looking perfectly aggrieved. he would really rather not focus on this either, but it's unavoidable at this point. he might not want to go out and buy another phone, but he might acquiesce to going out and buying a more functional and less critically embarrassing shirt. at first the only response he gives is a low, creaking groan from the back of his throat, but at rokurou's last suggestion, he turns to him sharply. ) Of course not!! ( he's seen what kind of drunk he is!! kind of. not that shinsou really drinks to excess all that often (usually only when around bad influences, cough cough). sure, his inhibitions tend to lower just the same as anyone else's, but he doesn't lose them all the way. and it would take nothing more than cataclysmic event to force him into something like streaking... )

I, ah, ( pinching the bridge of his nose again, brow furrowing as he tries to sift through the muddy parade of half-memories, ) I think something - happened to my other one. ( it definitely caught fire. either he was at a bonfire or... doing something less advisable and more dangerous. he can't recall, but maybe at some point. ) I think someone gave me this because it was, uh... better than nothing.

( that, and he probably hadn't cared quite as much then as he does now... )