Night 56: M31-M40 Hallway

[poorexample]

Once again, dinner had passed by quietly, though Castiel could not complain about some solitude, even if it was spent in the company of one troubled teenager. He had gotten by with only a few bites of the food, the "Tasty Meal" from earlier having done an adequate job of sating his hunger

Comments

[forgot_it_all]

"..." That confirmed it - his roommate was weird. The guy laughed and honked the little bicycle horn he had, explaining his adoration for creepy make-up wearing circus comedians and Ritsuka couldn't help but stare. He followed them? For a living? Ritsuka wasn't sure if Gamzee meant that he was a troll clown or if he was just...weird. He'd never heard of anyone following clowns and their way of life. To be honest, Ritsuka didn't even know that clowns had a way of life

[mirthfulness]

Fake stuff? Well, even if it was fake it was still stuff, right? And some stuff was better than no stuff. Maybe. "Upstairs? Yeah, bro. We was all up and explorin' around there last night. Check this shit out what I got." He reached for the hideous fuzzy sweater, holding it up for his roommate to see. Despite how ugly it was, and how it most likely belonged to one of the more elderly of the Institute's staff, he seemed particularly proud of the find.

If Ritsuka was lucky, he might forget to wear it. But then, it was a little chilly outside. "Ain't that just the most wicked motherfuckin' cover you ever saw?" Because if his tastes weren't questionable before, there was the added kicker

[forgot_it_all]

That sweater was old. Like, so old his hypothetical grandparents might look at it and go "wow, that's old" and put it back in the bin where they found it. Oddly enough, however, it seemed to match the weird color and fashion scheme his roommate had going with the crazy pants and the philosophy of following clowns, which, in its own way, was a type of fashion consciousness. If all clowns dressed like that, it was no wonder some people had a pathological fear of them. Or maybe it wasn't pathological. Who knew what clowns were really thinking behind those plastered on smiles