005 [HOME LOG]
[Brief explanation: The logs posted throughout this journal will (for now) detail parts of Mitsuru's time returned to her world. OOC commenting is welcome, obviously IC commenting wouldn't make any sense. Any RPing until the end of the logs should be considered to take place before her canon return.]
She doesn't remember entering a door or where she appeared, only that she's in her luxurious bed again, mattress hugging her curves comfortably. Slowly the world filters as if through a radio transmitter to her ears, first the hushed static of hundreds of human voices in tandem- a crowd, cheering along with commentators. By the time she can hear their observations clearly ('That was a text-book left hook, Greg. But text-book is predictable!'), the male voice is piping up again, rising in volume along with the crowd to the rises and falls in whatever martial art it is Akihiko has decided can only be watched on her big screen television.
"Use your left jab! He's wide open!" Akihiko roars, throwing the gloves he's been polishing to the ground with rage. Mitsuru ignores the sound of him practicing punches as she quietly checks that her body is still in an amazing state of health, full of healthy muscle and covered in flawless, unbruised skin. It's only then that she slides out bed, seeing her dorm room completely sober for the first time in years.
"Ah, hey Mitsuru." The boxer by her greets, and now that she's seen him sober in the Mall, Mitsuru knows what's wrong with him. The blaring red tint of his tired eyelids, pinpoint pupils watching her from beyond puffy eyelids.
"Hello, Akihiko." She mutters in answer, almost dreamily. She floats to the cushion beside him, sitting down to watch the half naked men on screen duck and weave around one another in the ring. This is their Friday night routine; give Akihiko his dose, study the days notes while he watches the boxing, dose and join him in watching normal television or films.
Clearly the first part has gone down well: Akihiko is completely absorbed in the Friday Night Fight, and her Chemistry notes are laid by the side neatly. Almost as if she never stepped foot into the Mall at all.
"You look good. Have a good sleep?" He asks comfortably, so high he can't tell she's gained two months health in two hours. Enough that he can't see her eyes are lucid, her manner straightforward and composed.
"I did, thank you." Mitsuru nods.
"Great. I almost took yours 'cause I forgot I took mine already." He chuckles, drops a fist full of red pills from one hand to another. A waterfall of tempation between his rough fingers, each one holding the promise of far away dreams in their sleek, smooth oval forms. Artemisia begs her for it, and Caesar's natural reaction is to growl a low hum of electricity through the television and radio.
"These are yours, right?" Akihiko asks, the unintentional devil in the red vest. She tries to distract herself by thinking about how she really needs to get him to start wearing the school shirt under the vest again, but he jiggles the pills in his hand.
"...No."
It's hard to say, hard to squeeze past her lips, but she manages it.
"Can't hurt." He shrugs.
Can't hurt.
She doesn't remember entering a door or where she appeared, only that she's in her luxurious bed again, mattress hugging her curves comfortably. Slowly the world filters as if through a radio transmitter to her ears, first the hushed static of hundreds of human voices in tandem- a crowd, cheering along with commentators. By the time she can hear their observations clearly ('That was a text-book left hook, Greg. But text-book is predictable!'), the male voice is piping up again, rising in volume along with the crowd to the rises and falls in whatever martial art it is Akihiko has decided can only be watched on her big screen television.
"Use your left jab! He's wide open!" Akihiko roars, throwing the gloves he's been polishing to the ground with rage. Mitsuru ignores the sound of him practicing punches as she quietly checks that her body is still in an amazing state of health, full of healthy muscle and covered in flawless, unbruised skin. It's only then that she slides out bed, seeing her dorm room completely sober for the first time in years.
"Ah, hey Mitsuru." The boxer by her greets, and now that she's seen him sober in the Mall, Mitsuru knows what's wrong with him. The blaring red tint of his tired eyelids, pinpoint pupils watching her from beyond puffy eyelids.
"Hello, Akihiko." She mutters in answer, almost dreamily. She floats to the cushion beside him, sitting down to watch the half naked men on screen duck and weave around one another in the ring. This is their Friday night routine; give Akihiko his dose, study the days notes while he watches the boxing, dose and join him in watching normal television or films.
Clearly the first part has gone down well: Akihiko is completely absorbed in the Friday Night Fight, and her Chemistry notes are laid by the side neatly. Almost as if she never stepped foot into the Mall at all.
"You look good. Have a good sleep?" He asks comfortably, so high he can't tell she's gained two months health in two hours. Enough that he can't see her eyes are lucid, her manner straightforward and composed.
"I did, thank you." Mitsuru nods.
"Great. I almost took yours 'cause I forgot I took mine already." He chuckles, drops a fist full of red pills from one hand to another. A waterfall of tempation between his rough fingers, each one holding the promise of far away dreams in their sleek, smooth oval forms. Artemisia begs her for it, and Caesar's natural reaction is to growl a low hum of electricity through the television and radio.
"These are yours, right?" Akihiko asks, the unintentional devil in the red vest. She tries to distract herself by thinking about how she really needs to get him to start wearing the school shirt under the vest again, but he jiggles the pills in his hand.
"...No."
It's hard to say, hard to squeeze past her lips, but she manages it.
"Can't hurt." He shrugs.
Can't hurt.