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(entered: english)
Speaking of fighting tournaments, I haven't brushed up in a while.
( filtered: puzzledprof (unhackable) )
(entered: english)
Speaking of fighting tournaments, I haven't brushed up in a while.
( filtered: puzzledprof (unhackable) )
He was at Pan's door soon enough, rapping sharply twice (and feeling a bit like a door-to-door salesman, with all the times he'd done this).]
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She had to stand on her tiptoes to look through the peep-hole, then realized she didn't really know what the guy looked like anyway, blurry low-res communicator tag aside, so Pan simply opened the door.]
[...Noticed the scar first of all; that was creepy, but she tried not to look like she noticed it.]
"Mello?"
[Come to think of it, what language did the guy speak?]
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Mello raised an eyebrow at the diminutive girl who was greeting him and replied in kind.]
Yeah. You're Pan?
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Of course. Who did you think?
[He's either impressed or - well, let's hope it's that he's impressed.]
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[He was pretty sure he was treading dangerous territory now, but Mello was nothing if not a fan of pushing people's buttons. Anyone was fair game; it tended to loosen tongues, anyway.]
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I'm fourteen, you jerk! And who the heck asked you for your opinion! So what if I'm short! I'm not calling you a deformed zombie just because you have a freaky face! Jerk!!
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And if you bothered to think about it-- [Tapping his temple with a finger.] You should take it as a compliment that your brain sounded older than you look over the network.
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Whatever. [Still - she moved out of the doorway, back inside, so if he wanted to come in, he could]
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Fine with him; things were more fun that way. He stepped past her and over some of the clutter on the floor with practiced ease.]
So where's this fabled photo of yours?
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[Pan crossed the room, not even noticing the junk on the floor. Her backpack - brought with her from home - was sitting on the unmade bed. It was unzipped, but it still took a little effort to dig through it one handed and tossing the other things onto the mattress. A toothbrush, a sock, an empty bottle of juice, a different photo, a can of soup...
...Geez, where was it? - Aha! The other pocket of the backpack!]
...Here it is! [She held it up in her right hand, victorious.]
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Well, maybe she could actually fight, then; she'd survived a lone trip to the underground, which had to say something. Maybe he'd seriously consider taking her along when the time came.]
Under a minute. Impressive.
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Well, anyway, [she said, heading to present the class photograph to him, her tone lofty;] here it is.
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It looked like it was time to get down to business, though.]
...
[It had been a while since he'd felt the thrill of a real discovery, but Mello managed to contain his excitement--mostly. There wasn't much he could do about the sudden near-manic gleam in his eye.
He looked at the photo a second and a third time, to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him--but no.
"Jonathan Summers" and "Sofia Trevor".
Bingo.]
... Hope you don't mind too much, but. [And out came the communicator; video function manipulated carefully to capture the picture as accurately and as cleanly as possible.]
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[She didn't mind the obviously enraptured staring; Pan considered the photograph hers, and felt somehow proud when other people liked it - but for the same reason, the desire to consider it hers and hers alone...
Pan was left handed. The same arm that was broken. It was for that reason that when she automatically reached out to grab Mello's communicator to stop him that she used her left hand - and therefore had to stop short.
Stupid bulky cast.]
I do mind, as a matter of fact!
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Sorry. Since you wanted to keep the thing, I needed a way to record the information. [A cocky grin as he stashed his communicator again, eyes still glittering.] It's going to be put to good use.
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Now!
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