Kronshi
Obscene Symphony
Nightwing95
5341Ace
Andreyich
Fetzen
LoadedGuns
LemonsTOTSUKA RYUSEI
戸塚 竜星
戸塚 竜星
June 28, 1998
I don't fucking know am
I don't fucking know am
Classes didn't help quell the discontent that had punctuated every step of Ryusei's morning, not that he expected them to in the first place. He wasn't the type who could lose himself in academia like some people, and even if he could, the first week of school wouldn't offer anything challenging enough to occupy the mind of even a dumb hoodlum like himself. Instead of focusing on the light schoolwork, he pondered on his exit strategy—there would inevitably be those just curious enough to come up and talk to him, no matter how much he glowered or sulked. It was only natural; he was an oddity, a new fish added to what seemed like an already pretty small pond. Most would be content to simply whisper behind his back as they paired off with their friends and stuffed their faces, but somehow that was just as bad. He couldn't stay in the classroom when break began.
It wasn't as if he had much of a reason to do so anyway. He hadn't found the time in the few days since his arrival to hit the market, so he had no offerings from home to sate his appetite. There would probably be some kind of cafeteria or a lunch station, but he didn't feel like burning his pocket money on the food at school, not least of which because his heavy appetite would only further stoke the rumor mills his classmates would take to operating. There was a foulness to his expression as the chimes alerted the student body to their temporary freedom, and Ryusei took advantage of it to quickly lift himself from his desk and begin the shuffle out of the classroom. If there was one advantage to being a freakish tall punk of a kid, it was the assured right of way in crowds.
Of course, what he had in freedom of movement, he lacked in knowledge of the school's layout. There had to be somewhere relatively isolated on the school grounds. The roof, maybe, but people tended to congregate up there so they could compete for the title of most dramatic loner. A courtyard would probably work better, since he could use the foliage as cover to escape any would-be pursuers.
It only took him a little longer than he'd have liked to find the stairs leading down to the first floor's exit, and the moment he pressed the door open he was immediately hit with a cocktail of scents that irritated and invigorated him in equal parts. First, the rain. He could practically smell it approaching, especially out in the countryside without the odor of petroleum and smog to hinder the fresh air. With his luck, it would probably start to drizzle while he attempted respite away from his fellows, to say nothing of the bike ride back home. But the second scent, that one was distinctly one he remembered from back in the city. The acrid, pungent smell, smokey and languorous. He remembered his first time lighting one up, puffing down on the thin cylinder of paper and plant matter and trying hard to make it look natural and smooth. How many had he smoked back home, just to do it? Just to feel like he was doing something wrong. Just to make himself look that extra bit cool.
Perhaps, most importantly, when did he become so sentimental for something as stupid as a little cigarette smoke? Maybe it was just the addiction talking—he hadn't smoked since he left Shin-Kobe Station. It had been a few days without, and they were nerve-wracking days. A quick smoke sounded... nice. Comforting, even. A little slice of normalcy. He let his nose guide his eyes, turning towards the right until his pale blues caught the wispy trail billowing from between a redheaded girl's fingers.
"Oi," He said, gruff in his manner despite his intention to inconvenience her, "Give me one of those, would you? I haven't smoked in days."
If nothing else, the nostalgia had softened his grimace just the slightest bit, and his aura of disdain too crumbled with the desire to taste that ashy, familiar flavor.
It wasn't as if he had much of a reason to do so anyway. He hadn't found the time in the few days since his arrival to hit the market, so he had no offerings from home to sate his appetite. There would probably be some kind of cafeteria or a lunch station, but he didn't feel like burning his pocket money on the food at school, not least of which because his heavy appetite would only further stoke the rumor mills his classmates would take to operating. There was a foulness to his expression as the chimes alerted the student body to their temporary freedom, and Ryusei took advantage of it to quickly lift himself from his desk and begin the shuffle out of the classroom. If there was one advantage to being a freakish tall punk of a kid, it was the assured right of way in crowds.
Of course, what he had in freedom of movement, he lacked in knowledge of the school's layout. There had to be somewhere relatively isolated on the school grounds. The roof, maybe, but people tended to congregate up there so they could compete for the title of most dramatic loner. A courtyard would probably work better, since he could use the foliage as cover to escape any would-be pursuers.
It only took him a little longer than he'd have liked to find the stairs leading down to the first floor's exit, and the moment he pressed the door open he was immediately hit with a cocktail of scents that irritated and invigorated him in equal parts. First, the rain. He could practically smell it approaching, especially out in the countryside without the odor of petroleum and smog to hinder the fresh air. With his luck, it would probably start to drizzle while he attempted respite away from his fellows, to say nothing of the bike ride back home. But the second scent, that one was distinctly one he remembered from back in the city. The acrid, pungent smell, smokey and languorous. He remembered his first time lighting one up, puffing down on the thin cylinder of paper and plant matter and trying hard to make it look natural and smooth. How many had he smoked back home, just to do it? Just to feel like he was doing something wrong. Just to make himself look that extra bit cool.
Perhaps, most importantly, when did he become so sentimental for something as stupid as a little cigarette smoke? Maybe it was just the addiction talking—he hadn't smoked since he left Shin-Kobe Station. It had been a few days without, and they were nerve-wracking days. A quick smoke sounded... nice. Comforting, even. A little slice of normalcy. He let his nose guide his eyes, turning towards the right until his pale blues caught the wispy trail billowing from between a redheaded girl's fingers.
"Oi," He said, gruff in his manner despite his intention to inconvenience her, "Give me one of those, would you? I haven't smoked in days."
If nothing else, the nostalgia had softened his grimace just the slightest bit, and his aura of disdain too crumbled with the desire to taste that ashy, familiar flavor.
