Phase
Rabidporcupine
Citrus
Candelabra
TheMushroomLord
Lucid Dreaming
Xaltwind
Kumbaris
stoneNorthwestern District
Mana didn’t say anything more, and Kouta let out a pained smile at her silence. The conversation was over, wasn’t it? He nodded slightly towards the overworked manager, before pocketing his pack of gum.
“Keep it touch, alright?” he repeated once more, to the lethargic convenience store part-timer’s silence again, and then turned around, exiting.
Filtered through the glass doors and lit in the gray morning, the delinquent really did look so much less vibrant than he used to, back in the days where Mana and him were both young and unburdened.
“Keep it touch, alright?” he repeated once more, to the lethargic convenience store part-timer’s silence again, and then turned around, exiting.
Filtered through the glass doors and lit in the gray morning, the delinquent really did look so much less vibrant than he used to, back in the days where Mana and him were both young and unburdened.
Central District
Outside, it was cloudy but quiet, the sky looming close but promising no rain. There was only a gloomy dampness in the air, a chill brought by a silent wind. As the Okinawan held the door for Miyane, he signalled the others to continue with their own tasks, being the only one to stay behind. Ostensibly, he would remain with the former star, at least until she found it fit to head out of the grounds of Tamagakahara, positioning himself beside the emergency exit.
Miyane’s call was answered after five long rings, the smooth, dulcet voice of Daehyun answering, “<<Morning, Miyane-ssi. Slept well?>>”
In the background, the strumming of guitar strings and the tip-tapping of drumsticks could be heard, as conversation in Japanese, incomprehensible but certainly not inaudible, show back and forth, interspersed by raucous laughter.
Miyane’s call was answered after five long rings, the smooth, dulcet voice of Daehyun answering, “<<Morning, Miyane-ssi. Slept well?>>”
In the background, the strumming of guitar strings and the tip-tapping of drumsticks could be heard, as conversation in Japanese, incomprehensible but certainly not inaudible, show back and forth, interspersed by raucous laughter.
Southern District
“Ishiyama Tsurushi, mm?” Yasuo repeated, leaning forward to mark down another couple of numbers in his own sudoku book. “Pretty crazy you’d walk so far down, considering how the psychologists with the actually-rich clients would all be Central, but hey, no judgment.”
He shrugged, smiled, then frowned when it looked like his pen had dried up. Slipping it into his pocket, the handkerchief boy stretched his right hand out, cracking each finger back in a way that was satisfying but also sorta cringe-inducing.
“It’ll probs help,” Yasuo said, after another moment. “Hitsu’s pretty good at her job, after all. Used to be like, super big in the field ‘fore stuff happened and she set up her own practice. And hey, considering her usual clientele…”
The youth trailed off from there, before winking.
“It’ll be fine.”
Was that how he was positioned? One could never be sure, in the end, but neither did it really matter. The inconsistency between how his incorporeal body was positioned and how his corporeal body was positioned was fixed with a quick jerk of movements, wholly awkward but not massively obvious. Marc hadn’t knocked anything over while his body spasmed, after all, and soon enough, he was free to move once more, the sounds of the once-silent live house now resounding brightly through the backstage.
The stage area, far off, was a mecca of noise as people shouted over each other, each handling more tasks than they had hands and feet for. In the rooms reserved for the few bands that had arrived, the tuning of instruments and the vocal exercises of singers all mixing together in a quagmire of noise. Had it always been so loud, or had it just been numbed back when Marc was eavesdropping through the door?
Before he could go through the complex set of maneuvers required to move through all the stage equipment in the back, however, one of the part-timers at Galaxy popped up, a tall woman with short, silver hair and gray eyes. Pale, whether through lack of sleep or natural complexion, she wore a black t-shirt with the Galaxy logo printed upon it, and carried two boxes of miscellaneous junk.
“Oi!” she called out, spotting Marc almost immediately, “Who you with?”
He shrugged, smiled, then frowned when it looked like his pen had dried up. Slipping it into his pocket, the handkerchief boy stretched his right hand out, cracking each finger back in a way that was satisfying but also sorta cringe-inducing.
“It’ll probs help,” Yasuo said, after another moment. “Hitsu’s pretty good at her job, after all. Used to be like, super big in the field ‘fore stuff happened and she set up her own practice. And hey, considering her usual clientele…”
The youth trailed off from there, before winking.
“It’ll be fine.”
Was that how he was positioned? One could never be sure, in the end, but neither did it really matter. The inconsistency between how his incorporeal body was positioned and how his corporeal body was positioned was fixed with a quick jerk of movements, wholly awkward but not massively obvious. Marc hadn’t knocked anything over while his body spasmed, after all, and soon enough, he was free to move once more, the sounds of the once-silent live house now resounding brightly through the backstage.
The stage area, far off, was a mecca of noise as people shouted over each other, each handling more tasks than they had hands and feet for. In the rooms reserved for the few bands that had arrived, the tuning of instruments and the vocal exercises of singers all mixing together in a quagmire of noise. Had it always been so loud, or had it just been numbed back when Marc was eavesdropping through the door?
Before he could go through the complex set of maneuvers required to move through all the stage equipment in the back, however, one of the part-timers at Galaxy popped up, a tall woman with short, silver hair and gray eyes. Pale, whether through lack of sleep or natural complexion, she wore a black t-shirt with the Galaxy logo printed upon it, and carried two boxes of miscellaneous junk.
“Oi!” she called out, spotting Marc almost immediately, “Who you with?”
