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metamorphosis2012-09-17 12:52 pm
flair) wrote in metamorphosis2012-09-17 12:52 pm
Entry tags:
450;
Title: vol 1
Characters: Mitsuru Kirijo, Shinjiro Aragaki
Rating: G
171/365.
“He's not bad.” Shinjiro stretches back, feels his fingers brush against the leather seat. Mitsuru watches the world speed by beside her. “He's just a dumbass.”
“While I wouldn't use such language --” A pointed look over perfectly manicured nails, reflected in the glass. He wonders if she ever bites them to the skin, bleeding. Probably not. “I'm inclined to agree.”
Aside from her driver, it was just the two of them. Let's enjoy the summer, she had said. A week won't hurt. It wasn't like her to be taken by fancy, but – maybe they needed a break. Going out every night wasn't the best thing for first-years. A little time off from their duty as SEES wouldn't be so bad.
Although, Shinjiro would have to argue against the idea of going to the beach. Sand, sun, water – he wasn't good at any of those. But Mitsuru's family had a house by one, or so she said, and Akihiko couldn't wait to train in the waves. They had sent him ahead, since he was so eager.
Maybe he should've gone with him, instead of accompanying the Kirijo heiress.
He had nothing against Mitsuru, but she was cold. She matched Akihiko perfectly – where his fists hit hard, her words struck harder – and she was adverse to the idea of nicknames. Maybe not adverse, but definitely not one to accept it without a stare as icy as her Persona.
She stirs beside him quietly, crossing her legs at the ankles and drumming her lacquered red nails against the car door. She's nervous, he realizes. A second wave hits him – that she probably hadn't been alone with a guy for such a long time, barring chauffeurs. It was almost cute.
He was no good at small talk – Akihiko had told him, once, that talking to him was like talking to an ass sitting on a wall – but he could manage some light conversation. They'd probably be arriving any minute now anyway, and then Akihiko could warm the silence.
“Do you like the ocean?” Mitsuru raises her eyes to match his in the window. There's surprise in the amber depths, and it fades away when she turns to meet him. That controlled look of a heiress is back. He wants to make it disappear, somehow.
“Yes.” The answer comes after a moment of unneeded thought. “It's warm and open. It's very...” She struggles for the word, and Shinjiro brushes a piece of stray hair from her eyes. The surprise returns, and he smirks. She continues, turning her face as if nothing had occurred. “It's very nice. I wish I could go more often.”
“I'm not too fond of 'em myself, but Aki loves it. Says they're great spots for training. If you ask me, he's damn near obsessed with all this power shit.”
“Is there a reason you don't like them?”
Shinjiro watches the city turn, abruptly, into open air. He rolls the window down, tastes the salt on his lips; they're unexpectedly close. He doesn't answer until the window's back up and he finds her eyes trained on him, trying to pick him apart. Every little thing – not to use against him, but for him. Akihiko had told him that Mitsuru was like a mother – that she took into account what people didn't like or care for and changed the situation accordingly. It was weird, but not unwelcome.
“Too much sand.” It's dismissive, and he watches a perfect eyebrow arch in reply. “'Sides, Aki always wants to build castles when we go. And we ain't gone a hell of a lot of times. How many sandcastles do you think a couple of kids can build in a day or two?”
A wry smile forms on her lips, and he feels irritated for feeling proud at changing that cool look again. “How many?” She asks, fingers finally settling in her lap instead of tap-dancing on the window.
“Too many.” His fingers stretch and brush the back of the leather seat, and the silence that follows is comfortable instead of awkward.
It's not too bad, he decides.
Characters: Mitsuru Kirijo, Shinjiro Aragaki
Rating: G
171/365.
“He's not bad.” Shinjiro stretches back, feels his fingers brush against the leather seat. Mitsuru watches the world speed by beside her. “He's just a dumbass.”
“While I wouldn't use such language --” A pointed look over perfectly manicured nails, reflected in the glass. He wonders if she ever bites them to the skin, bleeding. Probably not. “I'm inclined to agree.”
Aside from her driver, it was just the two of them. Let's enjoy the summer, she had said. A week won't hurt. It wasn't like her to be taken by fancy, but – maybe they needed a break. Going out every night wasn't the best thing for first-years. A little time off from their duty as SEES wouldn't be so bad.
Although, Shinjiro would have to argue against the idea of going to the beach. Sand, sun, water – he wasn't good at any of those. But Mitsuru's family had a house by one, or so she said, and Akihiko couldn't wait to train in the waves. They had sent him ahead, since he was so eager.
Maybe he should've gone with him, instead of accompanying the Kirijo heiress.
He had nothing against Mitsuru, but she was cold. She matched Akihiko perfectly – where his fists hit hard, her words struck harder – and she was adverse to the idea of nicknames. Maybe not adverse, but definitely not one to accept it without a stare as icy as her Persona.
She stirs beside him quietly, crossing her legs at the ankles and drumming her lacquered red nails against the car door. She's nervous, he realizes. A second wave hits him – that she probably hadn't been alone with a guy for such a long time, barring chauffeurs. It was almost cute.
He was no good at small talk – Akihiko had told him, once, that talking to him was like talking to an ass sitting on a wall – but he could manage some light conversation. They'd probably be arriving any minute now anyway, and then Akihiko could warm the silence.
“Do you like the ocean?” Mitsuru raises her eyes to match his in the window. There's surprise in the amber depths, and it fades away when she turns to meet him. That controlled look of a heiress is back. He wants to make it disappear, somehow.
“Yes.” The answer comes after a moment of unneeded thought. “It's warm and open. It's very...” She struggles for the word, and Shinjiro brushes a piece of stray hair from her eyes. The surprise returns, and he smirks. She continues, turning her face as if nothing had occurred. “It's very nice. I wish I could go more often.”
“I'm not too fond of 'em myself, but Aki loves it. Says they're great spots for training. If you ask me, he's damn near obsessed with all this power shit.”
“Is there a reason you don't like them?”
Shinjiro watches the city turn, abruptly, into open air. He rolls the window down, tastes the salt on his lips; they're unexpectedly close. He doesn't answer until the window's back up and he finds her eyes trained on him, trying to pick him apart. Every little thing – not to use against him, but for him. Akihiko had told him that Mitsuru was like a mother – that she took into account what people didn't like or care for and changed the situation accordingly. It was weird, but not unwelcome.
“Too much sand.” It's dismissive, and he watches a perfect eyebrow arch in reply. “'Sides, Aki always wants to build castles when we go. And we ain't gone a hell of a lot of times. How many sandcastles do you think a couple of kids can build in a day or two?”
A wry smile forms on her lips, and he feels irritated for feeling proud at changing that cool look again. “How many?” She asks, fingers finally settling in her lap instead of tap-dancing on the window.
“Too many.” His fingers stretch and brush the back of the leather seat, and the silence that follows is comfortable instead of awkward.
It's not too bad, he decides.