01: Wake Up, Girl!
Crimson Flight
华裔机甲迷
- Location
- Victoria, Australia
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Axe-Wielding Psycho
You start the day by cracking in your skull with a hammer.
"Blughgh."
Well, metaphorically. The ringing of your alarm isn't really an actual hammer or anything, but the noise is painful enough - to the extent that your brain wants to leak right out of your beautiful ears - that you're more than willing to stretch the definition of a hammer a little further. It's a seriously demonic sound, and sometimes you debate replacing it with something gentler - like, Marty Friedman shredding or whatever - except then you remember that you're not gonna wake up with anything less than pain.
Kinda makes you sound like a masochist. Damn, maybe you should just give up on mornings and sleep in more.
But not today. Fetishes aside, the alarm did its job real well in slapping you wide awake, and there's no way you're gonna be hitting the sack again while your head still feels like a gorilla sat on it. So instead, you just decide to roll straight off the bed, floating out from under the covers and levitating across the floor towards the bathroom.
If you weren't an esper, mornings would be seriously hellish.
The scenery suddenly shifts as your body jerks, ratty carpet giving way to cracked white tiles for the shortest of moments before you find yourself upright and almost tripping into the bathroom counter, stumbling along on your two bare feet just as God originally intended. Not that you stumbled that much - you made sure to grab the sink real tight before you went and did something stupid like headbutting the mirror. Then you might've cracked in your skull for real! Way too dicey a proposition.
"Bluuuuuh."
You groggily stare into the glass. A dishevelled teenage girl, short red hair totally in the grasp of bedhead (a redhead with bedhead, hehe), stares right back.
Masaki Matsumoto, that's you. A few IQ points short while your body boots itself up, but it's definitely still you.
Your toothbrush glides up into the air, followed shortly by a nearly empty tube of toothpaste (which you need to replace at some point - you should have some more in the cupboards, right?). Its dwindling contents don't prove a problem at all to your telekinesis - unlike the Innocents, you don't have to struggle with the tube, because the paste is automatically applied to the brush with practised ease. It's entirely rote by now, the culmination of years and years of habit.
Which is great for you, because while your powers are instinctively guiding the brush through your mouth, liberating your teeth from the threat of plaque-induced decay, you can focus your limited morning brainpower on more salient matters. Like trying to remember the lyrics to a song you tried writing last night, or just something super mundane like finding your uniform amongst all the stuff you have lying around.
Because as your brain helpfully reminds you, it's a school day!
You walk out of the bathroom, your teeth still in the midst of brushing themselves. The sight that greets you ... is a mess. Well, maybe you're being a bit uncharitable to yourself there, because you've seen some fucking disasters in other people's apartments, but at the same time, you're pretty sure that your cramped little room does fit the definition for "a mess". There's a huge pile of magazines and address books and sheet music just lying right there on the floor, and across a narrow clearing of carpet (AKA the path leading to the kitchen) is your guitar and amp, surrounded by the pile of clothes you call your "wardrobe" (a solemn reminder that maybe twelve year olds aren't the best people to rely on when apartment hunting, because they can forget the incredibly obvious). And even further beyond that, against a wall plastered in scrolls and posters (you surreptitiously push back on a face shot of Hide that's peeling off at a corner - you should probably replace the Blu Tack at the some point, because that stuff dries harder than Carthage in the 3rd Punic War), a tower of CDs sits on your chair, with even more clothes sprawled across it and your computer desk.
It's definitely a mess. Disaster or not, if you weren't blessed with super convenient superpowers, finding things in this hovel of yours would be harder than searching a haystack for needles. Mentally, you move "cleaning" to the top of your list of things to do. All the Godhunter busywork dumped on you these few months have really kept you from getting some tidying done, but seriously, you really gotta get organised sometime (when the Aramitama or some random Mononoke aren't making a mess of shit).
But not now, because to reiterate - it's a school day! The morning of a school day! AKA the time when you're supposed to get dressed, eat some oats and drink OJ, and then make that tedious journey up to Nanamori High before the first bell rings.
Damn, you really need a car. Except a second year like you still needs to wait until your eighteenth birthday before that can be a thing. Japanese road laws sure were strict - the Koreans had the minimum age at sixteen! A car would've been a fucking blessing when you were sixteen. A car would also be a blessing now.
Or maybe not, the traffic across the bridge was absolutely fucked.
Just another consequence of finding an apartment at twelve. Sure, rent might've been low, but the commute was seriously killer.
Acknowledging the mistakes of your youth aside, your telekinesis has finished its search of the room for your clothes. The skirt pops free from beneath your bed, floating along the wind to you. On its heels are your shirt ... your tie ... and then your school blazer, which for some reason decides to slam itself right into your chest from the pile it'd been trapped under. It almost makes you spit out your toothbrush, except actually it doesn't, because at this point this kinda shit is way too normal for you now.
Even so, you just can't seem to nail the right amount of juice needed to pull shit out of a tight spot.
At least the rest of your morning prep goes pretty smoothly. Soon enough, you've gotten yourself dressed and freshened (and also remembered to floss, because no way are you gonna let your dentist judge your commitment to dental hygiene), and you're happily chowing down your breakfast across the table from your RG450, enjoying the pickled daikon you sprinkled incredibly liberally throughout the congee. It's not oats, but you kinda forgot that you don't usually buy oatmeal in the first place. Or orange juice. You're more of an apple gal.
Then the moment you see the clock, your mood sinks just like a rock.
"Shit, it's half past."
Meaning that you'd only have a totally comfortable fifteen minutes before school started. Did you say "totally comfortable"? Heh, that's being far too optimistic - given the sheer distance between your island apartment and Nanamori deep within Hisashiro proper, it's super unlikely you'll slipping through those gates in time. Unless you just bumrush out the door like right now, making it tight but still kinda possible. Not that you're really feeling that option.
Seriously, you were sure the alarm went off at the right time. Should you have ditched the pickled daikon or something?
You hurriedly swallow a last mouthful of congee, grabbing your guitar as you make a beeline for the door. If you run, you could make it to the class in time. But if you were late, well, dealing with the teachers lecturing you on punctuality and/or being forced to stand outside the classroom would be a serious pain. You'd rather just play hooky for the day and deal with that shit like, tomorrow or something. Maybe go busking - you do need to build your rep and get your name out there somehow.
But the music clubs were having practice today too ... and you had been planning on scouting them out.
Ugh, the decisions.
You decide to:
[] Take the risk and run to class. You're already dressed and everything, so why not be the good student and actually go? And you've been looking for some bandmates, actually, so it'd be cool to check out what kinda musicians hang out at Nanamori (because you never bothered to talk to them before).
[] Go truant, wander the city. It's way too demoralising to hit up school today. You could work on some public performances, get some more practice in while you try improve your rep. Hisashiro City won't mind getting some nice previews of your skills with an axe, yeah?
You start the day by cracking in your skull with a hammer.
"Blughgh."
Well, metaphorically. The ringing of your alarm isn't really an actual hammer or anything, but the noise is painful enough - to the extent that your brain wants to leak right out of your beautiful ears - that you're more than willing to stretch the definition of a hammer a little further. It's a seriously demonic sound, and sometimes you debate replacing it with something gentler - like, Marty Friedman shredding or whatever - except then you remember that you're not gonna wake up with anything less than pain.
Kinda makes you sound like a masochist. Damn, maybe you should just give up on mornings and sleep in more.
But not today. Fetishes aside, the alarm did its job real well in slapping you wide awake, and there's no way you're gonna be hitting the sack again while your head still feels like a gorilla sat on it. So instead, you just decide to roll straight off the bed, floating out from under the covers and levitating across the floor towards the bathroom.
If you weren't an esper, mornings would be seriously hellish.
The scenery suddenly shifts as your body jerks, ratty carpet giving way to cracked white tiles for the shortest of moments before you find yourself upright and almost tripping into the bathroom counter, stumbling along on your two bare feet just as God originally intended. Not that you stumbled that much - you made sure to grab the sink real tight before you went and did something stupid like headbutting the mirror. Then you might've cracked in your skull for real! Way too dicey a proposition.
"Bluuuuuh."
You groggily stare into the glass. A dishevelled teenage girl, short red hair totally in the grasp of bedhead (a redhead with bedhead, hehe), stares right back.
Masaki Matsumoto, that's you. A few IQ points short while your body boots itself up, but it's definitely still you.
Your toothbrush glides up into the air, followed shortly by a nearly empty tube of toothpaste (which you need to replace at some point - you should have some more in the cupboards, right?). Its dwindling contents don't prove a problem at all to your telekinesis - unlike the Innocents, you don't have to struggle with the tube, because the paste is automatically applied to the brush with practised ease. It's entirely rote by now, the culmination of years and years of habit.
Which is great for you, because while your powers are instinctively guiding the brush through your mouth, liberating your teeth from the threat of plaque-induced decay, you can focus your limited morning brainpower on more salient matters. Like trying to remember the lyrics to a song you tried writing last night, or just something super mundane like finding your uniform amongst all the stuff you have lying around.
Because as your brain helpfully reminds you, it's a school day!
You walk out of the bathroom, your teeth still in the midst of brushing themselves. The sight that greets you ... is a mess. Well, maybe you're being a bit uncharitable to yourself there, because you've seen some fucking disasters in other people's apartments, but at the same time, you're pretty sure that your cramped little room does fit the definition for "a mess". There's a huge pile of magazines and address books and sheet music just lying right there on the floor, and across a narrow clearing of carpet (AKA the path leading to the kitchen) is your guitar and amp, surrounded by the pile of clothes you call your "wardrobe" (a solemn reminder that maybe twelve year olds aren't the best people to rely on when apartment hunting, because they can forget the incredibly obvious). And even further beyond that, against a wall plastered in scrolls and posters (you surreptitiously push back on a face shot of Hide that's peeling off at a corner - you should probably replace the Blu Tack at the some point, because that stuff dries harder than Carthage in the 3rd Punic War), a tower of CDs sits on your chair, with even more clothes sprawled across it and your computer desk.
It's definitely a mess. Disaster or not, if you weren't blessed with super convenient superpowers, finding things in this hovel of yours would be harder than searching a haystack for needles. Mentally, you move "cleaning" to the top of your list of things to do. All the Godhunter busywork dumped on you these few months have really kept you from getting some tidying done, but seriously, you really gotta get organised sometime (when the Aramitama or some random Mononoke aren't making a mess of shit).
But not now, because to reiterate - it's a school day! The morning of a school day! AKA the time when you're supposed to get dressed, eat some oats and drink OJ, and then make that tedious journey up to Nanamori High before the first bell rings.
Damn, you really need a car. Except a second year like you still needs to wait until your eighteenth birthday before that can be a thing. Japanese road laws sure were strict - the Koreans had the minimum age at sixteen! A car would've been a fucking blessing when you were sixteen. A car would also be a blessing now.
Or maybe not, the traffic across the bridge was absolutely fucked.
Just another consequence of finding an apartment at twelve. Sure, rent might've been low, but the commute was seriously killer.
Acknowledging the mistakes of your youth aside, your telekinesis has finished its search of the room for your clothes. The skirt pops free from beneath your bed, floating along the wind to you. On its heels are your shirt ... your tie ... and then your school blazer, which for some reason decides to slam itself right into your chest from the pile it'd been trapped under. It almost makes you spit out your toothbrush, except actually it doesn't, because at this point this kinda shit is way too normal for you now.
Even so, you just can't seem to nail the right amount of juice needed to pull shit out of a tight spot.
At least the rest of your morning prep goes pretty smoothly. Soon enough, you've gotten yourself dressed and freshened (and also remembered to floss, because no way are you gonna let your dentist judge your commitment to dental hygiene), and you're happily chowing down your breakfast across the table from your RG450, enjoying the pickled daikon you sprinkled incredibly liberally throughout the congee. It's not oats, but you kinda forgot that you don't usually buy oatmeal in the first place. Or orange juice. You're more of an apple gal.
Then the moment you see the clock, your mood sinks just like a rock.
"Shit, it's half past."
Meaning that you'd only have a totally comfortable fifteen minutes before school started. Did you say "totally comfortable"? Heh, that's being far too optimistic - given the sheer distance between your island apartment and Nanamori deep within Hisashiro proper, it's super unlikely you'll slipping through those gates in time. Unless you just bumrush out the door like right now, making it tight but still kinda possible. Not that you're really feeling that option.
Seriously, you were sure the alarm went off at the right time. Should you have ditched the pickled daikon or something?
You hurriedly swallow a last mouthful of congee, grabbing your guitar as you make a beeline for the door. If you run, you could make it to the class in time. But if you were late, well, dealing with the teachers lecturing you on punctuality and/or being forced to stand outside the classroom would be a serious pain. You'd rather just play hooky for the day and deal with that shit like, tomorrow or something. Maybe go busking - you do need to build your rep and get your name out there somehow.
But the music clubs were having practice today too ... and you had been planning on scouting them out.
Ugh, the decisions.
You decide to:
[] Take the risk and run to class. You're already dressed and everything, so why not be the good student and actually go? And you've been looking for some bandmates, actually, so it'd be cool to check out what kinda musicians hang out at Nanamori (because you never bothered to talk to them before).
[] Go truant, wander the city. It's way too demoralising to hit up school today. You could work on some public performances, get some more practice in while you try improve your rep. Hisashiro City won't mind getting some nice previews of your skills with an axe, yeah?
Last edited:
