Mayu Tsuzuki's player!! ♥ ]
It?s not all that unusual to find him wandering around at all hours of the night. What is odd is the pace he takes tonight. Or, rather, this morning, as per the hands of his alarm clock. He'd woken up screaming at it and flown out of bed in a rush.
Frankie's was one of the four places he and his friends all chose to hang out. A simple diner, with red vinyl booths, for mica tables and a long bar with stools that had seats that swiveled and were bolted into the ground. He'd been shocked to find that the man who owned it was actually named Frankie. The diner's tall, neon sign stands out like a beacon against the early morning darkness, on for every single one of the twenty-four hours a day that the place stayed open.
He rushes inside, the crisp air conditioned interior shocking his skin. The air smells like burgers and fries with an underlying current of milkshake. It doesn't take him long to find where he's supposed to be. Even if it hadn't been the only occupied table in the diner, he'd be drawn to Mayu's booth like a helpless moth to a roaring fire. "Sorry I'm late. I kind of--um, fell asleep." His rumpled clothes and bedhead only supported his claim.
She hadn't counted the minutes since she first arrived at Frankie?s and ordered herself one of their signature, oversized milkshakes that could kill a diabetic. Had it been twenty minutes? Thirty? Forty? However long it'd been, time felt like it'd reached a stagnant stand still. Customers came and went, even at such an hour when the waning moon was high overhead and shrouded in a mist of thin cloud cover. The waitress destined for her table was soon off duty, transitioning to a new stage of staff members for the graveyard shift that'd carry clear through breakfast.
Where was he?
Glancing out the window, she spots a streak of orange whisk past the pane of glass and quickly hurry its way indoors; greeted by an odd assortment of those tending to their ritualistic duties. She feigns aloofness, stabbing the mega-sized plastic straw in the flute glass and stirring its still full contents.
"Mn?" She looks up, first at the overhead light shaded by a "Frankie?s!" cover. Then to him. "Oh. That's okay. I just got here."
She lied. She wasn't sure why, but she had. Was it believable? She knew she wasn't any good at that sort of thing. Somehow, she felt more confident in her ability to fib nowadays. Rather than let the moment hang on the air and polish off her paranoia, she motions to the seat opposite the table.
He sits down across from her and scoots in, glad for the coolness of the table to ice the heat of his arms as he folds them along its edge. And smiles. From here, he can see the sweat on the outside of her glass. Not only had she already been served, it had time to sit there. She was probably just trying to make him feel better. He could play along. "Really? Well, that's good. I didn't want to make you sit someplace and wait all night for me by yourself." The thought sends a secret thrill through him. He reaches across the table to drag over the small drink menu and flips through it with his thumb.
It takes him a while to get the next question out. "Have you been busy?"
She hadn't considered hiding the telltale condensation on the glass; an accumulation built upon the stem to perfect a ring at the root. Unaware that he was studying it, she gave him a further chance to calculate the time spent waiting on him when she dragged it closer and away from his reach.
"No, I wasn't waiting or anything stupid like that," she remarks with an off-handed glance out the window. "Just got here," she repeats, oblivious. "...yep..."
Clearing her throat, she straightens in her seat, reclining against the bulging cushion that arched the spine in an uncomfortable curve. "Busy? Not exactly. I mean, there's not a lot going on, if that's what you're asking..."
He snickers over the menu, watching the streak of wet slick the table. "Just got here, huh? How come you're not giving me a hard time about falling asleep before our date? I would've thought you had a bucket of cherries ready to start throwing at me." When a nondescript waiter approaches their table, he orders a chocolate shake, heavy on the chocolate. His eyes return to her after the waiter leaves. "Oh! I got you a game." He sets about fiddling with his bag, something to keep him busy when he asks--"How's Eri?"
Her eyes widen. "A d-date?" Her cheeks flush an angry red hue, her gaze immediately averting to the window that oversaw Franklin Avenue. At the present hour, Franklin was bereft of activity. No stray cars, no passing pedestrians. There wasn't a hint of life in the slightest out there. It didn't deserve the attention she was suddenly putting on it.
"This isn't a date," she grumbles into an open fist as it comes around her mouth.
He always knew how to say something asinine to make her fidget needlessly. Her heart always sprang to life in those times, making her feel more uncomfortable than she naturally did to start with. Her legs splayed, feet bobbing on their balls to keep herself in perpetual motion. It helped distract her from the strange, almost painful tingling that spiraled around her navel.
"Eri-chan? She's fine," she states, somewhat hurriedly. Her breath wasn't willing to keep up with the strength required to speak; her voice rasped and like she was gurgling sea salt.
He'd have to be blind to miss it, and sitting this close to her, alone with her, he wasn't going to miss a thing. Instead of looking straight at her, he diverts his gaze to the window too, studying her reflection with her hand up against her lips. His own mouth begins to curl. "That's better. Much better. Almost as cute as when you hiccup."
Grinning broadly, he finally produces the case he'd been looking for, sliding it across the table. Her answer of Eri's wellbeing gets met with nothing. He couldn't care less. In fact, he wished she wasn't fine. He taps his finger along the title script. The game cover depicts what appears to be a bipedal fox or other furry creature with over half of its face covered by a low, cone hat. He carries a wicked sword in his hand. Around his head flies a smaller creature, orange, with bat wings and green eyes without whites. "This just came out. It's open 'cause I played it a bit."
"Oh, thank you!" He smiles to the waiter, greedily dragging over his milkshake. Foregoing the straw, he spoons up a massive mountain of shake and eats it. "This tastes amazing."
She momentarily spares their server with a glance as she snares the game's case underneath a series of fingers and pulls it in, surveying the front with manifested tempered glee. The wobble of her eyes belied the indifference she sported; trepidation over his apparent purchase over her dismissed by her selfish desire to have something new to play during the days and nights that she had nothing better to do.
"Whooooa..." she shares with him her astonishment crushing her attempts at acting nonchalant about the gift. She hefts it up and pries the case open, immediately going for the six page instruction manual tucked under the back panel teeth of the cover. "I'm not really into furry things, but this looks pretty outstanding!"
From what she could gather after reading the first page, it was a side scroller that pressed 2d gameplay against a 3d backdrop. It was colorful, fully voice acted, and apparently told a story of a boy who wielded a sentient weapon that instructed him on his journey through some strange, highly primitive world.
In a way, she could relate to it. She flipped to page three as she muttered something about his earlier comment regarding her hiccups. "What made you want to get this?"
He can't glean all her excitement from the window pane, so he lets his gaze wander back to her, reclining in the booth with his shake and long, long spoon. When he stretches out his legs, the toes of his sneakers press up against her booth beneath the table. "Everybody's some kind of animal, but when you're playing you can't even tell. There's some cute stuff in there too." He shrugs to her question. "I don't know. It looked different. I've been playing the same five games lately and it's gotten real boring. When I'm at work, I do the same thing all the time. I don't want to do it when I'm at home. Besides, it's colorful, it looks cool."
He points the rounded end of his spoon at the cover, indicating the orange, flying animal. "This one, Fidget. She made me think of you." He smiles. "When I find things like that, I want you to have them."
"Colorful. Cool. That's about all I'm looking for." She closes the manual after the fourth page, tucking it away in its rightful place. "I guess fun gameplay and a thrilling story helps set the mood, too. I'm not sure what I look for in a game all that much."
It was a testament to how much she didn't know what she was looking for as a whole to things of interest in her life. She closed the jewel case with a snap.
"I don't imagine you called me here just to give me a game. That probably could have been done through the mail or leaving it on my kitchen table after cleaning the place one day." She didn't delve further into her insinuation. He was smart--perceptively so. She knew he'd understand that she was seeking his true motives here.
"If you're going to spend your time working at something, you might as well have fun, right?" He grins sideways, stirring at his shake and spoons up another heaping mouthful. What ice cream he misses on his mouth with his tongue, he catches with a knuckle. His second shrug is as nonchalant as his slouch. "I missed you. I missed seeing you." He chews the shake off his knuckle. "Just you. We used to hang out together by ourselves all the time."
She sucks down a thick glob of cold, marble chocolate and vanilla cream as a means of distracting herself further than she was already attempting to present to him. It was never easy to act the part, especially not when she could tell her face was burning hotter than coals under an open fire.
Swallowing the sip of beverage with some resistance, she finally says, "...ah... y-yeah, well. Busy and all. You know."
She'd forgotten all about telling him that she hadn't been busy in the slightest.
Reluctant as he is to chase away that color from her face, he knows he has to. But that doesn't mean he can't take his time. He catches the straw with his index finger, sucking down one more sip, then he straightens up. Putting his glass on the table, his arms return to their fold. "And I wanted to talk. Face to face." He looks up from his arms. "About Eri. "
It?s not all that unusual to find him wandering around at all hours of the night. What is odd is the pace he takes tonight. Or, rather, this morning, as per the hands of his alarm clock. He'd woken up screaming at it and flown out of bed in a rush.
Frankie's was one of the four places he and his friends all chose to hang out. A simple diner, with red vinyl booths, for mica tables and a long bar with stools that had seats that swiveled and were bolted into the ground. He'd been shocked to find that the man who owned it was actually named Frankie. The diner's tall, neon sign stands out like a beacon against the early morning darkness, on for every single one of the twenty-four hours a day that the place stayed open.
He rushes inside, the crisp air conditioned interior shocking his skin. The air smells like burgers and fries with an underlying current of milkshake. It doesn't take him long to find where he's supposed to be. Even if it hadn't been the only occupied table in the diner, he'd be drawn to Mayu's booth like a helpless moth to a roaring fire. "Sorry I'm late. I kind of--um, fell asleep." His rumpled clothes and bedhead only supported his claim.
She hadn't counted the minutes since she first arrived at Frankie?s and ordered herself one of their signature, oversized milkshakes that could kill a diabetic. Had it been twenty minutes? Thirty? Forty? However long it'd been, time felt like it'd reached a stagnant stand still. Customers came and went, even at such an hour when the waning moon was high overhead and shrouded in a mist of thin cloud cover. The waitress destined for her table was soon off duty, transitioning to a new stage of staff members for the graveyard shift that'd carry clear through breakfast.
Where was he?
Glancing out the window, she spots a streak of orange whisk past the pane of glass and quickly hurry its way indoors; greeted by an odd assortment of those tending to their ritualistic duties. She feigns aloofness, stabbing the mega-sized plastic straw in the flute glass and stirring its still full contents.
"Mn?" She looks up, first at the overhead light shaded by a "Frankie?s!" cover. Then to him. "Oh. That's okay. I just got here."
She lied. She wasn't sure why, but she had. Was it believable? She knew she wasn't any good at that sort of thing. Somehow, she felt more confident in her ability to fib nowadays. Rather than let the moment hang on the air and polish off her paranoia, she motions to the seat opposite the table.
He sits down across from her and scoots in, glad for the coolness of the table to ice the heat of his arms as he folds them along its edge. And smiles. From here, he can see the sweat on the outside of her glass. Not only had she already been served, it had time to sit there. She was probably just trying to make him feel better. He could play along. "Really? Well, that's good. I didn't want to make you sit someplace and wait all night for me by yourself." The thought sends a secret thrill through him. He reaches across the table to drag over the small drink menu and flips through it with his thumb.
It takes him a while to get the next question out. "Have you been busy?"
She hadn't considered hiding the telltale condensation on the glass; an accumulation built upon the stem to perfect a ring at the root. Unaware that he was studying it, she gave him a further chance to calculate the time spent waiting on him when she dragged it closer and away from his reach.
"No, I wasn't waiting or anything stupid like that," she remarks with an off-handed glance out the window. "Just got here," she repeats, oblivious. "...yep..."
Clearing her throat, she straightens in her seat, reclining against the bulging cushion that arched the spine in an uncomfortable curve. "Busy? Not exactly. I mean, there's not a lot going on, if that's what you're asking..."
He snickers over the menu, watching the streak of wet slick the table. "Just got here, huh? How come you're not giving me a hard time about falling asleep before our date? I would've thought you had a bucket of cherries ready to start throwing at me." When a nondescript waiter approaches their table, he orders a chocolate shake, heavy on the chocolate. His eyes return to her after the waiter leaves. "Oh! I got you a game." He sets about fiddling with his bag, something to keep him busy when he asks--"How's Eri?"
Her eyes widen. "A d-date?" Her cheeks flush an angry red hue, her gaze immediately averting to the window that oversaw Franklin Avenue. At the present hour, Franklin was bereft of activity. No stray cars, no passing pedestrians. There wasn't a hint of life in the slightest out there. It didn't deserve the attention she was suddenly putting on it.
"This isn't a date," she grumbles into an open fist as it comes around her mouth.
He always knew how to say something asinine to make her fidget needlessly. Her heart always sprang to life in those times, making her feel more uncomfortable than she naturally did to start with. Her legs splayed, feet bobbing on their balls to keep herself in perpetual motion. It helped distract her from the strange, almost painful tingling that spiraled around her navel.
"Eri-chan? She's fine," she states, somewhat hurriedly. Her breath wasn't willing to keep up with the strength required to speak; her voice rasped and like she was gurgling sea salt.
He'd have to be blind to miss it, and sitting this close to her, alone with her, he wasn't going to miss a thing. Instead of looking straight at her, he diverts his gaze to the window too, studying her reflection with her hand up against her lips. His own mouth begins to curl. "That's better. Much better. Almost as cute as when you hiccup."
Grinning broadly, he finally produces the case he'd been looking for, sliding it across the table. Her answer of Eri's wellbeing gets met with nothing. He couldn't care less. In fact, he wished she wasn't fine. He taps his finger along the title script. The game cover depicts what appears to be a bipedal fox or other furry creature with over half of its face covered by a low, cone hat. He carries a wicked sword in his hand. Around his head flies a smaller creature, orange, with bat wings and green eyes without whites. "This just came out. It's open 'cause I played it a bit."
"Oh, thank you!" He smiles to the waiter, greedily dragging over his milkshake. Foregoing the straw, he spoons up a massive mountain of shake and eats it. "This tastes amazing."
She momentarily spares their server with a glance as she snares the game's case underneath a series of fingers and pulls it in, surveying the front with manifested tempered glee. The wobble of her eyes belied the indifference she sported; trepidation over his apparent purchase over her dismissed by her selfish desire to have something new to play during the days and nights that she had nothing better to do.
"Whooooa..." she shares with him her astonishment crushing her attempts at acting nonchalant about the gift. She hefts it up and pries the case open, immediately going for the six page instruction manual tucked under the back panel teeth of the cover. "I'm not really into furry things, but this looks pretty outstanding!"
From what she could gather after reading the first page, it was a side scroller that pressed 2d gameplay against a 3d backdrop. It was colorful, fully voice acted, and apparently told a story of a boy who wielded a sentient weapon that instructed him on his journey through some strange, highly primitive world.
In a way, she could relate to it. She flipped to page three as she muttered something about his earlier comment regarding her hiccups. "What made you want to get this?"
He can't glean all her excitement from the window pane, so he lets his gaze wander back to her, reclining in the booth with his shake and long, long spoon. When he stretches out his legs, the toes of his sneakers press up against her booth beneath the table. "Everybody's some kind of animal, but when you're playing you can't even tell. There's some cute stuff in there too." He shrugs to her question. "I don't know. It looked different. I've been playing the same five games lately and it's gotten real boring. When I'm at work, I do the same thing all the time. I don't want to do it when I'm at home. Besides, it's colorful, it looks cool."
He points the rounded end of his spoon at the cover, indicating the orange, flying animal. "This one, Fidget. She made me think of you." He smiles. "When I find things like that, I want you to have them."
"Colorful. Cool. That's about all I'm looking for." She closes the manual after the fourth page, tucking it away in its rightful place. "I guess fun gameplay and a thrilling story helps set the mood, too. I'm not sure what I look for in a game all that much."
It was a testament to how much she didn't know what she was looking for as a whole to things of interest in her life. She closed the jewel case with a snap.
"I don't imagine you called me here just to give me a game. That probably could have been done through the mail or leaving it on my kitchen table after cleaning the place one day." She didn't delve further into her insinuation. He was smart--perceptively so. She knew he'd understand that she was seeking his true motives here.
"If you're going to spend your time working at something, you might as well have fun, right?" He grins sideways, stirring at his shake and spoons up another heaping mouthful. What ice cream he misses on his mouth with his tongue, he catches with a knuckle. His second shrug is as nonchalant as his slouch. "I missed you. I missed seeing you." He chews the shake off his knuckle. "Just you. We used to hang out together by ourselves all the time."
She sucks down a thick glob of cold, marble chocolate and vanilla cream as a means of distracting herself further than she was already attempting to present to him. It was never easy to act the part, especially not when she could tell her face was burning hotter than coals under an open fire.
Swallowing the sip of beverage with some resistance, she finally says, "...ah... y-yeah, well. Busy and all. You know."
She'd forgotten all about telling him that she hadn't been busy in the slightest.
Reluctant as he is to chase away that color from her face, he knows he has to. But that doesn't mean he can't take his time. He catches the straw with his index finger, sucking down one more sip, then he straightens up. Putting his glass on the table, his arms return to their fold. "And I wanted to talk. Face to face." He looks up from his arms. "About Eri. "