→ imeeji: memory two
Mar. 1st, 2019 12:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
irregularYou wonder idly if this is another one of the guy behind the desk's plans to get you in somewhere without anybody asking what you're doing, or if some old guys in suits just want to bore each other to bits over a very large meal.
It's raining, and it's Tuesday, and you're arranging flowers out of sheer fucking boredom--
Because that figures, after what you saw first time around.
Last time you remembered, sort-of, the flower shop: but it was in a vague kind of way, an oh-so-that's-where-I-know-this-girl-from way. It hadn't really sat right, though, and you'd a whole bunch of other things to think on, so you hadn't really paid it much mind and this - this right here - this must be the reprisal.
You suspect that you're the only one doing any work, and it has the feeling of something you think a lot. Aya (where did he get that stupid goddamn name?) is propping up the wall and scowling at nothing, and daring you to get on his very last nerve by speaking or coughing or blinking too loud. Youji's sitting at the register, though 'sitting' isn't really the word for it when he's sprawled at a frankly dangerous angle, his chair tipped so that the front legs are clear off the floor and the back braced against the wall. And smoking, the cigarette aimed straight at the ceiling. As if you didn't all get enough dangerous living to last you several lifetimes, here he is courting a broken neck just from sitting in a chair.
How many times have you told him not to smoke in the shop? You're bored enough to have the argument, and it's just starting to get good when the telephone rings and of course Aya and Youji both look at you like you're the one slacking off when it gets to the fourth ring...
Boring order, too. Corporate. Something about a dinner. Thirty-eight table arrangements and a centerpiece, every last one of them in white on white on white. You make a note of it in the book, and wonder idly if this is another one of the guy behind the desk's interesting schemes to get you in somewhere on ground level without anybody asking what you think you're doing there. On the other hand, could just be some old guys in suits want to bore each other to bits over a very large meal and are worried too much in the way of color might get in the way of that. You nod, you smile, you realize as you put down the phone that this really is the most interesting thing that's happened to you in the last forty-five minutes and pretend that that doesn't make you want to scream.
You turn back to the table, the flowers, and savagely strip the thorns from a half-dozen roses. No, you don't cut yourself. It's almost a pity, you could have done with the diversion. Looks like you're stuck with the flowers...
Seven minutes later, and you counted, you get a customer. A housewife, by the looks of things, strong-arming a pushchair with a clear plastic rain cover through the doors. There's only one problem: she's long-haired and cute, and that means Youji's straightening up and giving her a wide, silly smile and suddenly developing something that passes for a work ethic. You give the kid - a pig-tailed girl, grumpy and restless and justifiably so - a sympathetic shrug. After a few minutes she starts to cry, and her mother remembers what she came in for.
The next thing that happens is Omi comes back.
The next thing that happens? Life presents you with a bouquet of assorted high-school girls fresh from the classroom, giggling and whispering and casting appreciative glances at Aya and Youji and even, sometimes, at you. Omi, too, like they didn't get enough of him all day, and - no, wait, these ones don't go to his school, which makes slightly more sense except no, it really doesn't make any sense at all. Why the Hell do you have a fanclub now? You're a fucking florist and all you're doing is making your third Display Arrangement of the afternoon because it beats doing nothing at all.
You'd ask what you did to deserve this, deserve boredom and fangirls and rain, but it's probably all that fucking murder.
It's raining, and it's Tuesday, and you're arranging flowers out of sheer fucking boredom--
Because that figures, after what you saw first time around.
Last time you remembered, sort-of, the flower shop: but it was in a vague kind of way, an oh-so-that's-where-I-know-this-girl-from way. It hadn't really sat right, though, and you'd a whole bunch of other things to think on, so you hadn't really paid it much mind and this - this right here - this must be the reprisal.
You suspect that you're the only one doing any work, and it has the feeling of something you think a lot. Aya (where did he get that stupid goddamn name?) is propping up the wall and scowling at nothing, and daring you to get on his very last nerve by speaking or coughing or blinking too loud. Youji's sitting at the register, though 'sitting' isn't really the word for it when he's sprawled at a frankly dangerous angle, his chair tipped so that the front legs are clear off the floor and the back braced against the wall. And smoking, the cigarette aimed straight at the ceiling. As if you didn't all get enough dangerous living to last you several lifetimes, here he is courting a broken neck just from sitting in a chair.
How many times have you told him not to smoke in the shop? You're bored enough to have the argument, and it's just starting to get good when the telephone rings and of course Aya and Youji both look at you like you're the one slacking off when it gets to the fourth ring...
Boring order, too. Corporate. Something about a dinner. Thirty-eight table arrangements and a centerpiece, every last one of them in white on white on white. You make a note of it in the book, and wonder idly if this is another one of the guy behind the desk's interesting schemes to get you in somewhere on ground level without anybody asking what you think you're doing there. On the other hand, could just be some old guys in suits want to bore each other to bits over a very large meal and are worried too much in the way of color might get in the way of that. You nod, you smile, you realize as you put down the phone that this really is the most interesting thing that's happened to you in the last forty-five minutes and pretend that that doesn't make you want to scream.
You turn back to the table, the flowers, and savagely strip the thorns from a half-dozen roses. No, you don't cut yourself. It's almost a pity, you could have done with the diversion. Looks like you're stuck with the flowers...
Seven minutes later, and you counted, you get a customer. A housewife, by the looks of things, strong-arming a pushchair with a clear plastic rain cover through the doors. There's only one problem: she's long-haired and cute, and that means Youji's straightening up and giving her a wide, silly smile and suddenly developing something that passes for a work ethic. You give the kid - a pig-tailed girl, grumpy and restless and justifiably so - a sympathetic shrug. After a few minutes she starts to cry, and her mother remembers what she came in for.
The next thing that happens is Omi comes back.
The next thing that happens? Life presents you with a bouquet of assorted high-school girls fresh from the classroom, giggling and whispering and casting appreciative glances at Aya and Youji and even, sometimes, at you. Omi, too, like they didn't get enough of him all day, and - no, wait, these ones don't go to his school, which makes slightly more sense except no, it really doesn't make any sense at all. Why the Hell do you have a fanclub now? You're a fucking florist and all you're doing is making your third Display Arrangement of the afternoon because it beats doing nothing at all.
You'd ask what you did to deserve this, deserve boredom and fangirls and rain, but it's probably all that fucking murder.
notes |
| ★ No, that wasn't very helpful, was it? |
| ★ Enjoy the mundane domestic detail of K's life (when not actively killing people). His need to take a cover profession sees him holding a job in a flower shop, along with his teammates, where as the only one with a real work ethic he is probably the only one who's regularly doing any actual work. Every so often, this turns out to be a useful way to get them close to their targets. Most of the rest of the time, though, it's just a very good way for K to get potting compost under his fingernails. |
| ★ K likes children, a lot. It's one of the major reasons he's so upset about Talon being in Imeeji - it's bad enough that this shit is happening at all, but that the producers are dragging literal children into it is completely infuriating. |
| ★ No, K doesn't know Why Fangirls either and he dearly wishes they'd leave him the fuck alone. |
