He feels like he’s in some fever dream hell. He feels like he’s alone in some purgatory with this person who doesn’t act like a human. It’s frustrating, but more than that–Akachan is scared. He’s never scared. He has suffered through a lot–his mutilated hand and his irezumi are evidence of that. And yet, he hates this unknown, frightening mystery of being lost.
Always a part of a network, the isolation is scary. The dependence on someone he doesn’t know, who doesn’t know him–it’s even worse. Maybe he should just walk up the beach until he finds some semblance of civilization.
Instead, he nods, tries to play it cool, mops the sweat beading on his forehead not from anxiety but from heat, and says, “Lead the way, then. I trust you, for whatever it’s worth. I just need some help. I’m really disoriented, right now. I feel like a kid lost in the supermarket.”
“Jolly wonderful cat you are, my good fellow, sweet Akachan!” He fluidly rose from where he’d been baking, standing on the heels of his feet. “Stupendous trip, I’d say. Cheerio. Have you ever been to Britain?” He began to walk, a strange, swagger-y gait as he ignored the sand building up in his shoes until he could no more, stopping abruptly to dump them out & put them back on. He babbled on all the while, “You know, funny fact about America, we were almost part of the Britains? Why, I think if it hadn’t been for those stinking tariffs we’d never have dreamed of breaking free. People rather like being ruled if they get what they want out of the deal. Like a cat, you know? It loves you for your food and the home you provide it. But you must love the little bugger; it’s so soft and warm, so why complain? — oh, but, oh, those tariffs. We became a very belligerent little cat that ran away.” BLAH, BLAH, BLAH. He had no filter & didn’t hesitate once to wonder whether the guy was getting sick of him blabbering on as he led him through random streets & back-roads, truthfully not having a clue what he was doing.
He finally shut up and grinned, stopping and turning to Akachan. “Say, I remember your quaint little quip about feeling like a kid lost in the market. You like shopping? — Akachan?” SHOP WITH ME. SHOP WITH ME. SHOP WITH ME. Dead brown eyes. Long dead brown eyes. “You look like a cat’s scraps, and I don’t mean those cute little squirrel bits. No, you rather look like a mouse a cat dragged in, chewed on, and scattered all over its owner’s bedroom. & unless you would like for that to become a part of your reality, I suggest you look with me for a new outfit. I admit, I’m looking a bit scraggly myself. This used to be a nice suit, you know?” VERY HEAVY STARE. “Presentation means a lot to some people, if you know what I mean.”
yousharknotpass
snowghoul
titsay
baratheonpilled
jbbartram-illu
