vc-nhm:
(ノ◉‿◉)ノ*:・゚✧
“Yeah…” Haemasu nodded, dragging the syllable on for one too many beats. If this was a test, he was entirely unsure if he was passing or not. It felt like playing a strange sort of puzzle mini game—was he so entirely sure he wasn’t just thrown into a Final Fantasy game? It sure felt like it. But he would make such a shitty Cloud. He was nowhere near as broody as that blond motherfucker. How did anyone like that guy anyway?
But whoever had hired this girl had done a good job. She wasn’t dropping her guard, playing the role of… whatever she was well. It was enough to have Haemasu tripping over his words at least twice already. The Night Bloods didn’t play by the same rules, did they? God, it was almost unfair how good she was at this.
“Sick.” He said. “Super cool. Totally understandable.” The only thing he could do was try and carry on the conversation and just continue to throw in agreements where he could. There was no way this wasn’t a trap. He leaned against the desk, continuing to try and look as casual as possible. If this was, indeed, a trap, he probably looked so stupid trying to fit in in that dusty old room where he wasn’t supposed to be.
Or it…wasn’t a trap…? Her impression made him laugh; she sounded genuinely disgruntled, a little too personal a jab with the affected look in the scrunch of her face.
“Someone got lost in the sauce.” He said with a shrug. He never really knew why everyone had to be so serious all the time. The line of work they did was difficult enough already without all the shitty attitudes. But the girl got it. She was strangely funny, charming despite whatever reason it was that she was here.
“No.” Masu found himself blurting out—wait… no he wasn’t supposed to do that. He was supposed to grab as much as he could and hit the deck. “I think I’m just about done.” MASU, NO. The voice in his head screamed, STICK TO THE PLAN YOU IDIOT. He had taken photos of everything anyways, and had shoved the USB stick down the God Furby’s horrible little beak. He should… be fine… right?
As he spoke, Kiyomi’s head bounced back and forth between tilts, as if she was a bobble head on the dashboard of a terrible driver. Was he speaking in dialect? She understood the words individually but had the sense that he was meaning something else. He didn’t look ill, or particularly cold. Perhaps he was referring to his pet that was incredibly sneaky with it’s ability to blink. She hadn’t seen it move once since entering the room.
“Lost? In sauce?” Kiyomi repeated, her frown becoming a pout as she floated around the phrase in her head, only coming to one conclusion, “You should eat the sauce instead.”
Getting an idea, she tiptoed closer to Haneul, eyes bright as she leaned in as if to tell him a secret, “I made too much mochi earlier, would you like some?”











