in black and white,

HOUTAROU, 16, 折木 Enjoy your pastel-colored life. Just don't drag me into it. Affiliated with Academia Mare! Hope you have a fantastic day!

[noutarou]

Yet another person he's never seen before. Well, that wasn't all that strange, considering that this academy was full of unfamiliar faces. The brunette wasn't all that swell at starting up conversations, but... he would make an attempt. Nothing more, He wasn't about to pour any effort into this. "Hey," he began, voice naturally low and serene -- was "hey" good enough? No? Damn. "You're in my band class..."

[academemes]

Strike up a conversation with the person above this post.

[noutarou]

Rabbit!

Rabbit: Do you feel as if you are dependent on others, or do you consider yourself independent? Why?

Oh. This one was easy.

"Independent… I’m not the type of person to rely on people. That’s about it." He also didn’t have the energy to forge that kind of bond in the first place. The brunette felt that he had omitted something important, though; what could it have been? Oh. Right. The "why" of it. "I suppose I’m self-sufficient, so I’ve never given much thought to it…"

[noutarou]

Hamster

Hamster: Do you feel as if you have ever been used by people who you considered friends? Why?

This one wasn’t so easy to answer. He… wouldn’t call it “using”. More like they saw something in him, some underlying talent, and asked him to use it. Sometimes they’d go out of their way to sort of… manipulate him into using it. His… mind? His ease concerning mysteries and riddles? Yes, he supposed that was what it was, all things considered.

"Not particularly," he started, eyes half-lidded and groggy, "but sometimes, sure. It’s a matter of perspective, I suppose."

[noutarou]

cat!

Cat: Is it easy for you to trust others?

"Not really." He gives the question a bit more thought — should he go in-depth? Sure. "It comes easier the better I know a person." Nailed it.

[academemes]

{acadameme sunday}

General

1/12 Headcanon/Drabble words: pets, companionship, loyalty, strength, and faith.

Truth/Dare: Self-explanatory. Please don’t send dares that might make someone too uncomfortable! General Headcanons: Send someone a word they can make a headcanon for. General Drabbles: Send someone a drabble prompt. Ask Mun/Muse: Ask the character or their roleplayer anything! You can also send them these below (they’re IC, however).

Dog: Do you consider yourself to be a loyal person?

Cat: Is it easy for you to trust others?

Fish: To what lengths would you go to help a friend?

Hamster: Do you feel as if you have ever been used by people who you considered friends? Why?

Rabbit: Do you feel as if you are dependent on others, or do you consider yourself independent? Why?

Bird: Have you tried to make any new friends at the school? Do you think it is beneficial to create bonds?

Horse: Do you consider yourself to be a fun and entertaining person to be around? Why or why not?

Pig: Do you feel more comfortable with friends or without them? Why?

[caninesque]

"No reason in particular."

Ciel felt twitchy in place, finally retrieving his cup of hot water and letting the tea bag soak in its heated depths. He watched the pure liquid soak into the intruder intently, observing the darkened swirls seep out of the thin package and taint its surroundings with savoury scents and bitterly refreshing tastes. It wasn’t nearly intriguing enough to keep his focus, and soon he began to drag the bag around the cup, hurrying the process. There was no sugar added to the mixture.

Ah, he’s never been too keen at mindless small talk, however he was not inept to the skill. There was simply no reason exactly yet to be talking to the distinct character before him, clearly delving without shame into the depths of entities more important than the chatter that was leading nowhere.

Discarding the teabag, he trudged to the table occupied by the student and mumbled a small question akin to "May I sit here?" but ended up resting himself in a chair across anyway, without waiting to hear his answer. Ciel glanced around the vicinity, set his cup on the table after a small sip that unfortunately burned the tip of his tongue, leaving behind a metallic taste.

He’d brought his pack along. All of his materials for his second hour bundled up neatly inside. Paperwork, pens, a flash-light the size of his thumb— because face it, who really knows to what extent he would go to get a solid grade on this assignment —and a list of plans possible to execute all resided. It probably wouldn’t be the smartest idea to drag it all out in the midst of the open location, in front of someone who could very well be planning to steal from him. He withheld, spending the next few minutes thinking over his procedure.

Find a victim, observe, spot the time to intrude, steal, write a synopsis of the event and take it to the professor. The pattern replayed over and over in his mind. He drew a stiff piece of paper from the depths of his bag, and a pen, the sound of which clicked to life, echoing throughout the room. He was continually forgetting one crucial detail in his plans. The Earl began scratching the pen across the paper, writing nonchalant items down. His scribble swiftly formed a message, an introduction, himself occasionally lifting his gaze from the text, out of nervousness or not he couldn’t say. In no time at all a paragraph had been written, the realisation what he needed dawning, then two, two chunks bled into three, and he wondered just how long he could go writing the dull piece.

He was missing an alibi.

At this point in time, Ciel was compelled to believe all of two things: A life of business required constantly playing the enemy, and that all qualms in conspiring, manipulating, and double crossing, to achieve victory, should be left behind.

While glancing over his notes of the lecture previously, no mention of a partnership was ever excluded. No matter the course of action, in breaking the law the most thoughtful criminals were to establish an alibi. When the affair was narrowed down, the main questions of "who," "what," "when," "where," and “why,”  needed an answer. An alibi was needed to stay successful in not falling into any, if all, of the categories. An alibi needed to be intelligent, someone whom they could trust with the very least of upholding the secret of where they were.

A variety of many trials may take place prior to test a person’s loyalty, but in the sake of about a week’s time frame, Ciel would have to relay the message shortly. He took out another piece of paper, and began rewriting his message in neat print, every once in a while adding an extra letter where it should not be, skipping a letter entirely, capitalising improperly occasional. His message would be a code, and if this boy could solve it, and agreed to his terms, the future would run quite smoothly.

"Please pardon my abruptness, I’ll be leaving when I’m finished writing."

[noutarou]

While he was all for tea -- or any hot beverage, really -- Houtarou had never seen one so young possess such a fondness for tea, and such an exquisite and expensive blend at that. The boy narrowed his eyes in thought, and sat up again, a hand taking to his bangs, twisting and turning individual hairs as the gears of his mind worked to the tune of this particular mystery.

It wasn't a difficult one, as he soon figured out: the stranger had to hail from money. There was no other going about it. This blue-haired boy was rich. It didn't take the brunette long to discern that; maybe half a minute, if he was being modest. The way he held himself -- not to mention his clothes and overall appearance -- were dead giveaways. His lexicon clued the pseudo-detective in, too.

Whoever heard of a fourteen-year-old using "pardon my abruptness" in a sentence all their own? Houtarou certainly hadn't. This boy... must have had a higher education, whatever the cause. So that was that, then. He wouldn't spend any more time on it: this boy was rich.

Not that he cared, much. He had what he wanted. A nice, boring life, and nice, boring habits. Aside from the occasional pondering of a puzzle, of course. The brunette had left his bag on the table, wide open with it contents sprawled across the surface. A notebook open to a blank page -- well, it wasn't completely blank. He'd managed to write up a header. That had to count for something. It was for his Criminology paper... he had to steal something, unimportant, efficiently and without much mess. Houtarou was positive that he could pull it off, if only he held the motivation to do so. The boy was as lazy as it gets, after all. It would be bad form to stray from that stereotype.

"Mm," was all he offered when he thought the boy had asked to sit. He didn't mind in the slightest, but something told him that the stranger hadn't counted on extracting a constructive response from him. That was okay. Houtarou took a swig of his coffee as he turned his attention to the anthology again, rereading a story for what must have been the eightieth time. It was nostalgic, and simple, and so of course he would take to the business well.

He hadn't quite noticed that the one-eyed boy sitting across from him was writing. In fact, it had barely registered that he had decided to sit at the table at all. He was... sort of drifting in and out of the conversation. Whatever conversation there was. To be perfectly frank, Houtarou hadn't realized that there was a conversation going at all between the two; more of an infrequent exchange of sorts.

But now that the other teen had gotten the idea of Criminology back into his brain... he couldn't help but frown and think. Frown, because it was natural, and think, because he had been thinking previously to the boy's intrusion, and thought it fit to take up the diversion again. If you could call it a diversion. Houtarou didn't think that thinking itself was a form of isolating oneself from others; he thought it a pastime, a glorious pastime. A useful hobby, and also not a hobby.

"Take as long as you need," he murmured, his tone soft and reticent. He was... wondering how to go about the assignment. He'd probably end up thieving a pencil, or something to that effect. He had planned on taking something that nobody would miss: an eraser, a page from a notebook, a blanket from their room... perhaps even a fork or knife, if he found himself racing towards the deadline with nothing to show for it. The cutlery idea was outright atrocious, and so he hoped not to resort to it if the time came. This... this boy, was he not in his class as well? Perhaps -- yes, if Houtarou thought back to the announcement...

There had been no mention of partnerships. Maybe he could worm himself into one -- no wait. That wouldn't work. He was certain one of two scenarios would transpire: his partner would spill the beans, or expect Houtarou to come up with the entire strategy. Which he wasn't so opposed to, but his tactics were low-key, and simple. Fit for a simpleton like himself, skirting around those with rose-colored lives.

[noutarou]

hello yes would anyone like to do the criminology assignment with this weenie (as in, he steals something dumb from your muse and that's about it --)

[noutarou]

the beauty of books ❇ houtarou and petra

[kindkiller]

Petra’s eyes widen a bit when he begins to delve more into the possible mystery of the crowded library. The sudden enthusiasm glinting on his aloof expression was another strange mix. She smiles widely, finding it terribly amusing, and considers his words. He could be right, after all. There could be some exciting, underlying reason for the crowd that wouldn’t be as obvious as a test or project.

Her mind is momentarily taken from the hypothetical mystery when the brunet begins to tell her about the book in his hand — revealed to be called Hyouka. Petra flips through it, reading the words, the short stories, and can’t help but become overwhelmed with a sort of warmth and happiness. Her smile widens as she reads on.

"No, no! Don’t sell yourself short! These are very good! It seems like solving these mysteries must have been a lot of fun,"

She places the book down on the table they’re sharing and points to a certain story.

"To have memories with classmates like this be immortalized, well, that’s very heartwarming!" 

She lets out a hearty giggle at the compliment on her name — something she’s never heard before. In fact, his own name is rare sounding to her!

“Thank you, Houtarou! Yours is nice, too! I’ve never heard anything like it! But, somehow, it suits you!” Petra cocks her head at his question, finding him more and more interesting by the minute. “Oh! Sure! What kind of game did you have in mind?”

[noutarou]

Oh, she's interested. He's happy. More people should like mysteries. They're fun. They're one of the very, very few things he wouldn't mind exercising his, well, mind on. They were enjoyable and baffling, much like people. But people... for some reason, Houtarou didn't feel the same drive to solve people as he did to solve puzzles. Perhaps there was some underlying meaning there.

Or perhaps he simply was too lazy to unravel a human's mind. There was always that distinct possibility. Whatever the reason may be, he leaned on one side and shifted hands, watching the stranger named Petra as she flipped through the pages, skimming its contents.

She likes it. Hyouka. He's content. He likes it too, and feels a bit off-put by people who didn't. It was a strange mannerism, yes, but then again, weren't all mannerisms strange? How strange they were was a matter of who was present to give judgment. If a mass of people like him were to judge the peculiarity of, say, playing a sport, then... playing a sport would be very peculiar indeed.

Unfortunately, there wasn't a convenient mass of people like him anywhere to be found. Or was that fortunate? Did he really want to deal with a multitude of other-selves? Houtarou played with his bangs in thought, idly waiting as Petra finished her brief perusal of his anthology.

Memories with classmates... He never really thought of it like that. Huh. Well, maybe he did, but in a slightly different light. The memories were all there, but most of them involved their club's frenetic antics during the cultural festival, because Ibara had mistakenly ordered over one hundred more copies than they had expected to sell, and they needed to sell each one. And they did, surprisingly. Towards the end of the festival, he remembered the books selling like hot cakes.

That was how one used that expression, right? He hoped so. In any case, he liked Petra. Upon closer inspection, he realized that she was refreshing to be around; she seemed to have mastered a blend of dullness and extremity, which was something he admired. Well, he admired a lot, but he did find that particular talent extraordinary. She was quaint enough, yes, but she was also vibrant and exciting. It was a different kind of excitement she possessed, though, almost like a calm excitement.

His name is... nice?

"Th-Thanks," he mutters, not quite sure how to respond. His name was pretty boring, but if she thought it was nice -- it must have been nice. Because beauty lies in the eye of the beholder, right? Houtarou notices the particular story she's pointing to, and recalls that memory fondly: he and Chitanda had been the only two members in the clubroom that day, and they had played a game similar to the one he had just proposed to Petra.

Oh, right, getting back to the game -- he turns back to her and, a small smirk evident on his lips, the brunette slouches against the table, because he needed to be in the proper position to mystery-solve. Or something. "I'll prove to you that there might be a deep underlying reason to why this library is so energetic today," he says, voice low and gentle, "and you try to come up with rebuttals to my working theory."

[noutarou]

There were no puffballs in his room. There were no puffballs in his room. There were no puffballs in his room. There were no puffballs in his room. There were no puffballs in his room. There were no puffballs in his room. There were no puffballs in his room. There were no puffballs in his room. There were no puffballs in his room.

He was going insane. He'd wake up tomorrow and see that there was no such thing as pink aliens with only a strange rubber sphere for a body. Nope. None at all. No such thing. No. Nope. Never.

[noutarou]

collision ✦ houtarou and kirby

[belovedclockworks]

Uh oh. Why was his frown getting bigger? Did he do something wrong? All he said was his name! Did the person not like him? But he just met him! Was there something about the puffball the person didn’t like? Golly, he hoped that he had given better impressions than this! This wasn’t something he wanted to start the school year off with.

Kirby was pulled out of his train of thought when the person spoke his name. Oh! It doesn’t sound like he’s not happy or something. He couldn’t really pin down what his tone sounded like. It was soft, so maybe he didn’t dislike him as much as he thought the human did? That’s better than he thought! He was asking something…Did he understand him?

The puffball nodded, along with a sound of confirmation. Mostly, yes!

"Poyo!"

[noutarou]

He did not have time for this. He definitely did not have time for this. Did it seriously say "Poyo" as if that were an actual word that people said. Houtarou was having none of this. He was tired of this little puffball's antics. This weird little, smiley-smiley toy. He was starting to get a little ticked off.

Houtarou would have warmed to his new roommate a bit better if, well, he wasn't Houtarou and if Kirby wasn't. Well. Kirby. The lazy teen stared down at the furball with his typical dazed eyes, the boy's mouth frozen in a downwards curve. Okay, so the toy thing could comprehend simple human speech.

That was good. That was something. Something he could work with. But... "Poyo"? What in... what did that mean? What could he use that for? He couldn't just magically understand the alien's strange language; phonetics so vastly disparate from what he was used to were one of those things you couldn't just. Suddenly know.

"I'm going to need more than that," he whispered, half asleep -- maybe he was still dreaming. Yeah, let's go with that. This was just a dream. A stupid, strange dream, and maybe he'd go to the Psychology teacher later or something to figure out if there was something wrong with him or not. There was a Psychology teacher, right? Probably. Houtarou glared at his new roommate, and closed his eyes. Everything was going to be perfectly fine. He wasn't insane. Not at all.

[caninesque]

Houtarou Oreki. Room 312, four doors down from his own. Someone who appears lethargic, uninterested daily in class. An older teenager he shares second hour Criminology with. He was observed intently over the past week, as Ciel had watched most people closely in this block.

A glance over the class roster and housing lists proved the sluggish schoolmate to be close. A possible candidate to steal from, for their most recent assignment; making awkward eye contact with the teen as the two stood about in the dorm’s commons proved it in bad tastes to formulate a plan against him. The boy couldn’t tell if the idea was reciprocated.

The darker haired student was seated at a table, a cup of something sitting in front of him and a dazed expression on his face. Ciel couldn’t blame him for looking tired, eight classes to manage grew tiring quickly.

He paced himself to the kitchen, fetching a mug for himself and began to make himself a small cup of green tea. It wasn’t the best in his opinion, and chose to add a spoonful or two of sugar to it, but he’d used up all the earl grey he’d brought with him over the time he spent on the boat and the last week. Avoiding sending a letter home meant being unable to ask for a gift package of teas. The Phantomhive uncomfortably leaned against the counter waiting for his water to warm, fiddling with the tea bag in his his thin fingers. A moment later, he chose to call out to the individual. “Say, you’re in my Criminology class, are you not?” 

[noutarou]

The brunette never really paid much attention to the other students in his classes. It was bad form, yes, but he himself personified whatever the implications of bad form were. So it was justifiable, somewhat. The boy yawned and stretched out across the table, his anthology held loosely in one hand -- he had been perusing it again.

Despite how high his grades were, he never cared much for studying, or paying attention to a lecture. It didn't suit him. That type of... thing, for lack of a better term, was colorful and exciting and perfect for a busybody, which he was not. If anything, Houtarou was the polar opposite of a busybody. He was a nobody. Wait, no. "Nobody" made him sound unimportant.

He was important. Just not in the way most others were. He was vital in... doing stuff. Things. Something. He couldn't name anything right now. His soporific attitude towards most everything was probably to blame for that, if he was being honest -- though he wasn't exactly about to change anything because of it. Being unbelievably lazy had so many benefits.

Houtarou sipped from a tiny porcelain cup, his eyes tracing the painted birds on its side. They were pretty, he decided. He liked coffee; not as much as a lot of other people, but it was nice. The taste was just enough to jolt you awake if you needed it, but other than that it was somewhat soothing. He didn't need much soothing, though. He had that covered.

It was perfectly natural for the tired teen not to take notice of the persons coming and going all around him at the moment, or at any moment at all, because he was unconcerned with their affairs. Yet he couldn't help but observe that a short boy with uncomfortable-looking, fancy attire and navy blue locks was warming up a cup of tea. That was intriguing in itself -- he looked to be not a day over fourteen, if Houtarou wasn't grasping at straws and he was actually right.

What he took as a surprise, though, was the eye-patch. When the brunette actually took the effort to glance over a second time and let physical details sink in (so that he might have some chance to remember the boy, if he ever saw him again... maybe), he couldn't help but linger far longer than he should on the daftly hidden patch.

His actions themselves were hard to notice as well -- he was a master at this. Observing, and quietly. Going unnoticed. Blending into the background, becoming simple static noise. Something that wouldn't be given a second thought. He liked his anonymity. He felt it might suddenly become useful some day; when and if that day would ever come, however, was a story for another day.

Houtarou was sort of caught off-guard when the short boy decided to call to him. Criminology... the one with that enigma of a teacher, right? Yes, he supposed he might have seen this eloquent boy in that class once or twice. "Mm," was all he chose to respond with, though after a reflecting thought, he saw how it might not have been enough. "Any reason you're asking?"

[noutarou]

Zero? He didn't remember being assigned anything. Maybe he just... wasn't here for that class. He did come just a day ago, so he should probably go tell the teacher that.

...What as his Criminology teacher's name again? He couldn't recall. Oh well. He just sort of decided to go back to sleep again, but made a mental note to do this new assignment, which was strange in its own right.

[noutarou]

collision ✦ houtarou and kirby

[belovedclockworks]

The human was staring at him. He must’ve been pretty weird to the human, since he was giving the puffball a not-friendly look on his face. Yeah, he’s weird-looking, but he’s friendly! It’s not like he’s gonna hurt the person he shares a room with! Gosh, what if all the other humans looked at him like this? It looked like there were a lot of humans here, so his school experience might not be as extravagant as he thought it would be. Bummer. He might not make a lot of friends at this rate if they’re just gonna look at him like this! But he’s going to try! There’s no way he’s going to let how weird he looks to humans get in the way of making some friends!

The brown-haired human pulled out a notepad, it looks like. Kirby tilted his head (or rather, his whole body). What was he writing? Is he gonna show it to him? Before he could walk around to look, the notepad was turned around so that he could see it, showing that singular question. Didn’t he see this language before? It looked familiar. It was a language he saw back at some place, about fighting tournaments or something! The puffball didn’t know much about the language, but he knew enough to understand what the message boards in that tournament were saying.

Kirby stared at the question for a moment, tilting his head to the other side. His body made small squeaks as he moved, which he thought was pretty normal! Hopefully that wasn’t too weird for the person, but! The sentence was…something about his name! Maybe he wants to know what his name is? That’s easy!

"Kaa-bii. Kirby!" He said with enthusiasm. Wow, he thought the person would be asking much harder questions!

[noutarou]

Oh. It spoke. He wanted to ask it to speak again, but wasn't quite sure as to how he would go about doing that. Would he... write it out again? It seemed to possess a basic reading ability, for it had just given him its handle... Kirby. Well, he'd heard stranger.

Who was he kidding. Of course he hadn't.

Houtarou narrowed his eyes into slits, his frown growing even sadder. Was he seriously expected to put up with this... rose-colored thing? He didn't deal well with rose-colored things. Just take a look at his lifestyle: the boy lived one of the most boring, dull lives he had ever seen. He was sure of that. He was also undeniably proud of that.

But then there were the squeaks, the weird noises coming out of the thing when it moved even slightly. It just... it looked like a toy, acted like a toy, sounded like a toy... looked like a toy -- did he list that already? -- probably was a toy. He didn't know how else to explain the crazy little puffball.

Not to mention that he hadn't even been exposed to its wonderful, wonderful (that's wonderful in italics, he noted to himself) ability: being a black hole solely concerned with food. If he knew this early on... he might have just gone the slightest bit crazy.

The brunette ran a hand through his unkempt hair, keeping his tired eyes trained on the pink specimen standing -- sitting? -- in front of him. It had a name, so perhaps he should call it that. "Kirby," he began, his voice even and soothing, though a little on the softer side, "do you understand what I'm saying right now?"

[noutarou]

the beauty of books ❇ houtarou and petra

[kindkiller]

Another laugh comes from her as she places her journal on the table. He’s clever and funny in an effortless sort of way, like it comes naturally to him or something! It’s refreshing. Petra observes him, pointing out how tired his expression looks for someone with such vibrant eyes. It’s a contrast she’s never seen before!

"Is it a mystery?" Petra asks, looking around at their fellow classmates. "Maybe it is! Maybe some classes have a big project due… Or maybe a paper or test or something like that."

She squints, momentarily distracted by the hoard of students in the normally deserted library. Nothing truly interesting could be the cause, though — not to her, anyway.

"Whatever it is, it’s not our business, right? I certainly won’t continue to dwell! So long as I have a peaceful place to sit and unwind, I’m happy!"

Petra smiles brightly and reaches into her bag for a pen, noticing the book in the brunet’s hands. It looks like something almost handmade — not a novel or anything she recognizes. She points to it with her pen, her curiosity piqued.

"May I ask about your book? I’ve never seen something like it before. Is it something you created?" She giggles quietly, clasping a hand over her mouth. "Sorry-! I’m probably being rude. My name is Petra, by the way!"

[noutarou]

He likes being in the background-- living a nice, serene gray life. No nuisances, nothing exciting or wild, just... quiet. Like him. He was quiet. Houtarou was sort of interested by this girl; most of the time, he'd just get comments about how boring he was, but not from her. She actually, sort of, a little bit... played along?

The boy with the vibrant eyes and the dull personality, the clashing opposites. It was poetic. She, on the other hand, screamed "vigor!" through and through. She was one of those colorful people, those people that enjoyed life to the fullest. He thought that was admirable in its own right, but it wasn't exactly his kind of lifestyle.

Houtarou smiled a little at her counter -- was it, really? Was it not simply due to a test, or a large study group? That could be an answer, yes, but it was a rather dreary one if you were to ask him. Which you probably weren't. He went over her theories in his head: the first seemed plausible enough, as he'd come up with it as well, but the second? It was a given that a handful of students would procrastinate no matter what, but the entire student body... now that was something impossible.

Unless, of course, he was looking at it all wrong and the teacher had given them an insanely short time frame to get an assignment done. Which was plausible, looking at the eclectic staff of the campus. But he didn't believe that for one second.

"What if it were something more? What if they were all here for a reason, a reason we weren't keen on?" he muttered, that still small smirk remaining, for the time being. "It's good to look at things from all possible angles, sometimes. But it's also good to be content and know when not to poke your nose into things." His voice was even and collected, and quiet to boot. It was one of those small things that soothed a person; he could soothe anyone, if he didn't add that sarcastic edge into bits and pieces of his sentences.

Oh, but he's talked a lot for someone who would rather sleep. Houtarou stifles a yawn as if to answer his own thought, and he's about to plunge himself into Hyouka for the billionth time when she asks him about it. "Oh, this?" The brunette raises the novel in question with a hand, and passes it to her, blinking slowly. "It's an anthology done by the club I was a part of at my old school. It's not amazing, but it's good."

He pauses, and takes this time to do something important: set his chin on his hand, and breathe a few times. You know, to rest. Because life was hard, and all that teenage angsty stuff. Yeah. That was definitely the reason. It wasn't because he was lazy, or anything. Not at all. Nope.

"It's called Hyouka. It's mostly about how we solved a few mysteries around the school. Nothing impressive..." Petra was a nice name. "Petra is a nice name." Oh. He just said that out loud. Okay. That worked. He didn't mean to, but it worked. He hadn't heard it before -- was it foreign? Was it just something unique, something different? Did her parents impart it to her to let her know that to them, she was special? Well, everyone was special to someone. It just had to be the right kind of someone.

"I'm Houtarou, it's nice to meet you, Petra." Now, for the more important bit: "Would you like to play a game?"

[noutarou]

collision ✦ houtarou and kirby

He didn't have time for this. He didn't have time for a completely ludicrous roommate. It was... what was it? A pink puffball. It was actually, really, not-exaggeratingly a pink puffball. That was it. It was a rose-colored elastic sphere with a mouth and two red shoes at the bottom. And two eyes.

...What the hell.

Houtarou blinked once, twice, thrice before arriving at the conclusion that this was really and truly not-fake, completely inescapable reality, and that he shared his dorm with an alien. It could only be an alien, because all logic seemed to go out the window with it. It could eat anything and everything. It could call a goddamn star with its phone. How did it even have a phone in the first place? Who in their right mind would buy it one? Or sell it one? Was it capable of having money..? Where did that money come from? Did it have a job? Did it have parents?

Normally, Houtarou would consider just working this out through the tunnels of his mind, because that seemed to work well for most -- no, all -- other mysteries he had previously encountered. But this one, this... toy, well, he decided on the cusp of a thought that this... was better left alone and unsolved. Because there was no fathomable logic to back up its existence.

The brunette sighed, and reached his desk. The boy pulled out a notepad from within the confines of his bag, and clicked a pen, and started writing.

WHAT IS YOUR NAME.

He turned the memo pad around, slowly, as he did with all things, and slowly extended his arms until he couldn't stretch out anymore. He was afraid of touching it. It might have carried germs, or something. He had no idea. He didn't want to know. Did he?

Houtarou felt his insides churning. This was beyond strange, and he felt his eyelids come closer and closer until they were simple slits. Nothing could have possibly prepared him... for this.

[noutarou]

the beauty of books ❇ houtarou and petra

[kindkiller]

Any free time Petra had was spent in a quiet, peaceful place where she could jot down her thoughts and write about her dreams and finish undone homework. The library is an ideal location for such activities — usually. Today, however, the normally serene library was surprisingly crowded with busy students; so much so that a place to sit looked to be rare.

She sighs and runs a hand through her hair, looking around for any open spots. There are some, but she doesn’t want to sit directly next to a stranger and invade their personal space. She doesn’t want hers invaded either, of course.

So, Petra makes her way toward the back of the library, trying her best to maneuver past book cases and filled tables. She nearly falls into one, but catches herself gracefully. There was no way she was going to allow herself to fall flat on her face in front of peers. Talk about embarrassing!

It seems, however, that someone saw her little stumble. Her eyes follow the voice that invited her to sit down until they fall upon a brunet boy with eyes as green as emeralds! Petra laughs a little sheepishly and nods, walking over to sit across from him.

"Thank you!" she whispers, her smile displaying her gratitude. "You lucked out finding this table back here. I’ve never seen the library so crowded!"

[noutarou]

To be honest, he's never seen it quite this packed, either. It had come close maybe once or twice -- but then again, he was new here. Weren't they all new here? He felt as though with each new face came a story of amnesia, or a tale of new beginnings.

All he wanted was somewhere quiet, a place to sleep. That's really it. Wasn't it? It was. He thought. The boy almost nicked himself -- he had strayed onto yet another tangent. He really needed to learn how to stop himself from doing that. Houtarou blinked at her reaction, but points blankly at the chair across from him, sort of inviting the stranger to... sit.

He was surprised at himself, too. The boy sets an elbow on the table and his chin in his palm, and takes another good look at her: she's pretty. Really pretty. Then again, so is everyone else in the school. Even some of the boys. It was strange. But he didn't mind -- he doubted that anyone minded. He didn't even care that he wasn't exactly on their level.

He wasn't into that kind of... stuff. Not for now. He just wanted to drift though high school aimlessly, and without much worry. Houtarou had been doing a mighty fine job of that up until now.

"You're welcome," he whispers back, his eyes narrowed, as they usually were. It wasn't because he was angry, or anything. It was just because... he wore his tiredness on the outside, whereas others tried to keep it in. So he always looked... off, in a word. He was okay with that.

Anything to keep people from asking questions if he randomly dozed off in the middle of class, or something. "It took a while, but I managed to pull it off," he says with a small smile -- because honestly, how could he not smile? -- and he plays with the cover of Hyouka for a few moments as she settles herself. "Me neither. It's a mystery, wouldn't you say?

He really, really loves mysteries.