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Confrontation [Ori]

theonlyori:

Ori was, indeed, in there, not quite napping, but not really doing anything either. Just sort of lying there, enjoying the brief respite from this place’s current brand of bullshit. And then they were so rudely interrupted. By Chuichi, no less. There was no mistaking that voice. And they had no doubt as to what exactly he wanted to talk about.

Slowly they drag themselves off their bed and stretch. They’d been having headaches recently, ever since the bracelet was put on them. Chuichi must suffer some kind of chronic condition. Ori had yet to tell him to take some advil or something, but if this went on for much longer they might have to.

On the way over they plug in the kettle and let that start boiling, and took out a few dishes. You know preparation. And they were taking their sweet time. Chuichi could pound on the door a few moments longer.

Finally they slid open the door and looked at their visitor, face flat and unreadable. “Hello, Genda-san,” they say, their normal voice much quieter and softer than his shouting. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

No mistake indeed. Chuichi's voice is distinct and clear, a whining sort of nasal tone with far too much inflection, and his face expresses similarly as he is FINALLY greeted. With an irritated tone and a pointed finger, he chastises Ori immediately. "What took you so long??"

At the question, though, he gives a puzzled look behind them and spots the kettle. He then takes a look around the rest of Ori's room and squints suspiciously. Whatever judgment he's made here, it isn't good. Regardless, the open door and the question seem like invitation enough, so he walks right in and inspects the cups Ori placed for poison of any kind.

"....what kind of tea? Maybe. Is it good?" He asks, eyeing the cup instead of actually meeting eyes with.. Them. He continues speaking, though, no longer raising his voice but still seeming pretty abrasive in general. "Is it going to make me sick?? I'm _already_ poisoned, it wouldnt take much to turn my organic body into organic potting soil, don't think I haven't realized that. So now that I've foiled your murder plot, I have something serious to talk about."

His voice is surprisingly confident, and he clutches the puzzle rock safely in his free hand, against his chest. He's... threatened by Ori, ever since the incident with the knife, but like hell if he'll admit it. He's giving them a serious, businesslike stare- why shouldn't he?? They're partners, aren't they? In this, at least, Ori and Chuichi are on the same team, so at the very least the idea of mutually assured destruction soothes Chuichi's anxiety.

He puts down the cup and looks sternly at Ori.

"Did you reduce our dosage??"

#ori

Confrontation [Ori]

Chuichi is on a mission. Or at least, you'd think so, judging by the way he walks up to Ori's therapy room. He stops at the door and glares at it with mild determination, holding the large Puzzle Rock in his arms, and otherwise sporting his usual attire. Large sandler shirt, knit hat, lanyard items, and messenger bag. He's not here to hang out, but to talk with his bracelet partner.

After all, things had been happening lately. He'd been poisoned, and had certainly been suffering the effects, and there had been a number of conflicts among the others. To be frank about things, Ori _terrifies_ him; Chuichi finds them not only dangerous, but unpredictable. Being partnered up with them was Chuichi's #2 worst case scenario, #1 being Tatsuya. So far, though, they haven't had too much trouble between them.

Instead, Chuichi is just now deciding to stir up a problem by pounding his fist against Ori's therapy room door. It's a loud, obnoxious knock that expects a response.

"HEY! I know you're in there- hey, Ori!" He shouts, not stopping his knocking until he gets an answer.

#aice-ori

Home Alone: Ice / Kaizou

It’s been a long hard day of Chuichi pinning pieces of paper to the wall. His entire bedroom is covered in papers, whether it be on the walls, or scattered on the extra bed and every other surface in the place. Some are coherent, but paranoid notes about memories and classmates and locations, some are extremely incomprehensible “theories” that seem to have little relevance. There’s also some drawings.

He’s tired out at this point, though, and is laying back on his own bed when the door opens. Right away, he knows who it must be, and he sits up to glower over at it. He shouts before he even sees them.

“HEY YOU COTTON CANDY WEIRDO GET OUT OF MY ROOM!”