#psycheorihara

[ask-psychepie]

//When you search all of the interwebs and can't find one Tsugaru ask blog... // Lels what the hell am I doing with Mai lief? .-.

[erikararara]

@psyche-orihara

"This is no good," Erika whispered, crouching down on her haunches and lifting several cases off of the CD shelf. She had been looking at these titles for some time and mulling the reasoning behind whether to purchase each of them, but her neverending stream of logic prevented her from making the perfect decision.

And what use was there in buying something if she couldn't pick the right thing to buy?

"If I buy this one," she stroked her chin, "He'll probably really like it, but most of the songs are sad. I know Yumacchi gets affected by those kinds of songs so he might be really sad for a while..."

"... If I buy this one," she inspected the second, "Yumacchi will also like it mut the songs are really long and songs that are too long are kind of annoying..." 

She was aware that she was talking out loud to herself in the middle of a music shop but it didn't seem like something she should be worried about. Who didn't talk to themselves every once in a while? 

The girl held each of the CD's out in either hand, moving them up and down like she was testing them on a scale, "This is such a hard decision," she scoffed at herself, standing upright and clenching her eyes shut, "WHICH ONE SHOULD I GET!?"

It was only when she opened her eyes again that she realized she'd effectively shouted in some poor man's face--

Was that Iza-chan?

[here-in-ikebukuro]

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((Hello everyone, and welcome! If you would like to RP with me, please enjoy this lovely starter and reblog it with your character's response. If you are a personal blog, well, um...Tom will give you a high five.)) 

Well, this sucked.

When Tom first started this debt collecting business, it occurred to him that not everyone enjoyed paying debts. Tom was familiar with the feeling. Hey, who was he to tell you what to do with your money, right? The anger and frustration were understandable.

What was not understandable was the tire iron. There had been absolutely no need for that. Tom sucked in a ragged breath, his hand clutching his side as he staggered against the alley wall. He was not going to be standing straight for a long time, he was sure of it. Then there was the matter of his glasses, of which one of the lenses had been cracked. Then there was the matter of his nose, which was a thick fountain of blood at this point. You know, he might as well save some time and just admit it: everything felt broken one way or the other. 

At least he could almost reach the street by now. 

Tom dragged himself to the mouth of the alley, leaning heavily on the wall. His right knee buckled and he stumbled onto the ground. This was as far as he went. At least, as far as he went without help. 

A shadow crossed his blurry vision and blocked out the light of the street lamps. Who...?