#quirofiliac

[rottingkiss]

@quirofiliac // starter call

❝You're . . . asking for MY help?❞

Joe's eyes flickered towards the wall behind the cash register station he's standing against to check the wall calendar. It's not April Fool's Day nor is it Opposite Day. With that ruled out, maybe he can now properly process that Kira is actually being serious about this. That's when he faces his 'friend' that came into the bookstore he owns to request his. . . SPECIALITIES.

❝I'm sure even you could figure out I.nstagram, but come to the back-- I have my laptop.❞

Just how old is Kira to be asking him to assist him in finding someone's social media profile? Joe could do this with his eyes closed despite being technology repulsed. Sheesh, their generation is doomed.

The bookkeeper motions for the other to follow him behind the counter and walk through the entrance to the back area. Waiting for them is a desk that has a typewriter sitting in the middle of its surface. Joe approaches said desk and opens the drawer of it, taking out his personal laptop. He sits in the office chair now, opening up the computer to see the screen turn on. The curly-haired man quickly types in the website of choice before glancing back to Kira.

❝Do you have a full name, or are we starting from SCRATCH?❞

Joe has found people across the world based off just a hairstyle much less finding someone off their name. He feels confident that Kira can be helped.

[crocifissione]

fingers curl around (more-so grasp, desperately, like a grounding technique) a nearby pole, knuckles turning white. a single glimpse triggered fight-or-flight, and caesar responded, instinctively. “  what’s a man like you doing here?  ”   opposite of each other in a public space:  it forces the malice out of his words, cleansing it of any inflection, as fiery gaze fixates (incapable of tearing away) on @quirofiliac.

[rissi-chan]

Cannot stop looking at this man's hands . . .

[extorris]

a cigarette was brought to their glossed lips, its burning tip emanating a familiar, filthy nicotine scent;  was this permitted on school grounds?  no.  did eden care?  oh, absolutely not. that cigarette, a brief moment of respite, in their eyes, would have to be pried from their well - manicured fingers before they’d give up on it.  the thin, pale trail of smoke traversed upwards, only ever drawn to one side or the other whenever a fellow student walked past, shifted by the air surrounding them. 

what a boring lunch break. they sighed, flicking ash off their cigarette before pushing themselves away from the wall they previously leaned against —  beginning their usual pace around school grounds and the environment adjacent to it.  straying further and further away from the masses, eden found comfort in the silence nature offered.  one plus of small towns was its lack of people. whereas most animals preferred a social habitat, eden diverged from this spectacularly.  leave me alone and i’ll be happy.  grey hues wandered amidst eden’s own trek, examining their surroundings and watching the few individuals who walked past. none of them were remarkable or memorable, until   —-

huh.  they recognised that man.  where had they seen him before?  think, think …

oh.  they remembered now   —-   and immediately felt irritation surge, churning in their throat. ugh.  they had to talk to him.  throwing their cigarette onto the ground and stomping on it ‘til little remained, they gathered the courage to initiate conversation.

“   aren’t you the guy who keeps talking to keicho?   ”   little introduction necessary and no manners present, eden approached @quirofiliac with a firm, consistent pace. their expression remained fairly neutral, despite their aversion to … well, people.   “   what’s a middle-aged man like you doing with someone like him? ”

[determinazionearch]

“   did you   …   read these?   ”

heart struck ribs like thunder, an uncomfortable, strong fluttering in his chest;  fear settled in the hollow space between collar bones and shoulder blades, its sharp, firm edges pushing against giorno's diaphragm, rendering him silent whilst cautious eyes glanced from the ( slightly, subtly ) disturbed papers to @quirofiliac, a man whose home he temporarily resided in.  violent fantasies illustrated by poetic words were put into ink, leaving an arrangement of excessive brutality, inevitably shamed and stigmatized, accessible for any who could read the language it was written in.

never once did giorno lock eyes, however —- like a berated dog. pitiful.  

what excuse could he give?

“   it’s alright if so.  ”  no, it wasn’t.  lying through his nigh-clamoring teeth, all in the hopes of mitigating this unfortunate situation.  “   i merely hope they didn’t   …  ”  an attempt at swallowing.   to think so little saliva could asphyxiate.  fingertips stroked the edge of the lacquered wooden desk before him, a self - soothing measure.  say what you will, but the choice of furniture in this house was exquisite.  rohan’s impeccable taste, no doubt.  “   —-   unsettle you.   ”

[kokoronohiroi]

kira offers the teen a card-- nothing more, nothing less. it's something that's not very "flashy" (it's... generic. generic in the most "generic" way possible.) yet retains just a little bit of personality: a pastel palette with the kanji somewhat curvy -- perhaps to simulate an american's cursive -- and almost like an autograph, reading out, "happy birthday". it's pinched betwixt index and thumb, the adult having averted his gaze the moment he's approached him. his other hand was stuffed deep in his pocket, clenching and unclenching repetitively (he'd do better with a stress ball.) within its depths. "here," he says shortly after, voice curt but, above all else, polite. "buy yourself something nice-- maybe giorno, too, if possible." a small smirk's touching his lips, uncertain whether it's done out of genuine care (haha.) or, rather, satire. nonetheless, a handful of yen (it's seven thousand, four hundred eighty-four to be exact. ... if that matters, considering kira's offhanded belief that okuyasu might not even know how to count.) does await the boy. eyebrows raise up after wards, as if to accompany a laugh that never comes. only then does he decide to look at okuyasu, head canting with the smirk showing itself as clear as day. "t'is the season, after all."

' um ... thanks ...? ' DESPITE INITAL hesitation , okuyasu still ( very wearily. ) takes the card and opens it's slowly. he was expecting nothing more than the most generic card ever - but ... he's thoroughly surprised to see something within it. fingers carefully examine the bills within hand , counting it up by softly repeating the numbers he saw. ' oh ... i - i didn't expect there to be anything. um , thank you ... mr. yoshikage. ' IT BURNS to address the male with such formality , but he doesn't want to seem ungrateful. truth be told - he was surprised that he had done anything to show appreciation. though , appreciation might be too much to say - considering how this might just be some kind of weird power play thing. ( especially since he mentioned giorno. ) still , the gesture is well received and he offers the elder blonde a bow.

[hyperconscious]

@quirofiliac asked ! : “i changed him, you know. some might say, ah… for the better too.” @ okuyasu 🫶

' sh - shut UP ! ' AGGRESSION WAS his instinctual response when it came to the condesending blonde that taunted okuyasu with haunting accusations and even harsh truths. what else could be said ? trying to mend any inkling of their frayed dynamic is enough to cause stomach to turn ... and even throwing a threat towards the elder blonde's way could end up souring his relationship with their shared counterpart ---- -- having to merely compromise with insufferable notions such as this. ' y - you don't do nothin' besides infect people's lives like a parasite ... and soon enough giorno will see that ! then you'll be sorry ... ' SUPPRESSING THE boiling emotions that festered deep within chest was enough to cause teeth to grit and grind , trying to avoid an over - blown altercation that delinquent teen seemingly wanted to egg on despite dire consequences. it couldn't be helped ---- -- the whole ordeal reminiscent of poking a bear for him , tempted to see if he could truly be victorious against barbaric yet intellectual rival.

[trehontin]

@quirofiliac

are your... "acquaintances" always this whiny.

" They are soldiers and comrades. But to answer your question: no, they are not. Just some subjects, as they happen to come, seem to be more of a bother than it is worth. "