Because as the result of my recent experiments in manipulating this cognitive space, I have an *absolute assload* of homemade udon. There's only so much I can pawn off on Crow and his gaggle of children.
You can tell me where to deliver or come to my place, up to you. Our apartment is wedged in Harajuku away from the rest of the crowd in this place. [ADDRESS GOES HERE IDK]
I was also hoping to commiserate a bit, but that's something I'd rather not do over text.
Glorious bounty indeed. The appropriate door is standing about a foot or so open - because why bother worrying about someone else coming in, around here?
Shrike himself is in the apartment's kitchen (remarkably well-equipped for a hole-in-the-wall in Harajuku), giving a slow cooker a steady, un-flinching side-eye. The apartment itself is clearly that of people who don't spend much time at home; aside from the well-appointed kitchen, there's several well-stacked bookshelves, a literal sword rack, and virtually nothing else in the way of personal touches, at least in the common area.
Which... is virtually all of the apartment, given that there's a big sliding door style bed nook. All it's missing is a left-out futon to complete the image of a college crash pad.
Even if the door was left open... it still felt like an imposition to simply step inside without in some way announcing his presence. He reached for the buzzer, before crossing the threshold, ducking to avoid the doorframe. "Shrike? Hell- ah. Well, at least I haven't barged into someone else's apartment by mistake. Thanks for the invitation."
Well, it's not like there's really any room to hide, either. Shrike tilts his head in the direction of the door and says, "I don't think there's anyone else even actively living in Shibuya at the moment. The next closest real person is probably the Akira in Shinjuku who seems to live at that bar." He knows the Akiras have codenames now, but he still needs to sit down with which is which, apparently.
He turns towards his counterpart with a smile that's more genuine than Akechi standard and says, "Make yourself at home. I think this is the first time either of us have ever actually had anyone else here."
"I appreciate it." He returned the smile- and set his bag on the counter. "Yeah, not a lot of opportunity to have guests over... and the idea of hosting a party in somebody else's house doesn't quite feel right."
"And not much point in having anyone over when we usually only come back to eat and sleep, ourselves," Shrike says. "Asch and I are both the sort who can't stand not being busy. I don't know where he finds the time to cook the way he does."
It's said with a look at the kitchen space. There's a large soup pot simmering on a stove burner that's frankly too small for it.
"You wouldn't have," Shrike says. He opens a kitchen cabinent and starts pulling out a pair of oversized bowls. "My partner. I don't often bother saying his name around here, I suppose."
Something like the rules of headlines, where you offer the information that a listener would care about.
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Re: text
Not that I'm aware of, other than a general intolerance for alcohol, but that's more psychological honestly
Slightly different dietary needs, I've noticed, in terms of the balance of nutrients, but apart from that...
I have noticed a higher tolerance for spicy foods in general, actually, come to think of it. Though that might be exposure.
Why?
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Because that's working, where do I sign
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You can tell me where to deliver or come to my place, up to you. Our apartment is wedged in Harajuku away from the rest of the crowd in this place. [ADDRESS GOES HERE IDK]
I was also hoping to commiserate a bit, but that's something I'd rather not do over text.
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why not, i'll head over
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I'll be waiting.
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He arrived at the provided address, having procured Drinks, to be provided in exchange for this glorious bounty.
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Shrike himself is in the apartment's kitchen (remarkably well-equipped for a hole-in-the-wall in Harajuku), giving a slow cooker a steady, un-flinching side-eye. The apartment itself is clearly that of people who don't spend much time at home; aside from the well-appointed kitchen, there's several well-stacked bookshelves, a literal sword rack, and virtually nothing else in the way of personal touches, at least in the common area.
Which... is virtually all of the apartment, given that there's a big sliding door style bed nook. All it's missing is a left-out futon to complete the image of a college crash pad.
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He turns towards his counterpart with a smile that's more genuine than Akechi standard and says, "Make yourself at home. I think this is the first time either of us have ever actually had anyone else here."
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chucks out one old as fuck tag -
It's said with a look at the kitchen space. There's a large soup pot simmering on a stove burner that's frankly too small for it.
Re: chucks out one old as fuck tag -
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Something like the rules of headlines, where you offer the information that a listener would care about.
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