10-08-2015, 04:40 PM
Whoever this man was, he talked like a first person noir crime novel only without the filters of publication nor to just himself. But that gun. That gun was what interested her and they had plenty of food for a sting operation. In this Ururu and Hikaru’s minds were in sync… well mostly.
And more to the fact he was just standing there fiddling.
Ururu began leading them towards him with Hikaru in close tow. As Ururu reached nearer to her destination she adopted a more natural and friendly walk, however Ururu leaned in conspiratorially towards Desco and grinned, “Desco-chan, how does the Final Boss in you feel about spying?”
Her grin wasn’t just a subtle thing, it was more of a mischievous ‘I’m not acting my age’ sort of Grin that Hikaru was starting to learn to fear. The kind of thing she needed to nip in the bud but for all the power she had over her lover, something about this was concerning as well. That such weapons their Shinobi governments feared more than anything was in the hands of a common man here. But how common was common?
Was he a prime?
Hikaru then finally found it in her to speak up. “Perhaps,” she began with a tone of authority, “we should just ask the man about his weapon?” Though it was phrased in the form of a question it wasn’t really much of a request but rather a suggestion with a number of strong connotations.
Connotations like, ‘You’re a fifteen year old’, ‘She’s a child and your looking to her for support for your idea’ or the kicker, ‘Act like an adult!’. All of which while unspoken were rattling around in the Network that connected Ururu and her clones all together.
Ururu cocked an eyebrow. Sure that was a possibility, boring, dull and practical. Stupid logic.
“Guess so,” Ururu grunted in defeat.
Ururu gave Desco’s hand a squeeze and followed with, “Well either way we should eat all this grub huh?” She had kept her grip on the younger girl’s hand, though it wasn’t quite like Hikaru’s more comfortable skin. It do for now until they could unload at least one of her lover’s hands.
Hikaru caught that statement like a drowning woman would a floatation device, “he may also be more receptive to answering questions in exchange for some of our food. We have entirely too much as it is.”
If she didn’t get them both to behave in a reasonable fashion Hikaru was sure they’d all be dead by the time Tournament was ready to start. Spying on random people with guns? It was like drinking liquid suicide. There was a reason why even research into chemically propelled weapons was banned, marked top secret and suppressed with bloody vengeance continent and island wide that involved whole families.
It was one of the few things the Councils apparently could regularly agree to the point where the only people allowed to pursue a career in fireworks were Shinobi of the highest, most propaganda filled, caliber. Something Ururu found out when her application for demolitions training was summarily denied because of ‘personality’ conflicts.
It was until months and years later that the reasons were made clear in one of many historical finds that Ururu, Hikaru and the rest of their group would make in private.
The archeologists in both of them had been offended personally when they found out the councils were purposely manipulating history to erase mentions of knowledge deemed unfit for consumption.
Funny how the seeds of rebellion could be planted from such knowledge.
Not that their rebellion ever amounted to anything, not when they were stuck here in this world.
Finally close enough to the man to speak to without yelling over the crowd, Ururu squeaked out, “Excuse onii-san. What are you doing?”
And more to the fact he was just standing there fiddling.
Ururu began leading them towards him with Hikaru in close tow. As Ururu reached nearer to her destination she adopted a more natural and friendly walk, however Ururu leaned in conspiratorially towards Desco and grinned, “Desco-chan, how does the Final Boss in you feel about spying?”
Her grin wasn’t just a subtle thing, it was more of a mischievous ‘I’m not acting my age’ sort of Grin that Hikaru was starting to learn to fear. The kind of thing she needed to nip in the bud but for all the power she had over her lover, something about this was concerning as well. That such weapons their Shinobi governments feared more than anything was in the hands of a common man here. But how common was common?
Was he a prime?
Hikaru then finally found it in her to speak up. “Perhaps,” she began with a tone of authority, “we should just ask the man about his weapon?” Though it was phrased in the form of a question it wasn’t really much of a request but rather a suggestion with a number of strong connotations.
Connotations like, ‘You’re a fifteen year old’, ‘She’s a child and your looking to her for support for your idea’ or the kicker, ‘Act like an adult!’. All of which while unspoken were rattling around in the Network that connected Ururu and her clones all together.
Ururu cocked an eyebrow. Sure that was a possibility, boring, dull and practical. Stupid logic.
“Guess so,” Ururu grunted in defeat.
Ururu gave Desco’s hand a squeeze and followed with, “Well either way we should eat all this grub huh?” She had kept her grip on the younger girl’s hand, though it wasn’t quite like Hikaru’s more comfortable skin. It do for now until they could unload at least one of her lover’s hands.
Hikaru caught that statement like a drowning woman would a floatation device, “he may also be more receptive to answering questions in exchange for some of our food. We have entirely too much as it is.”
If she didn’t get them both to behave in a reasonable fashion Hikaru was sure they’d all be dead by the time Tournament was ready to start. Spying on random people with guns? It was like drinking liquid suicide. There was a reason why even research into chemically propelled weapons was banned, marked top secret and suppressed with bloody vengeance continent and island wide that involved whole families.
It was one of the few things the Councils apparently could regularly agree to the point where the only people allowed to pursue a career in fireworks were Shinobi of the highest, most propaganda filled, caliber. Something Ururu found out when her application for demolitions training was summarily denied because of ‘personality’ conflicts.
It was until months and years later that the reasons were made clear in one of many historical finds that Ururu, Hikaru and the rest of their group would make in private.
The archeologists in both of them had been offended personally when they found out the councils were purposely manipulating history to erase mentions of knowledge deemed unfit for consumption.
Funny how the seeds of rebellion could be planted from such knowledge.
Not that their rebellion ever amounted to anything, not when they were stuck here in this world.
Finally close enough to the man to speak to without yelling over the crowd, Ururu squeaked out, “Excuse onii-san. What are you doing?”