estoria | [OPEN]

Who: maruko "marco" reiji (

drinkscola) and you!!!
When: 08.02
Where: various places
What: marco being uncool... also guns, soda, and a football
Rating/Warning: mild language, but otherwise nothing for now!

a.

[ welcome to the gun show

or a gun range, more specifically. here's a guy dressed in a pinstripe suit (actually a school uniform, thank you), lifting a sig sauer p226 towards a target. he's done his homework such that his stance and grip are correct, but... experience tends to trump textbook knowledge. he sweats, manages to keep his hand from trembling, and squeezes the trigger.

BANG.

and holy shit, even with protective earmuffs, that's loud as fuck and the resulting kick is even more startling. while the bullet's hit its mark, marco doesn't quite notice as he yelps and drops the weapon; it clatters to the floor wherein it sets off again.

BANG.

whoops. at least that one hit the wall and not a person. he's immediately looking around to make sure no one heard that, much less witnessed it. ]

b: shopping district.

[ well that had been rough and embarrassing— time for some caffeinated, sugary calories. after fishing out his wallet, selecting coca-cola and swiping his card, a single cola tumbles out.

except, after that's been retrieved, the sodas don't stop coming. they continue to cascade out of the machine one-by-one, rolling on the surrounding pavement in a variety of directions. ]

What the hell, I'd say—!!

[ the vending machine continues until it's empty of every can. ]

c: shopping district, part 2.

[ during his hour of waiting for a maintenance bot to show (it won't), marco's taken to building an elaborate pyramid structure. he kind of half-expects something to come along and obliterate it, so he won't be too surprised when that happens. it's been a painful waste of time.

he fixes another can to its side. ]

Geez, what is up with CERES lately...

[ he gets being forced to live in a dystopia, okay, but an inefficient one sucks. ]

d: entertainment/pleasure district.

[ as someone who usually practices alone, even back home, it might be useful to scope out talent. temporarily useful, as marco knows none of this should actually stick. once he's spied someone that looks physically capable of regularly withstanding tackles and somewhat unoccupied (by which he means, unoccupied hands), he's raising his football. ]

Here. Catch, I'd say.

[ whether you like it or not, it's beamed toward your torso. hey, be grateful or something that at least he didn't beam it at your head!! ]

e: boutique; closed to kashuu.

[ okay, in-between being broke (a relative adjective) and newcomers and gross cybuddies and avoiding the hell out of everyone due to those memory shenanigans, marco's finally traversed somewhere beautifully expensive with intent. upon entering, impressed already, he'll approach someone that looks to work there. ]

Hey, I'm Marco. [ potentially useless information, okay. moving on: ] And I'm looking for someone named Kashuu Kiyomitsu...

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[Fugo glances toward the vending machine, and—]

...oh. I see.

[That made sense. It's almost a relief that it's "just" the machinery acting up and not anything else, though he didn't want to get too comfortable just yet. It seemed like there was always something going wrong here.]

I suppose there's no chance of anyone actually coming to fix this.

[He had no faith in this place.]

Is that how it is...

[ muttered to himself, a little glumly. perhaps he'd been naive in his assumption that someone... would. he gestures toward the soda pyramid. ]

Well. If no one's coming to claim it, then it seems you would be free to partake.

[...normally, he would ask if he was sure, but this was certainly more than any person would ever need, and it would be a miracle if someone even came by today to fix it. So maybe there was no harm.

Fugo reaches for a can near the top of the pyramid so as not to disturb the rest.]

Thanks. [He opens the can and takes a drink. It's not exactly ice-cold anymore, but he doesn't particularly care.] Sorry I can't be more help. If it's not one thing here, it's another.

... I'd say the mishaps keep it exciting, but really, I'd rather boredom at this rate.

[ or just, you know, not being thrown into murderous hellpits out of the blue. hashtag: the little CERES things. somehow, he's appreciative that fugo takes caution in picking out a soda. he'll take a cola from it, himself, cracking it open with a satisfying hsss. ]

It's not problem, and you're welcome. [ a sip of his drink. ] I'm Maruko Reiji, by the way, but I prefer to be called "Marco". And you are?

Fugo. It's nice to meet you. [Even if the circumstances were a bit bizarre.] Have you been here long?

[In general, that is. Because he shared the sentiment, that he'd rather have boredom at this point. Then again, it probably didn't take long to get tired of this world's "mishaps." Fugo had gotten tired of them pretty quick, himself.]

I'd be surprised to learn if anything had ever gone right here.

"Fugo"? [ an interesting name, that. alas, his italian isn't good enough that he recognizes it for what it is; otherwise, he would probably explode from excitement. ... internally, anyway. ] A pleasure to meet you, as well. ... And about two months, I'd say. Ah, perhaps that still makes me something of newcomer.

[ suggesting that, hey, maybe he doesn't actually know shit about misfortune here. ]

Something had to go right for the guys in charge. At least, initially. And then it was pretty much all downhill from there...

Ah, yes. It's Italian. [He'd been asked about his "foreign-sounding" name before, so he assumes the issue is that it sounds unfamiliar to him, too. (Then again, this guy totally looked like he could be a mafioso himself... It's really only his name that makes Fugo think otherwise.)] It's been about the same for me, so I guess we must've arrived around the same time.

[There had definitely been people around longer than them, he supposed, but on the other hand, crazier things had happened in much less time. Either way...]

Even two months is too long to be here.

[ —!! ]

Really? You are? [ yes, the excitement crept into his tone there. cool it. ] I mean... that's awesome. I'm half, myself. What part are you from?

[ and they even arrived at the same time! he'd been told someone else was italian here, though he doesn't think this guy's hair is crazy enough to match the description he'd received. marco nods to indicate that he's heard. this is fate, clearly. ]

Hahh. Perhaps, at this rate, we might actually begin to make some progress with getting out of here.

[What a nerd. But Fugo doesn't think too much of the excitement, honestly—it wasn't strange to feel that way over something like this, especially when they were in the minority here.]

I see. I was born in Naples, though I've traveled around because of school.

[And work. Mostly work. But he leaves that part out. He usually didn't hide it, but being a gangster didn't mean a whole lot here.

He wasn't going to hold his breath about getting out of here soon, even though it would be nice. But that's okay, because this is more interesting than his own pessimism. Someone part Italian who wasn't a Stand user and not trying to kill him? Feels good, man.]

Where are your parents from?

Naples, huh.... [ where the camorra arose, he notes. and he understands; the mafia rules that's been familiarized with require someone of higher ranking than marco to introduce the both of them. ] That must have been some school you attended.

[ a curious school, too. he wonders if it involved many study abroad programs... regardless of this internal inquiry, marco's head cants slightly to the side, a sincerer smile lighting his face. ]

My father's from Sicily, while my mother's from Tokyo. [ another drink of cola as he contemplates elaborating. ah, well. ] They met at a fashion show, of all things.

[OPEN]

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