[ Closed ] Broooomance, nothing really gay about it

[kaba]

Who: Aoba (aocatch) & Koujaku (kaba)
When: 12/07 (Mar. 15)
Where: The Friendzone CERES Tech & Auto Shop
What: CYbuddy shopping, awkward love confessions & all the bullshit you can buy at half off! Deal’s good for today only!!
Rating/Warning: Possible mentions of brainwashing, genocide, needles, tebori, spoilers for Koujaku’s good ending route, and all those other things that can make love confessions ever so awkward.

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[ He’d finally caved after Aoba had inadvertently batted his eyelashes a little too cutely at him; and now he’s inside the auto shop like a man marooned at sea. He’s never been as proficient with gadgets, but even he would like to think that he had a fairly good grasp of technology—or at least the kind of technology that was available back at home and wasn’t really about Rhyme in any way, shape, or form.

Chrome-edged auto parts, rotors, carburetors, high-end GPS devices—or whatever the Tellusian equivalent is—flashed at him from the display cases to one side, like used car salesmen jostling each other for a chance at selling him a little something that’s only slightly used. He turns away and locks his gaze onto a veritable menagerie of CYbuddies, chirping, honking, yapping, yipping—and, in some cases, growling—at him from behind glass terrariums packed with quilts or a layer of dirt to simulate some form of comfort for whatever animals were packed therein.

They leer at him; Koujaku grins back, casually taking a step backward. He’d agreed to this partly to apologize for the family dinner fiasco and partly to clear up the issues that Clear had brought to him like forever ago. He knows he shouldn’t have avoided the issue but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—put Aoba through that kind of awkward again if he can help it. And that means talking things out—

Preferably where there weren’t any witnesses—even electronic ones of questionable discretion. This is probably a bad idea.

But then again most things Koujaku can cook up fall neatly under that little umbrella. He turns to Aoba with a hopeful look. ]

You sure this is it…? [ Nice parakeet…nice robot parakeet… He reaches out to pet it, before immediately withdrawing his hand at the snap of the creature’s beak.

Koujaku counts his fingers out with some relief. ]

Fuck it. We’re definitely in the wrong place.

Comments

[aocatch]

[ The wiles of internal monologuing aside, he's pretty uncharitable when it comes to hammering out ultimatums. It wasn't so much a two-bit gambit as it was subtle extortion based solely on the fact that Koujaku worked under the mawkish delusion that people could get by on plausible deniability with enough chutzpah and, like, fifty sundry methods to sycophantically charm his way into a maiden's heart. Not that he'd need the benefit of the doubt anytime soon, but given that his best friend did nothing but pay him in lip service as of late, taking drastic measures appeared to be the best option.

Inevitably, Aoba's forced to reflect upon the notion that Koujaku wasn't actively fighting playboy archetypes as much as he was setting the goddamn standard. If getting him a CyBuddy managed to counteract this weird second puberty Koujaku was currently phasing through (as he'd been right as rain with Beni before, undoubtedly), then. Well.

He wouldn't be taking no for an answer.

Context: Aoba had the emotional tactility of a crass grade schooler with none of the sophomoric propriety to offset his hypocrisy. Couple that with a rationale that stank of well-intentioned bullshit and Koujaku was, quite effectively, shit outta' luck.

What his request actually entailed: loitering around in the store like confused tourists in a foreign country where every cashier spoke in degrees of unhelpful technobabble. The price tags were just as ridiculous. At one point Aoba decided that whoever came up with commercialism ought to be dragged out into the streets and shot, and barring that, burned alive at the stake, but that was also ten minutes ago. He got over it.

Apparently, Koujaku wasn't that great at acclimatization.

For all intents and purposes, Aoba's pleasantly affronted at the assessment, gaze just that side of derisive when he locks eyes with him again. It's suggestive under the right light, even, hand sinuously perched on one hip, head canted at a voluptuary tilt, except no, that's just Aoba turning his sarcasm up to eleven. ]

I know it's hard to take in all at once, but I work here. I think I'd know if we were lost.

[ A gross exaggeration — Aoba couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag if it was torn on both ends. Calmly circumventing his gaze past the robot parakeet in question, he continues down the aisle before pulling up short at the sight of robot dogs yapping behind one of the grilles like no one's business, eyes going squinty at the thought of Ren trapped in one of those cages.

Right. He'd need to bring that up at some point. ]

We're here for you, so at least try to make it work, alright?

[ Swiveling around, he accosts Koujaku with a decidedly placating stare. ]

Maybe one less snappy? Anyways, isn't friendly your type?

[kaba]

It’s a fucking zoo in here! [ he protests, as if the world might start making sense again after the fact. He’s starting to wonder if it was a better idea to try and order a CYbuddy off whatever passes for the Internet here or something.

But the CYbuddy or Allmate or what have you had never been the point of this excursion. “Here for you,” huh. Oh, if only. He’s had a hard enough time just focusing on what the hell they’re trying to do here, if only because he’s just so…inordinately happy, in a manner of speaking. When’s the last time he’d been able to just spend some time alone with him, anyway? Without Clear and all the rest to answer to? ]

Yeah, yeah it is. [ His type, that is. Granted, he hadn’t really been trying to pay attention to whatever was going around here—save to find someplace a little less populated, of course—but he’d get whatever Aoba picked out for him, anyway.

Not that he’s failed to notice that Aoba hadn’t mentioned anything about getting a CYbuddy for himself. Koujaku would have been surprised if he did. Ha, another thing to worry about: what the hell are they gonna do about home? He misses the gang; he misses getting yelled at by Tae-san; he misses hanging out with Mizuki and just…having normal, everyday problems with normal, everyday inherent genocidal tendencies and not have to worry about the rest of the world getting fucked over, too.

Right. One thing at a time. He flashes that parakeet’s mad, beady little eyes a look before ushering them both somewhere a little quieter. Aoba’s not losing a finger on his watch. ]

I’ll take anything that won’t try to kill me in my sleep.

[aocatch]

That's kind of the point. It's about variety.

[ Pitiful.

It's a hard-knock existence when he's lost a good portion of his adolescence to selective amnesia and whatever constitutes dragged-out fights fought on the cusp on sanity. And while there's nothing remotely feral in Aoba's stare now, entrenched in cycles of domesticity as he has been for a long time now, it doesn't mean he's forgotten how to dagger a glare at a wimp who doesn't know when to pick his own battles. He's beside himself resisting the urge to roll his eyes so hard they distend in his sockets and pop right out of his skull, because this is kind of ridiculous, expecting anything like sensibility from a guy undergoing severe mental turmoil. Content one moment, exasperated the next, and it couldn't have just started at Clear's little meet-and-greet because there was something bothering him so much he'd rather mime drinking like a pretensive twat at the dinner table than bother disclosing the real issue at hand. ]

Don't be so melodramatic, you big dork. You could sue this place for bodily harm. And you'd probably get compensated. ... I think.

[ It isn't like he's the one sticking his fingers at obviously distempered birds with robotic peanuts for brains. Who even does that???

But Aoba sighs — some protracted huff of air momentarily sticking metaphysical knives his throat, a death wish and a exhale all at once — and allows himself to be led along by the novelty of his newfound emotional maturity in a bout of role reversal. If he doesn't look out for his best friend, he's liable to bring the house down on their heads trying to truss them up in a life-or-death situation if he winds up the miniature lions enough on their own turf. As much as he genuinely cares for Koujaku's safety and wellbeing, getting kicked out of the store the first hour in, and maybe out of their bodies if they're particularly unlucky, isn't actually on his agenda. Cheekiness to a point, as far as he's concerned, stages its resurgence in his life a package deal. ]

Hm. Hmmmm. None of them get that big, so you could take them around if you wanted to. Cats seem a little too domestic, though. I don't think a hamster would suit you, either.

[ He can already hear Koujaku ranting about the inherent beauty and grace of the female form, but Aoba's not testing out his dating compatibility, he's finding his best friend another pal to tide him over in this obviously compromising transitional period between the supposed death of a planet and post-apocalyptic euphemisms (like there ever was a difference to begin with). ]

What's your take on exotic animals?