That’s cool. There’s a reason why Koujaku keeps well away from the CERES gardens on most days. Sometimes it’s a crazy kneejerk reaction and sometimes it’s human nature and sometimes it’s flesh-eating plants out to eat flesh in a very figurative sense.
And sometimes, it’s a giant thug who thinks like he’s some kind of hotshot knight in shining armor, out to rescue the princess from yonder beast—there’s a certain amount of coolness to be expected in the act of rescue, and panicky or not, Koujaku’s inadvertently on his way to acting out on tropes as old as time.
Despite his finely honed senses out in the streets of a rough neighborhood, the water is an entirely different kind of turf because it is not, traditionally, considered turf at all. Ergo, Makoto can actually react faster in the water because Koujaku’s still thrashing about a few seconds after Makoto has duly calmed his tits.
Give him a moment…
His feet hit the bottom of the pool and…oh. He stops thrashing instantly, pulling his head out of the water and hacking as much of that awful chlorinated stuff as he can as Pochi is summarily plucked from the water by a very large man.
At least he looked really cool for a while there?
He takes a few moments to stare blankly at the little bastard like he’s got no idea who Pochi even is (and given where he’s ended up, can you blame him?). His clothes are sagging and weighing him down and his bandages are coming undone in the water and his hair’s plastered to his face and neck in really unflattering whorls and—as sort of an icing on top of the crazy cake—his hairpin tips downward.
Oh, it’s a high schooler. He glances at Pochi, similarly mortified.
Best to leave the little guy alone for the time being.
“Yeah.”
He gingerly fishes the hippo out of the water, thinking all the while about how Aoba’s going to kill him for this. Or would, hypothetically speaking.
“Sorry about that.” He doesn’t know what else to even say.
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And sometimes, it’s a giant thug who thinks like he’s some kind of hotshot knight in shining armor, out to rescue the princess from yonder beast—there’s a certain amount of coolness to be expected in the act of rescue, and panicky or not, Koujaku’s inadvertently on his way to acting out on tropes as old as time.
Despite his finely honed senses out in the streets of a rough neighborhood, the water is an entirely different kind of turf because it is not, traditionally, considered turf at all. Ergo, Makoto can actually react faster in the water because Koujaku’s still thrashing about a few seconds after Makoto has duly calmed his tits.
Give him a moment…
His feet hit the bottom of the pool and…oh. He stops thrashing instantly, pulling his head out of the water and hacking as much of that awful chlorinated stuff as he can as Pochi is summarily plucked from the water by a very large man.
At least he looked really cool for a while there?
He takes a few moments to stare blankly at the little bastard like he’s got no idea who Pochi even is (and given where he’s ended up, can you blame him?). His clothes are sagging and weighing him down and his bandages are coming undone in the water and his hair’s plastered to his face and neck in really unflattering whorls and—as sort of an icing on top of the crazy cake—his hairpin tips downward.
Oh, it’s a high schooler. He glances at Pochi, similarly mortified.
Best to leave the little guy alone for the time being.
“Yeah.”
He gingerly fishes the hippo out of the water, thinking all the while about how Aoba’s going to kill him for this. Or would, hypothetically speaking.
“Sorry about that.” He doesn’t know what else to even say.