Post by Akira Nakajima on Feb 21, 2014 22:10:27 GMT -5
The incident at the school was done with until the paperwork hit Akira's desk. While the crossdressing, shear-wielding boy made his way towards a bar, he did take note of something when his gaze made it to the skies above- a full moon. Like Amane said, the first incident was on a full moon. Two could potentially be a coincidence, but the boy was not counting on it. If the third incident was also on a full moon, then he could at least relax and prepare for each major incident without being stressed. With a slight sigh, he sent a gaze over his shoulder. How many followed him? How many would join him? It was a curious thing to consider. Regardless, the crossdresser made his way into the bar. He received a few glances, likely due to the shears, but people eventually lost interest.
Making his way to the front of the bar, he looked into what all was offered. Did he want to be slightly buzzed? Properly drunk? Shit-faced so he could just glance over the paperwork tomorrow? So many choices, so little time. He rolled his head around on his shoulders as he took a seat at the bar, giving the area a good look over. Was it where the others had gone last time? If not, oh well. Bars were likely a dime a dozen, even in that half of Mosaic. The interior was dark. Or so the boy's eyes told him. Everything was styled with treated wood. Neon lights close to the doors directed people to the bathrooms (where some barfing could be heard), and the exit. The boy looked back to the selection of bottles just out of reach. What the hell was considered “strong”, anyway?
He'd never actually bothered to research the stuff. He just. . . did not want to worry about the work that would soon come up at school.
Making his way to the front of the bar, he looked into what all was offered. Did he want to be slightly buzzed? Properly drunk? Shit-faced so he could just glance over the paperwork tomorrow? So many choices, so little time. He rolled his head around on his shoulders as he took a seat at the bar, giving the area a good look over. Was it where the others had gone last time? If not, oh well. Bars were likely a dime a dozen, even in that half of Mosaic. The interior was dark. Or so the boy's eyes told him. Everything was styled with treated wood. Neon lights close to the doors directed people to the bathrooms (where some barfing could be heard), and the exit. The boy looked back to the selection of bottles just out of reach. What the hell was considered “strong”, anyway?
He'd never actually bothered to research the stuff. He just. . . did not want to worry about the work that would soon come up at school.