That slowly dispersing ring they'd left behind was far from an audience, of course. They weren't circling in the hopes that they would be intentionally entertained, that they would witness some show of extravagant talent. They were waiting for something to laugh at - even Mima realizes this much. If some actual entertainment had broken out before their outstretched phones, she's sure they wouldn't have actually been happy without some carrion to go with it.
But Aster is a type she's seen before - in peppy, commanding idol girls, with personalities too big to miss straight from their debuts. Those were the types of girls who left mall sentai shows behind and went on to actual concerts. Mima had never been dissatisfied with the state of CHAM!, their fanbase had always been large and devoted enough to continue booking venues and earning her meager little living. That was enough for her to know that she was doing enough right, at least. But they were the kind of girls who, as inspiring as they could be, had always left Mima with the thin, vague sense that she must look terribly bland in comparison, leached pale by their mere presence.
If anyone could turn the circling vultures into avid spectators, though, beaks filed down to reveal smiles, she thinks it's probably him. ]
Uh-- [ And she's used to the praise, naturally, casual comments dropped in interviews, meaningless asides from production - but none of those girls that made her feel sun-bleached and strange, as Aster does now, simply by being, had ever called her pretty, hair between her fingers, slipping behind her ear-- ] --thank you.
[ And despite his efforts, regardless of his kindness, she only feels paler and stupider the longer he speaks. The same strange sense that, while her life was not nothing, although she couldn't bring herself to jealousy or longing for exorbitance, it summed up to very little. As though it were not enough that her mere countenance bleeds away in front of his, her life also pales before his own. He speaks of more than a commute and four cramped walls. He kept dogs and expensive tea. What could she talk about from her life? Dead fish, a bicycle, and milk in glass bottles - an exorbitant 50 yen of extra luxury?
Not a very good conversation. Thankfully, she doesn't dwell in the inadequacy for very long - after a minute of thought, she thinks of the perfect half-truth; a luxury which she could not indulge in at home. ]
Um... do you like parfaits? [ Mima smiles... a little guiltily. ] The big ones. With soft ice cream, and fruits, and... [ Her nose scrunches a little as she tries to get her mouth around the word-- ] panna cotta.
[ If Tadokoro didn't kill her first, Rumi would. ]
no subject
That slowly dispersing ring they'd left behind was far from an audience, of course. They weren't circling in the hopes that they would be intentionally entertained, that they would witness some show of extravagant talent. They were waiting for something to laugh at - even Mima realizes this much. If some actual entertainment had broken out before their outstretched phones, she's sure they wouldn't have actually been happy without some carrion to go with it.
But Aster is a type she's seen before - in peppy, commanding idol girls, with personalities too big to miss straight from their debuts. Those were the types of girls who left mall sentai shows behind and went on to actual concerts. Mima had never been dissatisfied with the state of CHAM!, their fanbase had always been large and devoted enough to continue booking venues and earning her meager little living. That was enough for her to know that she was doing enough right, at least. But they were the kind of girls who, as inspiring as they could be, had always left Mima with the thin, vague sense that she must look terribly bland in comparison, leached pale by their mere presence.
If anyone could turn the circling vultures into avid spectators, though, beaks filed down to reveal smiles, she thinks it's probably him. ]
Uh-- [ And she's used to the praise, naturally, casual comments dropped in interviews, meaningless asides from production - but none of those girls that made her feel sun-bleached and strange, as Aster does now, simply by being, had ever called her pretty, hair between her fingers, slipping behind her ear-- ] --thank you.
[ And despite his efforts, regardless of his kindness, she only feels paler and stupider the longer he speaks. The same strange sense that, while her life was not nothing, although she couldn't bring herself to jealousy or longing for exorbitance, it summed up to very little. As though it were not enough that her mere countenance bleeds away in front of his, her life also pales before his own. He speaks of more than a commute and four cramped walls. He kept dogs and expensive tea. What could she talk about from her life? Dead fish, a bicycle, and milk in glass bottles - an exorbitant 50 yen of extra luxury?
Not a very good conversation. Thankfully, she doesn't dwell in the inadequacy for very long - after a minute of thought, she thinks of the perfect half-truth; a luxury which she could not indulge in at home. ]
Um... do you like parfaits? [ Mima smiles... a little guiltily. ] The big ones. With soft ice cream, and fruits, and... [ Her nose scrunches a little as she tries to get her mouth around the word-- ] panna cotta.
[ If Tadokoro didn't kill her first, Rumi would. ]