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Post by NAKAMORI TAKUMI on Jun 13, 2010 13:22:58 GMT -5
[/b] vision of scary Could start a revolution,[/b] polluting the airwaves A rebel, so just let me revel and bask[/b][/font] ~~~[/center] "Fifteen-love,"
[/b] Takumi called, and dug a tennis ball from his pocket. Service ace. He always did like those. They were hard to make, sometimes--it did help when his opponent was utterly incompetent. He went to the tennis courts in Asakusa weekly, if only to stay fit. Sports were never a love of his, but he saw no point in staying home all day--even if it meant playing music for twenty-four hours. Tennis, in any case, was just about the only sport he was good at. Basketballs were ridiculously heavy, softball and baseball, without racquets, had a tendency to hit a person in the face (which was an experience he didn't intend to repeat), and football was out of the question. He served again. "Thirty-love," he recited, and frowned a little. His opponent was horrible. He'd approached the first boy he'd seen and invited him to play a one-set match. The boy had looked fairly fit, too. The ball boy approached him and handed him another two tennis balls. He tossed one up and served again. "Forty-love," he said. He really didn't have any fancy moves, the way some people did. No amazing speed, no signature move, no power serves or counters. Sometimes, he wished he did. Childish as it was, it would've been fun to show off. He watched as his opponent missed another shot--by a yard. "One game to love," he said, folding his arms. Five minutes! That had to be a new record for him. At this rate, he wouldn't get to work out much. He wasn't even breaking a sweat. That was disappointing. "Your serve."It was a weak serve; slow, with no spin to it whatsoever. He was no tennis expert himself, but frankly, the serve was pathetic. He considered saying it aloud, but decided against it. Instead, he returned it with a swift backhand and watched as the ball skidded right within the baseline. "Love-fifteen," the boy called. "You're pretty good!" "Thank you," he replied, and returned the second serve easily. He hoped the boy wouldn't request a rematch.[/font][/blockquote][/justify] ~~~ words: around 350 tag: junko comments: ohh, tennis[/size]
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Post by KUROSAWA JUNKO on Jun 13, 2010 14:45:50 GMT -5
Junko did not often go to Asakusa; she'd found there was very little to interest her there, and there was a certain traditionally Japanese atmosphere to it that didn't often sit well with her. Not that she didn't appreciate historical sites, but it was awkward to visit them without some sort of purpose in mind.
She was only in Asakusa because she had spent several hours racing around on her motorcycle in an attempt to burn away stress - this district was just one of many destinations she would run through regularly. It wasn't really working, for once, and Junko was thinking about giving up and going back to her little house in Chiyoda.
She hoped she wouldn't collapse once she got home.
"I hate this," she announced to no one, voice muffled by her helmet. She'd just finished her mandatory shaken inspection two weeks ago, which had been an awkward experience; the inspector had either been curt, or simply efficient - she couldn't tell, and she'd felt inadequate the entire time. There was also the matter that she had forgotten to change the bulb on her headlights before going through the inspection, and though she'd passed, it was still embarrassing.
The light changed.
It was as she was zooming past a sports center that she caught sight of the outdoor tennis court; and there, a familiar shock of blue hair. Doubting her eyes, she slowed to a stop and parked her bike just outside of the court, hanging her helmet against the side of her motorcycle (not the best idea, but it would only be temporary).
It was him, after all.
Playing tennis, no less.
(Junko figured that he would be the sort to play tennis; he seemed too delicate for basketball, and didn't seem like he could run fast enough to play soccer or any similar sport. Besides, tennis had always been something of a wealthy person's sport, and though she hadn't asked, it was plain to see that he was, in fact, quite wealthy.)
"Nakamori?" she called - realizing too late that it would probably distract him from the game.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - words: about 350 tag: takumi comments: oh, motorcycles - I think America's one of the few countries where blowing the horn means "asshole!" instead of something helpful [/left]
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Post by NAKAMORI TAKUMI on Jun 13, 2010 18:04:12 GMT -5
[/b] 'cause nobody wants to See Marshall no more, they want Shady,[/b] I'm chopped liver.[/b] Well, if you want Shady,[/b] this is what I'll give you[/font] ~~~[/center] "Five games to love,"
[/b] Takumi called. He didn't see the point in calling the score anymore--the boy had only gotten one point off of him, and that had been because a lucky breeze had blown the ball off course. Half the time Takumi hadn't even bothered returning the ball--it was going to be out, anyway. "Your serve."This boy's tennis was a joke. The serve ended being more of a lob, and Takumi jumped up to reach it. Then he heard his name being called, and instinctively turned around. The ball whizzed past him, grazing his cheek. He hissed slightly, more out of surprise than pain, and staggered as he fell back to the ground. That voice--Kurosawa? There she was, standing next to a motorcycle. It wasn't particularly fancy or sleek, but simple. He thought it suited her. He nodded in her direction, and hoped she didn't notice the scrape. "You okay?" his opponent called. Takumi gave a brief wave and signaled for him to serve again. The ball barely flew past the net, and Takumi had to run forward to reach it. "Good afternoon, Kurosawa," he said, hitting a quick return. The boy reached it and lobbed it back. Takumi jumped up again for a smash. "What brings you here?Side step, volley. "I didn't realize you had a motorcycle." Back step, lob. "And I haven't seen you lately." Jump, feint, drop volley. "Do you live around here?"It was one of the benefits of sports--with music, halfhearted concentration wouldn't get one far. Sports, though--tennis was simple. You guarded your side of the court and tried to score on your opponent's. That was it. The boy was practically panting when Takumi called, "Advantage, receiver!" One more point and he'd be out. There wouldn't even be a tiebreaker. His opponent needed to work out more. A halfhearted serve. A quick return. "Game, me," he said. "Six games to love."[/b][/font][/blockquote][/justify] ~~~ words: 300ish? tag: junko who is super cool with her super cool motorbike comments: I want a motorcycle! cept I'd get run over in an instant, so maybe not[/size]
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Post by KUROSAWA JUNKO on Jun 13, 2010 19:01:12 GMT -5
She almost considered applauding.
As much as Junko hated unfair games, she couldn't help but feel amused watching the proceedings before her. There was Nakamori, casually playing tennis, and utterly dominating the opponent while holding a perfectly normal conversation with her.
She knew about multitasking, but this was a little much.
She wasn't a particularly skilled tennis player herself, but even she wasn't as terrible as the boy playing against Nakamori. Perhaps he was a rich man's son, surrounded by compliments, who didn't quite realize that he was not, in fact, a skillful player. Perhaps he thought he had a sportsman's flair, or perhaps he had talents in other areas unrelated to this.
Whatever the case, she was somewhat glad to see that he was taking his loss in stride.
Nakamori was more agile than she'd expected, too - Junko had thought him a musician, not an athlete. Then again, there was rhythm in sports, too, wasn't there?
"Sorry about the ball." An apology, as Nakamori settled his win. "I didn't mean to distract you. I suppose I have a natural affinity for injuring you," she joked, slight sarcasm coating her words - she didn't want to make it seem as though she were pleased about causing him to get injured again.
She adjusted her gloves indifferently as she spoke, answering his previous questions. "I live in Chiyoda, actually. Nothing special, though - my parents live in an apartment in Ichibancho," she said, citing one of the area's more upper-class districts, "but I have a more... humble abode."
It was true; her house was not glamorous or exciting, and though it was recently remodeled in a more Western style, it still had traces of its more traditional roots in that it did not have the conveniences of air conditioning - though it did have heating. Luckily, summer heat had not quite set in yet, and Junko intended to have a cooling system installed anyway.
She still didn't particularly enjoy having visitors; it was somewhat embarrassing.
"My motorcycle aside, I didn't realize you played tennis." Junko glanced behind her, checking to make sure her bike was still parked where it was; she was fairly possessive of it and somewhat apprehensive of leaving it anywhere uncovered. "Or that you were - excuse my flattery - that good at it. Have you played long?" she asked, turning her attention back to him.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - words: about 400 tag: jesus christ takumi what is this insane coolness. why are you so cool comments: now I wish I had geeked out about her motorcycle more [/left]
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Post by NAKAMORI TAKUMI on Jun 13, 2010 19:35:19 GMT -5
[/b] that I still have pictures? However you prefer to do and goes for him too[/b] You think I'm scared of you?[/b] You gonna ruin my career,[/b] you better get one[/font] ~~~[/center] It was a ridiculously easy win; and, judging by Kurosawa's expression, she thought so too. "The ball barely touched me," he assured, putting away his racquet. He didn't bother changing out of his tennis clothes, and walked toward the fence. "Don't apologize."
She really did have a nice motorcycle. He'd considered buying one, but never actually got around to it. It must be fun to ride, he thought.
"Chiyoda? Then you don't live with your parents?" It made sense, technically--she was older than him, after all, and he lived on his own. "Ichibancho is a very nice neighborhood," he commented. "Do you dislike it there?"
Humble abode, huh? She didn't seem like the sort of person who'd like extravagant things. Or maybe he was just assuming too much.
He watched as she glanced quickly at her motorcycle. She was probably proud of it--or at least, possessive of it. "Oh, the match? It wasn't much; my opponent wasn't particularly competent," he acknowledged. "My tennis skills aren't much to brag about. My father taught me when I was still in grade school, but I didn't play very often. Back when I lived with my parents, we had a ritual of exercising weekly." There had been a spectacular gym on the top floor, in his parents' house. It took up the entire floor, complete with a swimming pool, a sauna, and numerous useless exercising machines. "And you don't get much exercise playing music," he added, "so I come here weekly."
Why had he told her all that? He felt like he'd just given away half of his family history.
"Still, thank you." A few moments of silence, and he gestured to her motorcycle. She'd been riding by with it, he assumed--and she didn't live in the Asakusa district. "Were you about to go somewhere?" he asked. Shopping, maybe?
That really was a nice motorcycle. He wondered if she liked sports.
"Do you play tennis?"
[/b] [/font][/blockquote][/justify] ~~~ words: 324; why can't I write as much as you do? tag: junko is super cool with her motorcycle and her short hair and her rifle. (in one of your last icons, I mean) comments: taku likes the motorcycle, haha[/size]
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Post by KUROSAWA JUNKO on Jun 14, 2010 16:48:16 GMT -5
"Mm, it's something of a habit," she murmured. She did have a habit of apologizing; most people didn't want to set aside their pride, but she'd learned in her junior high school years that it was a good way of getting through ridiculous arguments - over schoolwork, classes, boys - and settling them as quickly as possible.
Most people didn't even care particularly what angered them; it could have been anything, anything at all. Even a simple decision like not accompanying someone to a bookstore would set off some of her friends then, and she'd decided that it was better to just apologize as sincerely as she could make herself appear and walk off.
Everything would be normal again the next day; no one could stay angry at someone who had genuinely been sorry, after all.
Catching sight of her reflection in a car window, Junko slipped a strand of stray hair behind her ear. "It's not that I dislike Ichibancho, it's just..." She trailed off, thinking about how best to phrase the situation. "I guess you could say my parents and I aren't exactly in constant contact. I don't know why. Well, they always did joke that they'd throw me out at eighteen," she said, laughing halfheartedly.
Now she was the one feeling like she'd said too much.
She changed the subject as quickly as possible.
"No exercise playing music?" she asked, with mock horror. "Clearly, you've never carried a first-year's double bass up seven flights of stairs. Now that's exercise."
And a shrug. "That sounds like an odd requirement, though. I used to jog every morning back when I was in high school, but I gave it up senior year. And then there's the bike, so... you know how it goes."
It would have been a lie to say she wasn't worried about her weight, but it would also have been a lie to say that she had reason to.
Junko looked again at her bike. "And, no. Nowhere in particular. I was just about to head home; I was - visiting a sick friend," she lied, not wanting to seem like a rowdy biker who raced around all day for sport (though in this case that was somewhat true).
"Um, I play a little. Not very much." She blinked at the tennis courts, then at her attire. "But it would be weird to play tennis in a leather jacket, don't you think?"
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - words: 400 again - I don't write a lot, really; I try to write about as much as the other person! tag: taaaaaakumiiiiiiii - saunas and swimming pools? oh geez, you rich people comments: but of course! junko keeps it around to look cool! [/left]
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Post by NAKAMORI TAKUMI on Jun 14, 2010 17:59:16 GMT -5
[/b] a terror for the horrible Will scare ya tomorrow, is the airborne assault of the rappers[/b] Hit the source to better[/b] my skills, I head for[/b] the border And run the Galloping Hills,[/b] the choice is yours[/font] ~~~[/center] Takumi frowned when she brought up her family. He didn't know many people who didn't keep in touch with their families anymore; did she resent them? Did they resent her? Maybe they'd just lost touch. But what sort of family lost touch with its daughter?
He decided to avoid commenting.
"No, I can't say I've ever carried a double bass up seven flights of stairs,"
[/b] he acknowledged, amused. It wasn't necessarily that he couldn't--but he disliked carrying his violin up seven flights of stairs. "Frankly, I can't envision you doing that, either. Aren't there elevators for tasks like those?"So she was visiting a sick friend. He didn't pay much attention to that; if she had nothing else to do, then-- "If you're free, join me for a match. I suppose you can't play in that," Takumi agreed. He considered her attire for a moment. Personally, he'd never put much thought into what he wore; tennis was just a hobby, and he'd been wearing his polo and and shorts to the gymnasium since he was six. It was a given. Baggy polyester shirts looked ridiculous on him, and although his schoolmates had constantly teased him for dressing formally even while exercising, he'd never bothered changing the habit. (He would've looked awful in anything else, anyway. Caps hated him. Polyester hated him. He couldn't even wear a visor to the beach.) It was silly to assume that she'd brought tennis clothes with her. But he did want to play against her. "I'll buy you a set," he decided. He had an account with this particular club, and refilled it himself every now and again; there was more than enough to buy a full outfit. He motioned for her to enter the main building with him. The tennis club was a private one, but members were allowed to bring guests. It was overtly fancy, although most of the time, he didn't mind--it was nice to have a peaceful, classy, and air-conditioned place to go to after a match. He rather liked the club's shop. Everything in it was white--it was the standard color for tennis players, generally. The shop was blinding. He always wondered how people managed to keep it impeccably clean. The automatic doors opened, and the rush of cool air as he entered the building was warmly welcomed, even though he hadn't sweated much. He turned to Kurosawa. She'd be an XS, he thought. Extremely petite. "Any preferences?[/b][/font][/blockquote][/justify] ~~~ words: maybe 400? tag: junko with her awesome leather jacket (I have one toooooo; you've seen it, right?) comments: my cousin has a mansion somewhere in Pennsylvania, and she has a swimming pool and a sauna on the top floor. it was so cool.[/size]
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Post by KUROSAWA JUNKO on Jun 15, 2010 13:30:10 GMT -5
She blinked.
What just happened, there?
(More importantly, who on earth would just drag someone to buy clothing? And pay for it? No, what male would insist on shopping for a female? Not that Junko usually thought in stereotypes, no, but - what?!)
And she was fairly relieved that he hadn't asked about her family.
"W-Wait, no, that's not necessary - !" But her reaction was, as usual, too late, and he'd already walked straight into the tennis club; Junko, not being the sort to try terribly hard with persuading others, didn't bother to continue yelling.
(She was also a bit worried about the fact that he seemed to expect a good challenge out of her, and she hadn't played tennis in a while, and really, she had a fantastic track record of failing to impress on more than one occasion, and there was also the matter that she was pretty sure she might injure him again -)
She followed him, walking at a slightly quicker pace to catch up to him and feeling slightly out of place in the establishment; it was more because of her attire than anything - she was getting odd glances from both the white-clad employees and the players alike, and her general posture probably didn't help.
She didn't slouch, exactly, but she wasn't the type to strut, either. And a lot of the people here were actually strutting.
Quite literally.
Junko straightened somewhat, and tried to act casual. It could be worse - she could be lost, after all, or dying, or something. Nakamori seemed to know where he was going, anyway; she'd leave it to him.
"You don't really have to," she protested again, wondering if he could even hear her or was simply ignoring her. "I mean, we could always play some other time, and I wouldn't want to put you through the trouble, and -"
- tennis uniforms are unnecessarily expensive and I honestly can't really afford it.
But suddenly they were in the store - damn, that was a lot of white clothing - and Junko was being asked for preferences. As if she had any to begin with.
She really should have brought money with her, but the only things she'd thought to take when she left were her license and her house keys, intent on merely spending a few hours outside with nothing else to do - not suddenly be engaged in playing tennis.
Giving up, she sighed, "...Whatever you want is fine, I guess."
She almost felt like hanging her head, but decided not to.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - words: about 400 tag: nakamori takumi with the stupid spacious wallet (yes I have, it's awesome) comments: luckyyyy~ I love big houses, hahaha [/left]
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Post by NAKAMORI TAKUMI on Jun 15, 2010 14:05:04 GMT -5
[/b] about a Grammy? Half of you critics can't even stomach me, let alone stand me[/b] "But Slim, what if you win,[/b] wouldn't it be weird?" Why? So you guys could just lie to get me here?[/b][/font] ~~~[/center] Takumi wondered if she thought she had to pay him back. It would've been a funny thought; most of the clothes sold in this club were designer--from Nike to Versace, even. He ignored her protests and led her to the woman's section. "It's no trouble,"
[/b] he said, and leaned against an empty fitting room. "You don't have anything else important to attend to, do you?"Versace was the most expensive brand there, and Nike was the cheapest. He never liked Nike much--too much polyester. Versace, meanwhile, was overly extravagant and too flimsy. He wondered if she'd even heard of these brands. After a while, he gestured to the Lacoste section. "My mother always bought her tennis clothes from Lacoste," he said. "Nike was too plain for her. But pick whatever you'd like."Something told him she didn't shop much. Or, at least, not at places like these. She seemed distinctly out of place in her dark leather jacket. "There are other colors," he said. "Blue, pink, green--all very light, though."She was decidedly resigned when she told him whatever was fine; he smiled to himself and took three long strides to Lacoste. "I rather like Lacoste, myself." He handed her the first outfit he saw and ripped off the price tag. "The cost is irrelevant. Choose something you'd like and try it on." He reached for his membership card and fiddled with it while he waited. She must've found it odd, for a boy to drag her to go shopping. But he really did want to play a match with her; it'd been a while since he'd last seen her. Even if she was utterly incompetent. Besides, he wasn't much of a pro, either. One of the shopper's assistants walked over to him and gave him an exaggerated bow. He knew this one; his mother adored her. She was the daughter of one of his parents' friends; he wondered what someone like her was doing working at a sports club. "Would you like help picking something?" she asked. "I'm here with a friend," he told her. "You can leave." It occurred to him a few minutes later that he probably should've worded that more nicely. He turned to Kurosawa. "Have you picked something yet?[/b][/font][/blockquote][/justify] ~~~ words: 377 tag: kurosawa junko who better pick out a pretty tennis skirt comments: it was scary though! I was so sure it was haunted[/size]
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Post by KUROSAWA JUNKO on Jun 15, 2010 15:14:23 GMT -5
Well, it was an undeniable truth that she really did have nothing important to attend to at the moment. He didn't quite have to phrase it that way, but it was true enough.
He seemed quite comfortable rattling off brand names - she'd never paid much attention to them, and had just picked whatever she'd thought was relatively stylish and comfortable, and only added to her wardrobe whenever she'd ripped or broken something. Shopping didn't suit her, as a general rule; she had no patience for sorting through racks upon racks of clothing until she found something she liked, and she'd always been particularly uneasy with shopping with another person in tow.
Junko was feeling rather out of place.
She thought it was somewhat odd that he was recommending what his mother wore for her, but she decided to shrug it off. He probably didn't have any sisters or girlfriends to compare with, and anyway, his mother was probably not what one would typically think of when thinking about mothers. "I-I guess," was all she said, not really knowing what she was guessing at. "I just don't really feel right with accepting something like this so casually..."
The cost isn't irrelevant at all...
Suddenly she was in the fitting room with a tennis uniform and a pair of sneakers shoved into her hands.
"...Can't be helped."
She usually didn't even change in dressing rooms - just bought whatever seemed like it would fit. If it did fit that was all well and good and if it didn't, well, she could alter it.
So, off went the black pants, leather jacket, and worn boots. There was something to be said for brand-name clothing to be of better quality than most; the top fit snugly and was remarkably soft -
- but the skirt.
The length most certainly did not conform to school regulations.
(She was already a graduate; she shouldn't have been thinking about that.)
Not that Junko had never worn a skirt before - she was fond of wearing dresses and shorts and the like in summer - but she would have never worn them outside; she'd wear them inside where no one was around to comment on it. Or even see it.
Frills did not quite suit her to begin with.
Hesitantly, she peeked out from the dressing room - thankfully, Nakamori was preoccupied with shooing away an employee - and quickly took a random skirt off a nearby rack, darting back into the room while hoping no one had seen her in the offending attire.
She swapped the skirts, then took a glance in the mirror - same old Junko, belted white top, pleated white skirt.
(She had never thought about what she was wearing quite so much in her life.)
And stepped out.
"Is this all right?"
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - words: like 450 tag: takumi who will probably notice there are more decorations to her outfit than she does because she's so fashionretardedish comments: oh my, a haunted house! but, but ghosts can be cute... or at least I wish they were [/left]
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Post by NAKAMORI TAKUMI on Jun 15, 2010 19:42:34 GMT -5
There's a certain mystique [/b] when I speak, that you notice that's sorta unique,[/b] cause you know it's me,[/b] my poetry's deep, and I'm still matic the way I flow to this beat,[/b][/font] ~~~[/center] "Consider it a birthday present,"
[/b] he said. Early or belated. Unless it was actually her birthday today. He really was looking forward to playing her; he didn't know many people outside his family who played tennis, and most of his weekly matches were against complete strangers. It was fun, in the end--winning was still winning. He lost sometimes, too; not as often, though, since he'd been playing it since grade school. And when he did lose, he'd play stranger after stranger until he won again. Still, playing a stranger was--well, playing a stranger. He imagined it must be much more entertaining to play a friend. Or an acquaintance. Tennis probably wasn't her forte. Music probably wasn't, either. Maybe writing. But she'd yet to demonstrate any of the three for him. And as odd as it was, he really wanted to see. He nodded when she stepped out of the changing room. "That'll do," he said. "Don't bother changing out of it." He walked over to the register and greeted the cashier. "I'd like to buy that outfit," he said, gesturing to Kurosawa's tennis uniform. He handed the price tags he'd ripped off earlier and handed it to the cashier. "Sir?" the cashier began. "This tag doesn't match the skirt she's wearing." Takumi glanced at her. The new skirt was a bit more modest, he admitted. "Then I'll buy that skirt instead."He rattled off his account number, and glanced at the receipt before tossing it into the nearest trashcan. She'd traded the Lacoste skirt for a Versace skirt. He smiled wryly at her--chances were she hadn't realized. "You have very good taste in skirts," he told her. The courts weren't very far, and he took out his tennis racquet again. He was about to call rough or smooth when he realized that Kurosawa didn't have a racquet. "The club has racquets," he said. "I'll get one for you."[/b][/font][/blockquote][/justify] ~~~ words: 321 tag: junko who may or may not know the difference between lacoste and versace comments: ahh you wish. to me, ghosts are creepy things with red eyes who associate with beasts that will decapitate you.[/size]
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Post by KUROSAWA JUNKO on Jun 15, 2010 21:06:20 GMT -5
"I didn't think you were the type of person to be extremely early, Nakamori. I was born in December." She shook her head at his detachment to the situation; as far as she knew, it was not at all normal to buy gifts for someone you'd only met a few times before.
Or was it only once?
Okay, two if you counted the music store, but that was, what, three seconds of conversation? Hardly enough to warrant gifts.
The courts were a mere thirty seconds' walk from the store; her bike was still parked at the sidewalk, as always, and she set her bag of old clothes down near the unoccupied court Nakamori selected.
The skirt fluttered in the wind; Junko frowned. She usually played in shorts, skirts were - they were -
"And what do you mean," she said suddenly, "I have good taste in skirts? I didn't -" Realization slowly dawned on her. "I didn't pick out anything ridiculously expensive, did I? Oh, no, I didn't mean to..."
But he'd already wandered off to get her a racquet - apparently much the same situation as when she'd initially protested about getting her a uniform in the first place - and Junko let it go.
Although, she had to pay him back somehow, didn't she? That was only natural...
She took a few paces around the court, trying to recall the times she'd played tennis - they were few and far between, but she'd won most of her matches through some incredible mixture of pure luck and half-assed strategy.
And there were a couple of times her opponents had stumbled, missing the ball.
She was pretty sure she might have been cheating or something, subconsciously, for it to happen, because she sure as hell was not a terribly lucky person. Perhaps someone had loosened their shoelaces for her. Someone with a grudge against them. That seemed reasonable enough.
He came back with the racquet, which Junko accepted without a second thought. "Rough or smooth?" she asked, hefting it in her hand.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - words: 300 tag: takumi who knows the difference between lacoste and versace and could probably buy out the whole store comments:maybe there are some totally harmless ghosts out there that just happen to really like someone's house! [/left]
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Post by NAKAMORI TAKUMI on Jun 16, 2010 18:07:22 GMT -5
And whether you like to admit it [/b] I just shit it Better than 90%[/b] of you rappers out there... It's funny, cause at the rate I'm going when I'm thirty[/b] I'll be the only person[/b] in the nursing home flirting[/font] ~~~[/center] "I told you to forget about the cost,"
[/b] he said. "Smooth." It landed rough. "Your serve," he said, and walked toward the baseline. It was customary to wait at the service line, but he'd always preferred the baseline--more room, more control. Tennis, in the end, was about control--the way one held the racquet, the power, the accuracy. There were no stray movements, no broken rules. Everything counted. The serve was almost everything. Kurosawa served. She has a clean serve, he thought, and ran up to the service line to return it. It was a simple overhand--she returned it easily. It flew past him and landed barely an inch within the sideline. He straightened up, impressed. "Nice aim. Fifteen-love."She took the first point, but he'd take the second. Another swift serve, which he returned. She returned that with a lob, and he jumped up for a smash. "Fifteen, all."It went on like that for a while, rallies, back and forth, until they were at one game each. "You're very good," he said. "Do you play much?"His opponents weren't always so skilled; sometimes, if there was nobody his age, he'd resort to using the ball machines. It wasn't much fun, that way--but he'd practiced so much with it that most opponents were easy to beat. He wondered if Junko had ever practiced with a ball machine. She served, and he returned. His tennis coach from grade school had long ago classified him as a serve-and-volleyer. He never minded much; there was no waiting involved, nothing too defensive, nothing too aggressive; lighthearted. He ran up to the net and waited. She lobbed it over his head. He almost chuckled when he ran back to the baseline and returned it. A counter-puncher. It suited her. "Not bad," he said, and hit it back. "Love-fifteen."[/b][/font][/blockquote][/justify] ~~~ words: 300ish? tag: junko who can potentially cream taku in a game of tennis words: wouldn't I just love to meet a friendly ghost?[/size]
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Post by KUROSAWA JUNKO on Jun 16, 2010 19:27:27 GMT -5
A pity.
She wasn't exactly uncomfortable with serving, but from what she'd seen in his earlier game he had a fairly returnable serve. If Junko were the aggressive sort, she would have taken advantage of it - but she doubted she could keep exploiting such an easily-corrected weakness any longer than two or three points.
Anyway, it was a purely theoretical situation. She was the one serving, and she'd need some way to take advantage of it.
One game each.
"I wouldn't say I played all that much." She toyed with the ball in her hands. "But I'm decent, I guess."
She served at a higher angle; he returned with an unexpected smash.
The next serve, she scored - but not after a few minutes' worth of running back and forth. His volleys weren't particularly aggressive, but they'd come at varying heights, the same as her serves. Besides that, he seemed to have realized that she was particularly bad at returning slices, and dealing with the ball at a low angle in general.
He's just too damn good at volleying, she thought, as he called the score again; she wasn't really listening. He was also about as agile as she'd thought - his stamina, she didn't know.
Another serve - he seemed to want to smash again, but ended up lobbing it back. A couple returns, and he scored.
And so it went.
Junko was getting tired - not at all a good thing, and she tried to buy some time. He'd complimented her on her aim, but his was also fairly good. Well, assuming his intent was to tire her out by making her run this way and that along the court.
"How about this," she said, as she readied another serve. "If you win, then I'll forget about the cost."
It sounded like something one would say if they were confident they would win; it sounded like something a skilled player might say, which was exactly why Junko was saying it. In her experience, bluffing had occasionally worked - they'd thrown the other player off-balance, and while she wasn't much of an actress, she was certainly a very good liar.
The serve came - at a low angle, unintentionally, but he fumbled with it. Her point. What was the score now? She didn't know, but she was certain they must have played at least four or five games.
"Thirty, all?" she asked, trying not to sound too out of breath.
Then she served - aiming for his backhand.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - words: 400 tag: taku who is making junko run around in circles comments: forgive my tennis fails, I don't play it much... or ever [/left]
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Post by NAKAMORI TAKUMI on Jun 16, 2010 20:34:24 GMT -5
Till I collapse I’m spilling these raps [/b] long as you feel em Till the day that I drop you'll never say[/b] that I'm not killing them Cause when I am not then I am stop pinning them[/b] And I am not hip-hop[/b] and I’m just not Eminem.[/font] ~~~[/center] Takumi smiled at her. "Why would you want to lose?"
[/b] Unless, of course, she wanted to pay 64,000 yen. He considered saying the cost out loud, but decided it might send her into shock. Still, the cost was near nothing compared to what his mother used to buy on her shopping sprees. She seemed confident, at least, in her abilities. But she also seemed tired. "We're at five games all," he told her. "Thirty-all, your serve."It would've been nice if either of them had a particularly amazing serve--but neither did. As it was, they were both rallying, one game to her, one to him, one to her, one to him--for ten consecutive games. At this rate, they'd have to go into tiebreaker. He returned her serve with a drop volley. She wasn't good with low shots, it seemed--which was good for him, as a volleyer. "Thirty-forty. Tired?"The next serve was a bit weaker. She was tired. He smiled to himself, and sent back a light volley. She returned it easily. Takumi sent it to the other side of the court. His stamina wasn't amazing, but it wasn't below average, either. He was breathing more heavily than usual, sweating a bit more--but otherwise not too exhausted. Weekly matches did have their uses, and while he'd never carried a first year's double bass up seven flights of stairs, hours of tennis wasn't something to laugh at, either. He decided he could last some time longer. But not too long. So he sent low shots--shots that required her to bend her knees, to run left and right, front and back. He didn't want her to pay for the clothes. And he didn't really like losing, either. "Five games to six," he said, pleased. One more game, and he'd win. On the other hand, if she won this game, they'd have to go into tiebreaker. They were rallying as it was; the tiebreaker could last hours without a winner. "My serve."Serve. Return. Backhand. "Fifteen, love." Serve. Lob. Slice. "Thirty, love." Serve. Volley. Takumi approached the net and smashed. She hit it back. He had to jump out of the way to avoid it. It'd been a hard smash to return; he commended her for it. "Thirty-fifteen." Thirty-thirty, deuce. Advantage, server. He served again. She hit it to the baseline. So much for approaching the net. He hit it back and cringed a little. It was a sloppy return--almost out of bounds. She lobbed it back. He jumped up and faked a smash, then hit a cord ball, drop shot. Finally. "Game, me. Seven games to five."[/b][/font][/blockquote][/justify] ~~~ words: only 441! I could've sworn it was so much longer than that tag: junko who returned taku's super cool smash but fell victim to his smash-turned-drop-shot comments: no worries, I don't play tennis much either, haha[/size]
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