Sho Minamimoto (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thepiisatruth) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
savetheearth2013-07-08 07:53 pm
thepiisatruth) wrote in savetheearth2013-07-08 07:53 pm
1.4142135623730951^2 = 2 [Action | Open]
Who: Shawn Minamoto and OPEN!
What: A fellow has a project in mind and is off to gather supplies.
When: Monday evening.
Where: Here and there all throughout the city open to be accosted or approached anyplace; Locke City's Japantown after dark.
Shawn rolled and sprawled awake near twelve. The object of the day fueled him immediately up and out with a camping bag which he never used for camping as he found wildernesses boring, barely a word, and five bucks and a granola bar palmed passing the counter.
He was out on the street with rolled-up sleeves, and a watch and shades for his lion's-eyes, and his megaphone hung on his belt, and set out collecting. He swaggered along the sidewalk at turns with a bag slung over his shoulder, turned into and crept along back alleys to scavenge with an intent. He stomped tin cans flat - a usual useable thing - and "stacked" them like cards in the bottom of his bag. He dove vulturishly into the occasional dumpster from which a strip of metal protruded here and there, leering for others and testing their malleability with a good, hard bend, and loaded them triumphantly. He took a detour into the Dead District where unprotected and unpretentious garbage was all in reasonable supply.
Along the way he stopped for the snacking bar, and later for another bite and a drink in an accomplished summer sweat, and again in a detour into a small park to spend around ten minutes at the fountain, and later snuck into open bus doors backdoors past a disembarking passenger to pounce into their seat, patting the bag fit next to him bulging and protruding with bars like a gemcut set of bagpipes.
He pulled it off along behind him and stepped off the bus with a wild and anticipatory grin with the sun all but down, a few blocks from Pop's restaurant, stole into a wide alleyway marked with a marked stylized lion skull on a dumpster - a spot of his! - and swung the bag off his shoulder hard, forced the zipper along its track with two hands pulling along the old thing's sides, and dumped it all into the corner with scraping clangs and bangs.
Shawn folded his arms behind his back for a long, good stretch. He nudged and distributed the pieces to begin brainstorming of a spot to begin - haphazardly as it was collected. Carefulness was little of a factor, as in decent enough quantity anything ought to be configurable into something worth about the same. And there was one of the boons of the start of Summer Vacation Eternal: he had, inarguably all fairness, absolutely all of the night. His time was his-all-his.
Maybe a base of cans in a framework of bars was a good place to start, or perhaps he ought to start with a twisted thunderbolt.
What: A fellow has a project in mind and is off to gather supplies.
When: Monday evening.
Where: Here and there all throughout the city open to be accosted or approached anyplace; Locke City's Japantown after dark.
Shawn rolled and sprawled awake near twelve. The object of the day fueled him immediately up and out with a camping bag which he never used for camping as he found wildernesses boring, barely a word, and five bucks and a granola bar palmed passing the counter.
He was out on the street with rolled-up sleeves, and a watch and shades for his lion's-eyes, and his megaphone hung on his belt, and set out collecting. He swaggered along the sidewalk at turns with a bag slung over his shoulder, turned into and crept along back alleys to scavenge with an intent. He stomped tin cans flat - a usual useable thing - and "stacked" them like cards in the bottom of his bag. He dove vulturishly into the occasional dumpster from which a strip of metal protruded here and there, leering for others and testing their malleability with a good, hard bend, and loaded them triumphantly. He took a detour into the Dead District where unprotected and unpretentious garbage was all in reasonable supply.
Along the way he stopped for the snacking bar, and later for another bite and a drink in an accomplished summer sweat, and again in a detour into a small park to spend around ten minutes at the fountain, and later snuck into open bus doors backdoors past a disembarking passenger to pounce into their seat, patting the bag fit next to him bulging and protruding with bars like a gemcut set of bagpipes.
He pulled it off along behind him and stepped off the bus with a wild and anticipatory grin with the sun all but down, a few blocks from Pop's restaurant, stole into a wide alleyway marked with a marked stylized lion skull on a dumpster - a spot of his! - and swung the bag off his shoulder hard, forced the zipper along its track with two hands pulling along the old thing's sides, and dumped it all into the corner with scraping clangs and bangs.
Shawn folded his arms behind his back for a long, good stretch. He nudged and distributed the pieces to begin brainstorming of a spot to begin - haphazardly as it was collected. Carefulness was little of a factor, as in decent enough quantity anything ought to be configurable into something worth about the same. And there was one of the boons of the start of Summer Vacation Eternal: he had, inarguably all fairness, absolutely all of the night. His time was his-all-his.
Maybe a base of cans in a framework of bars was a good place to start, or perhaps he ought to start with a twisted thunderbolt.
no subject
It's on one of these trips that he comes across Shawn sitting on top of a dumpster. He almost didn't want to ask. "What are you doing?"
no subject
Small city for alley-creeping; hello, Zero-to-Hero.
Planted his weight on the dumpster lid and pulled up his shades, mussing his hair even for itself. "Great things," he declared, and, hoisting himself off and down, and pulling a magic marker from his pocket to brandish, followed with "'slow-bro'.
"Nothing to see down here, 'BTW', even for YOUR aesthetic so-called standards. 'Fact, I was just gonna haul the factor out for some richer pickings."
no subject
Phones is a much catchier nickname.It's probably a problem that Neku can barely understand Shawn even when he's not talking in math, though he has to wonder how other people do. "Pickings for what?"no subject
It is, however, one that the yet-phoneless must earn."Sculpture, you stupid digit!"
In the evening-out of his voice is a trace of a chuckle. "The hell does it LOOK like?"
no subject
He has them now! They're just in his bag."Right now? Not a lot." Sorry not sorry, buddy, but currently it looks like a bunch of trash. Neku usually can at least sort of see where Shawn's coming from with his crazy approach to art, but... well, maybe it's because it's not done yet. Maybe.
no subject
Today was merely a social outing, a reward for study sessions well done with a dinner out. Her outfit reflected the nighttime scenery around her, although the relative tranquility would soon be interrupted by an odd sound emanating from one of the alleyways she was passing by. Unable to quell her curiosity, Hikari abandoned the brightly-lit sidewalk for a detour down the mysterious alley.
What she saw at the end of it made her chuckle. Crossing her arms over her chest, she quirked the edge of a lip up in mild bemusement.
"I didn't know that we were due to have an art installation here," she called out dryly.
no subject
He raised a brow and smirked, equally dryly. "Oh yeah?" he called back, "'R we not?"
Girl, possibly - well, anywhere between twelve and perhaps seventeen, a schoolgirl, at any rate; within his limited pools of reference girls' ages varied in their indicators over every range and scale by individual - in full dress-up-doll Gothic Lolita, strolling in the night into an alley looking and remarking coolly clever.
In its own right a bit of an "artful" thing.
no subject
Abstraction had always been a favorite of Hikari's, the more intricately bizarre the better; as she tilted her head slightly to get a better look at the wayward collection of trash before her she wondered if that was the reason that she didn't feel the need to be quite as harsh as usual. Perhaps she's simply curious. It was always difficult to tell with her.
no subject
...but then he heard a noise down an alley. That was more than enough to jar him out of his train of thought. One of those hairy black monsters had surprised him and Al back in the alley behind the restaurant a few weeks ago, and ever since then, Hajime had been worried there were more in the area. He decided to go investigate the source of the noise like he was expecting trouble, and, well, he didn't exactly find the sort of trouble he had been anticipating. The ramen shop owner's kid wasn't on the same level of nuisance as those hairy black things. "...don't you have something more constructive you could be doing?"
no subject
He stomped on a bar and it bent, and he pivoted with a hand hanging by fingers in a belt loop to the night's next snooping party.
Recognition of the voice at the time was shallow. Through slitted pupils and sunglasses, his night vision was a hair above what it had been before he'd been chased by the dog in the Dead District those months ago, and he was accustomed to being spoiled in that faculty.
One of the Aikawas, he discerned. With a cocked brow and tight-jaw smirk that opened with teeth to a crooked grin, slouching back, he opted to carry on. "Gotta tell on me for something?"
no subject
He crossed his arms. "I dunno, maybe I will. Depends on what you're defacing this time." Really, he wasn't at all inclined to go to the police. He'd seen Shawn on the network, even if he was pretty sure Shawn hadn't connected him to the voice that had started replying to random math lingo with some weird monstrous language.
no subject
While eating, he glances over at Shawn who just took a seat. And then at the megaphone. "... What?" Pokey mutters with his mouth full.
no subject
"Prob, 3/4-pint?" is his lazy response. He tilts his head to look around his lenses.
Shawn thinks he heard a "what". The kid's gob's stuffed with dango and sauce. In such a state nearly any single syllable sounds a bit like "what", and to reply to anything that isn't "what" with, say, "'what', what?" is about as gameful as any other non-sequitur.