(Source: mimo-kawaii)
[I need to ask a favor of those of you who have tablets. A friend of mine wants a tablet and doesn’t quite know what model would be good. So question is; What model of tablets do you have or suggest for an art major? I’m going to do some searching as well, I’m just trying to get other opinions. Thank you all.]
Ikuto held onto the most recent letter he received from Amu. Though time had passed between getting it and finally being able to sit down and write back, he had read it at least five times. He was worried about her being lonely (no kid, or person for that matter, deserves to be lonely) and what could have possibly excited her to the point of dancing around her room and hurting herself. He almost wanted to tease her about falling when he wasn’t around to catch her.
He was currently sitting in a coffee house in England, London if we wanted to be precise, with his fathers computer open and pushed slightly to the side a hot chocolate in a rather large mug on his other side as he began to write Amu another letter. The woman he had mentioned in earlier letters to Amu was sitting next to him with a tall glass of water between her hands and a miserable pounding headache resting against the counter. She was complaining in french, smooth words despite her bad decision the night before, about trusting the english to drink more than she. Ikuto just shook his head, though there were some words he didn’t understand (probably half forgotten curses not coming out the same as they were in her head).
Outside was people and more people and inside were just people. London reminded Ikuto of Tokyo and all the people and tall buildings, however Tokyo didn’t have as many older buildings (even if some were being used for retail instead of historical sites). Between writing Amu’s letter and sipping at molten chocolate, Ikuto was going through and checking his mail and other small things that had slipped his mind when beginning this trip. He signed onto his video messenger from his e-mail account, just in case Amu was on though he slightly doubted she would be since it was probably around nine in the evening where she was. He did some quick math and a small question the the hungover french woodwind girl beside him and found that yes, it was nine in Seiyo. [Or wherever the fandom decided they live.]
Amu,
There was a thunderstorm last night. It shook the entire building and forced us to cancel the performance. I never really thought about it before, but last night I could feel the electricity in the air and the raw power behind it. All rough edges and untamed. And it still goes on, unbothered, unbridled. It was probably the first time I saw the streets of London so deserted. The storm lasted an hour and a half and the streets almost flooded. If I didn’t already know the feel of the Dumpty Key, I would say it was almost magical.
He traces his pencil over the lines that make up, “Dumpty Key,” and darkens them as he thinks. Thinks about how he reclaimed the object. His surprise to how the Humpty Lock responded to Amu. The feeling that surged through him in the few moments and times the Dumpty Key had responded to Amu’s lock. He remembered the darkness of Death Rebel and the feeling of an unknowing loss when the Dumpty Key was cut from his throat. The weakness that followed without his last anchor to reality.
A hand on his shoulder made him jump from his thoughts. He looked over to see the girl he was in charge of babysitting leaning over to peer at his letter. He swatted her away, scowling and telling her, in english, to sit still and drink her water. He wanted to make her have to think of his words. Even though he knew french well enough to tell her in her homeland language, he also knew she knew english and would have to go through a mental translator to understand in her state of mind. She scowled back at him before taking a sip and placing the glass of water down harder than called for, never breaking eye contact with him.
“You’re childish,” she told him in english.
“Look who’s talking,” he muttered back before going back to writing his letter to Amu. He glanced at his computer screen, moving the mouse some to refresh the pages and making sure the video connection was still strong.
I think only you can do something like that. Breaking your ankle. Tsk. Tsk. Sprain or twist, maybe. But to go as far as breaking it. Sadly I won’t be around to see you limping around and needing assistance in everything. A shame. But when things happen, there are usually consequences. Perhaps something good will come from this.
Ikuto
He drew a small cat with one of its rear paws wrapped as the cat licked at its toes. He added a small heart trailing off from the corner of one of the cats ears. he tapped his pencil some before deciding the noise was too distracting, so he outlined the lines of the heart some before dropping the pencil all together. With a sigh, he looked back at the older woodwind musician who seemed a bit more sober and a little less hungover then their earlier trip on one of the extended sight seeing buses around London. He glanced back over at his fathers computer, refreshing and making sure signals were strong before folding the letter and placing in inside an envelope.
His hot chocolate was a little cold from neglect but he drank it anyways. He might get some tea next.
(c) Peach-Pit; Satelite
(via ikuto-san)
14shiichannau asked: Send ♥ This ♥ To ♥ The ♥ Fifteen ♥ Nicest ♥ shotas ♥ On ♥ Tumblr ♥ If ♥ You ♥ Get ♥ 5 ♥ Back ♥ You ♥ Must ♥ Be ♥ an ♥ adorable ♥ shota (◡‿◡✿)
Ikuto wasn’t quite sure how he should read the text in front of him. Send heart this heart to heart the heart… It gave him the slightest of headaches as his brows frowned towards the other. “Pardon?”
[Thank you~]
souma-kukai asked: Yo! Ikuto! ;D
Confusion swirled inside of him though he refused to let that show. There were two of these boys now, and this one took a fancy to winking. “Yo,” he decided was a good response with a slight wave of two fingers.
Ikuto thought that Spain would be more sunny and fun and hot, though was greeted instead by clouds and a chill in the air. He sat in his hotel room contemplating spring flowers only with May showers while a white blank page rested pretty on his end table, ready to be written on. Amu’s letter was held in one hand and the expression on his face was far from smiling. Amu was a smart girl, so her downward spiral involving her grades was something to worry about and brought a crease between his eyebrows. And though a hint of a smile appeared for a moment at the notion that even if she didn’t admit it, her writing did; she daydreamed about him. He wouldn’t get too happy when it was something as simple as that, but as the letter progressed worry seeped in.
“My, what a scary face,” a voice much like his own, but held more wisdom and age, sounded into his room. Glancing up, Ikuto found his father leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed and a neutral expression. “You need to get out more, leave the dusty hotel rooms behind when you have the time. You’re wearing thin.”
Ikuto didn’t respond for many moments, just looked at his father, then back at the letter before putting it down on top of the awaiting piece of would-be letter. “Fine,” he said with much exasperation, “Where are we off to first then?” He walked out of the hotel with his father and a few other orchestra members for a drink at a promising local pub. He thought about the letter he would write to Amu, though whenever his face would show too much he would be nudged by one of the members in their drinking parade (though really it couldn’t be called that when they each only had a pint of beer, Ikuto only a half-pint) and be welcomed into an extended conversation about the pleasures of life.
By time they walked around and gazed at the sites and wandered back for practice, night had fallen and Ikuto was once again with Amu’s letter in his hand and tapping a pencil on his leg with the other. His eyes were stuck on the ending of her second paragraph. “…even you.” He wondered what he had educated her on, when in fact it was him who had learned from her.
“You have that face again,” came his father’s voice, once again leaning against the door frame. “I would question you on who this girl you fancy is, but I know you just won’t say a thing.”
“And why are you so curious and how do you know it’s a girl I’m writing letters to?” Ikuto retorted, glancing at his father’s neutral expression he always wore when the occasion didn’t call for too much emotion.
“A father can be curious and look at the name on the letter being sent to his son, the rest is just good guessing.” A hint of a smile teased his lips before vanishing from Ikuto’s sight. “You have too serious of a face, but you are your mother’s son. I hope you tease this girl you fancy.”
A smirk spread across Ikuto’s features without warning, it was without an ounce of restraint as Ikuto said, “I wouldn’t say it is only from her that I get this trait.” Aruto didn’t say anything. He let the silence answer for him, though he didn’t know really how far his sons knowledge of the relationship his mother and he had before marrying went. Finally, he shrugged and made a, continue, motion with his hands before leaving the room.
With a sigh, Ikuto read through the letter again before placing it down and began writing a response letter back to Amu.
Amu,
Without fear there would not be courage, and I know though there will be times of turbulence and questioning, you have plenty of courage to get through anything you put your heart to. That is something you have taught me. I’m not quite sure I can point out anything I have ever been able to teach you, but as you said; you are still young. I will go on many trips and I will learn many things from many people and I hope that I could one day be able to help you as you have helped me.
Ikuto.
It was a short letter and didn’t answer many of the things he could have, but Ikuto felt if he added anything it would ruin the purpose and weight of the words he sent. He could have said how he didn’t look at all different and it surely wasn’t as interesting as the girl had imagined or that she had his email and could see if he was online at any time. Or perhaps that was a talk or quick text for another time.
With an almost silent sigh, Ikuto sealed and stamped the letter and put it off to the side to be sent off the next morning.