[Gym] Kanagawa Train Station

[Daisuke Kaicho]

For all my risk takers, this is your zone. Yes, I am speaking to my rising road riders. This is your domain.

 

[Motherglare]

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xxxxxxxxx𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒. 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋. 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐄.
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THWAAAAAAAAA-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-AAAAANG!

Leather back, smoke dried, islets worked to move the digits. Fine tuning an aged old friend. The first among the infantry, her lieutenant, the eyes, the scope, and.... Charged, the hum purred through it's flat base body, giving her that nice tingle against her thigh. Spider spun and zipped with kinetic flow the steel sighed to a still quietness. The knife cut spills of daylight peeking over the subway roof as if it were honing in on the birth of a royal. Eyes of mercury spilled like overzealous wine into the paneling of her chord. The audio jack easily manipulating her fingers to complete it, almost questioning why she hadn't plugged it in any sooner. Why wait for serenity when you know she'll be watching? Always in the crowd.

Tik-tik-tik. Phmp-phmp-phmp. SZRAAAAAOOOOOOW! Cat scratch against the pluckling skinnies. Waking them up to ease them into a muddy recollection. The fini matte of her shoe aglow as it followed up to her thighs. The ample squash fit snug and right by the amoeba sheen. Body of butter marmalade echoing with the whites red and motorbike blacks as if she were an anthem on her own. Ballora. She walked. Carrying with her somebody's victory as the sugarcane gloss would separate. Sleepy lids fanned up, dusken and aglow until splintering like fish scales.

Deaf were those living inside themselves, soul in a doll, or doll in a body.
Death to those who let it happen.

The voice began, hollow of light. A starry build up of jangled yet deliberate scores inching into a tunnel for the chosen ones.


Follow, en promenade.




Eavoan Stasera

 

[ghostwriting business]

xxx
xoxo

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xxxxxxxxx░░░xxxあなたはより多くの私が持っているよりも私を失望させません
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Sweet citrus enveloped the bottom plush of his lip, the curve glossed with the naturally sweet scent of the fruit's nectar and it soon moved as the peachy lips with the cherry white hue were lightly plucked up like a used birthday candle from a cake. The smooth, neon orange drink sloshing quietly in his belly with the leftover strawberry manju from his fridge. Tender, soft fingertips swam in the filtering sunlight, the warmth settling onto his face as the rays would cause his skin to blossom in the light as he'd sigh softly, wishing he had brought the earphones from home to listen on the train with. But he was content, now thinking about it, letting the hum and metallic clinking of the train in his mind lull him to a certain serenity. One hand would come up to comb through the cacao brown hair, the milk chocolate highlights becoming soft spindles on his head before they would fall once again upon the scalp. The other hand gently resting on the phone inside of his pocket, a quiet pang of fear in his heart every time it would beat against the inside casing of his chest before the fingers would jolt out of his pocket with a determined force.

This isn't America. This isn't America. This isn't America. This is something new.

That there...that was a good attempt. He could almost lie to himself without worrying to much about the reality creeping up on him, but, he had more important matters to attend to...like trying to wipe the dried magenta lipstick stain planted shamelessly on the cusp of his neck, trailing up to his ear. A troubling sensation and an even more uncomfortable memory. A regret that he didn't wash it off immediately last night and instead fell asleep before he could.

Pale pink and then an electrifying violet, the lights creeping up on the somber turquoise wall his back was leaned up against in the night. Fingers coming to play a more melancholy tone from the piano that seemed as light as air to him, as natural as his own arm. Synth bobbing its presence here and there within the night mood tone's, his mind wandering within the imaginary sheets with the chords he learned by heart. All of it seeming like a trip and yet more than that, something more intimate than touch alone. But...touch is what he would feel against his waist, his neck suddenly kissed by a tempting woman at the party that encompassed the room they were in, her form seeming familiar throughout the night as her mind met the frames of his shades more than once. All he could remember were obscure flashes of images, like a picture on the hood of a car's dash whose focal was sun bleached. His panicked gasps surfacing in his mind once again, a flight mentality as his attempts to push her off were like cotton before the adrenaline got to him, just before her hands got below his belt. But there wasn't much more after that, just the relief of escape from the unwanted touch as he grabbed his keyboard and left with a precise swiftness. It's stand staying behind and therefore lost forever.

I really need to be booking more play time in a better place from now on...maybe a karaoke bar to start? Sighing lightly, he would turn the corner of the train station with the thud of his shoes keeping his mind on balance. A purse of his lips as his thoughts soon turned to the weight of the keyboard case laying against the curvature of his spine. Blackout shades projecting nothing but there would be a dynamic scene in front of him, the change of the day playing against the glass like slides of a film roll. A soft smile coming onto his face as he'd breathe in the air of a new city surrounding him before it would catch a deep thought.

When will you be happy again, Kiro?

Still lips would move to hold in the bubble of forced laughter, the shock and embarrassment from the overly stereotypical thought of a lonesome musician before he would shake his head with a confused thought.

When did I become so...boring? What do I even do for fun anymore...did life pass me already----?

And that's when he heard it. There, just in this mediocre housing of the train station under the supposedly tin roof, that's where he heard it. What was he wearing? What did he taste? What was he feeling? How hard was he breathing? How fast did he walk to it? All of these questions would be asked later, no doubt as his mind would now become jumbled in a sort of childish glee as he strode over to the woman with the guitar, filling the surroundings with a presence it hadn't probably seen in ages.

In that moment, his eyes took in precise details that he couldn't picture to ever be helpful in any way. Just details of the moment. Of how the locks of her hair seemed be like electrified cotton candy, the strands flowing with a hypnotic energy as soft as they seemed. The way the pads of fingers seemed to slide across the strings like a heron would skim the waters of a lake with it's feet, the way it seemed instinctive. The way she was dressed, one might say scantily but he would say free. The odd sense of how he could seem to smell the sweetness of the air more defined than before, how his marbled, scarred eyes took in the saturated earth around him like a splattered canvas. Finding beauty in the muddled. And how he stood there, like an idiot, clapping for the dazzling musician that captured his entire self.

"...yo~!" His mouth uttered, a thick accent but clueless as ever.




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Motherglare

 

[Motherglare]

xx

xxxxxxxxx𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒. 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋. 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐄.
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The build up bumping over the basslines, a crude attempt however Ballora sang it beyond expectation. Sure some bits were clipped and every now and then some would glimpse but no more than that.

Shadows take me down. Feeling naked all the time. For the last time, it would feel like her Spring stay stained in last years weather. Tsunami gatlings slowing her fingers from achieving savior status. Still choked up from the chain choke memories of what she never made. For the last time, she'd always tell herself before the yearning took her out to again. 5% tint. Alpha Condor 3-6-9-S-P-O-T-T-E-D. Lifeline detected. Another Sun beam roasted the meteor but after it a figure bloomed. Most spacemen here wore fastened helmets, choosing to be deaf to the days of Sound. 5% tint, striplined over an eclectic Hawaiian cropped suit stood now that they escaped under the rattling roof within Metroline Space.

Friend? The glow of the Earth doubling behind the Sun painted in her core as the lonely Martian Princess observed the body shaped phenom. Outlined was the terrestrial who clapped for her performance under these lonely blue days. Lipstick collar, midnight's tattoo. A wallflower among the field of Tokyo's postmortem aftermath. Tongue hesitant, incoming transmission circling her beep-bop' space of thought. Cooled skin of peach tort magma, he was clapping. Eyeshadow- Moon Pillow, shimmering with high elation. Ballora could only stare stupidly to his act of praise as though it was a thing of the past. Her visage stopping near the end before clipping it with a few foreign notes guilty of a strum. Cat acrylic studs now resting against the elastic bound thigh. Taking a bow before him.

Sheathing the plug of her guitar. Twinned to the image of a lost Daimyo..fading her last stream diary into an echo. A tilt of her head. Inniate human tendencies....that came easier to her. Comfortable, was it? No mythical phony. Easier to bite the cherry strudel lips, incubating the desire to use them in case the last satellite might blow to join the failures of the last performances. Gunsmoke and out trailed a voice of a shallow husk and salt with dark honey. Unexpected of the notes pulled. Uncertain that he would listen even more.

"Arigatō....go...gozaima....shita." She said with some thick inconsistency. Though her face a stone angel, the rings of wolfsbite panned over to his back. An instrumentalist? "That...look....cool."

It did look cool.




Eavoan Stasera

 

[ghostwriting business]

xxx
xoxo

xxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxx░░░xxxあなたはより多くの私が持っているよりも私を失望させません
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

xxx



𝕪 𝕠 𝕦 𝕙 𝕖 𝕒 𝕣 𝕕 𝕚 𝕥 𝕙 𝕖 𝕣 𝕖 𝕗 𝕚 𝕣 𝕤 𝕥 𝕗 𝕠 𝕝 𝕜 𝕤 !

𝕝 𝕠 𝕔 𝕒 𝕝 𝕞 𝕒 𝕟 𝕤 𝕥 𝕣 𝕦 𝕔 𝕜 𝕓 𝕪 𝕓 𝕝 𝕒 𝕫 𝕚 𝕟 𝕘
𝕖 𝕩 𝕥 𝕣 𝕒 - 𝕥 𝕖 𝕣 𝕣 𝕖 𝕤 𝕥 𝕣 𝕚 𝕒 𝕝 !

𝕞 𝕠 𝕣 𝕖 𝕚 𝕟 𝕗 𝕠 𝕠 𝕟 𝕡 𝕒 𝕘 𝕖 𝟛𝟝 !

YEEEEEEOH! BAZINGAAAA! HOW AMAZING!

A sunset, tropicana smile crept across the clean cut face, a wrinkle appearing by the corners of his eyes that hid shyly behind the darkened shades. Lens of petite eclipses shielding the moonbeams of interest as they would sharpen on the careful, emboldened face of the siren bowing before him. Without thinking, he reached out to hold his palms out in front of him, waving them with a casual worrisome gesture.


"Ahh...no, y-you don't have to bow--"


He began to say softly before the musician within him held a steaming blade to the ribs of his throat, daring him to say more as he knew what it meant to have an audience. An audience that enjoyed the melody, more so.


And so he would softly tilt his head and smile with a light scoff, looking over his shoulder at the case which felt as right as rain against his back. The oblong, distorted reflections of the stranger duo staring back at him as it would capture the rebel of censorship and the mouth popped wallflower. His pupils retracting from a once over of the woman standing opposite of him, a small pressure and burn felt from his sides and upper arms in thin, fiery strips as her free body would weld within his mind. A freedom to be envied, for sure and not hated. Blood pumping and gushing through the slithering veins in his arms as the delicate and punishing beauty stood before him but he would not stand and ogle. Appreciation would flow from him, as if a museum goer was caught by a piece of Renaissance art that whispered a seductive, playful sentence to their soul. Calloused fingers would move to grip the strap on the keyboard case, thrusting it to securely sit on his shoulder as he'd swallow softly and find the words to say.


"...thanks, I think it's pretty cool too. It doesn't have a name though, maybe that's weird? I got her when I came to Japan, first thing I bought after my apartment...too much info? Maybe? Whaaaatever, its nice to talk, when I don't get all choked up. Are you from around here-- OOH I'm sorry, I forgot to mention yours-- your guitar looks AAHHHMAZING!"


His fingers moving to form an 'OK' gesture on one hand and a thumbs up on the other while tilting softly to the right, almost cartoonish in nature. The curves of his soles tapping together as if he were Dorothy before settling back into a casual state, one crossed over one another as his mouth moved to speak his mind, an odd move on his part as the blushed, peony lips normally barely moved to tell the time of day.


"But, seriously, you sound beautiful...are you in a band? 'Cause I'd like to see you perform if that's kinda your thing? Or maybe you have an online account that I can write down? I'm sorry I can't leave here without thinking I'm gonna regret it if I don't ask you-- OH! I can give you mine, if you're interested? It's a long account name though, but you can search it with a tag I put on it, uh, Wally. Short for Wallace."




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Motherglare