[open] 002 | off to never neverland

[ryuji]

WHO? ryuji sakamoto + you!
WHAT? dream threads and ramen time. will add on for some end of the month open logs
WHEN? during the hot spot stuff and shortly thereafter
ANYTHING ELSE? typical usual ryuji stuff, nothing too dark unless you want it to head that way

i. dream time: school sux [open]

[This is the world of the school as it exists in Ryuji's fears. You enter the halls and immediately notice a purple tint to the environment around you, like a foggy haze that covers over every crevice of the impossibly longer hallways than a school would actually have. In every direction, lockers, cherry red- except the fact that there are eyes embedded into them- all over, staring at every movement that's made. The people here are just outlines, ghosts of their actual self, translucent, but always affixed on something or another. Every few feet there are track hurdles that rise higher than a jump that's feasibly possible, and right underneath, should you fall, spikes that will pierce and maim and threaten to tear you to shreds.

Ryuji's not looking at any of the eyes, or the hurdles, rather just staring at a bulletin board of class listings while he leans on a crutch and his leg bandaged up over his school uniform. Every name he knows seems to be on there, all far ahead in ranking than he is, and of course, the last name on the roster happens to be his own. The eyes in the lockers look complacent, happy to see Ryuji failing in every aspect of his life. Short voices of whispers from the outlines of prominent figures in Ryuji's life call out: "if only Sakamoto-kun could apply himself," "he ruined his chances at a sports scholarship," "ugh, go out on a date? With him!?"

He knows he shouldn't care about this shit, but some days it's just so hard to feel like he's normal. Everything he touches he fucks up.]

ii. dream time: on the high seas [open]

[The air in the sky is filled with a stringest smell of sea salt, as a young figure stands stalwart at the helm of a ship straight out of a pirate movie. The word "KIDD" is sprawled out in big, yellow lettering, scratched out in graffiti against the port side with a comical visage of an angry, wrathful face painted onto the bow.

An opposing pirate ship approaches and the captain of this fine vessel looks like he's ready for war, his grin sharp and pointed just like the mural below the front of the boat, and he tips his hat lower over his face to fight the oncoming wind that threatens to knock it off. He's the lead man, and of course, nothing is going to bring him down from the thrall of victory.

a. [As your ship rears up starboard, Ryuji raises a hand, high in the air and the first mate signals the blare of cannons off the port-covers of the windows below deck. A slurry of explosive volleyballs are released like artillery fire, ricocheting and napalming on first contact.]

CREW! Prepare to board!

b.[Ryuji turns to you, his first mate and nods. You two have just stolen the treasure of all treasures, a spyglass that can look into the soul of a person and tell if they're inherently good or not. While it lays safely at Ryuji's belt, the ship of the undead approaches closer and closer. There's a curse placed on this pirate ship, buried now, deep into the woodwork. They'll be hunted to the edge of the world and back, but this particular item was worth it. The enemy ship pincers straight into the KIDD, as the mighty navigator tosses and turns.]

Shit... shit! New plan. We're gonna steal that ship! You ready?

iii. dream time: there's my father looking on / and there's my girlfriend arm in arm / with the captain of the other team [open]

[Ryuji's all of 14, so basically... last week, to some of you old timers. He's relatively popular among the team he's on, but it's a few minutes before the match and he's stretching. It might be weird to see him with his dark brown, almost black hair, but he's carefree and this is a good time for him in his life, for the most part.]

C'mon, you've gotta do your best too, y'know? We're both gonna get the hell outta here when we graduate and ride on full scholarships. Just wait.

[A looming figure appears behind him- it's the team's coach; in this dream, out of place because it's actually his father and he looks down on Ryuji with the biggest disappointed scowl written right into his features. "Ryuji, don't disappoint me."]

iv. ramen time: you're one of us now! [closed to Sieg and Ash]

@ENTERTHEDRAGON Yo, as promised. I'm gonna make some ramen, you gotta try this.

[It's been a weird few days, what with all the hot spots looming around. He's fallen into dreams- his own, others, it's hard to tell, really, but as he drags one of his three precious bags of ramen to the kitchen, he imagines that it's well past due to indulge in one of the things he loves the most. Ramen is more than just a meal, it's comfort food- it's a thing that reminds him of his home, binds him there, and keeps the thoughts of hanging out with his friends at a shitty little hole in the wall close to his heart.

First thing's first- he needs to get piping hot water. The shortage of coolant in the ship means that this is probably going to be filled with relative ease.]

v. they're just testing us, they can't flex with us, they can't mess with us [closed to some honorable greek hero]

[It's been too damn long since Ryuji's worked out- he's starting to feel the muscle mass that he's accumulated over the last year starting to lose some of its tenseness, some of its bulk. He hates being seen as weak, and hates it even more now that he's surrounded by these Adonis type soldiers who can lift twice the amount he can and take twice the amount of blows. Knowing that agility will never be something he can truly excel at again, he takes to the gym.

It's a slow go, getting back into the shape of things, but he knows it'll be worth it. Every sore muscle, every bend of his body, every pound of sweat; he's going to make himself better, because that's the only thing he knows how to do.

Only, he wasn't expecting to see Achilles there, and even more nonplussed that all the equipment in the room looks absolutely fucking weird to him. He rolls up his standard issue army surplus tshirt's sleeve and breathes through his nose.]

Yo. How the hell do you use this shit?

wildcard! - hit me up with something you want to do, or send me a centerfold message.

Comments

[ryuji]

[There's something to be said about culture being passed down through food. Even when he was a little kid, and his family was still in its nuclear state before his father started having his nuclear meltdowns (yeah, well, some people probably shouldn't become parents, but that's another story for another time), dinner time at the small kitchen table was a way to talk about your day, share successes and failures, pass down things like the time honored tradition of passing the pickled squid one spot to the left. That sort of thing stands the test of time, whether you're in modern Japan or the forested wilderness of a time long forgotten.

Ryuji marvels at Ashitaka taking command of the chef's station. He's so complacent with watching the other don the task of stirring the noodles that he feels dumbly warmed and sated by this particular shared moment. He goes to open his mouth and be reaffirming- to tell his friend you're doin' great before he's caught by a question and he has to think a little bit about it.]

Some shops make their own noodles from scratch. Those are always the best, since they taste fresh. [Turning around, he settles the small of his back against the counter next to the range and Ashitaka, facing him longways.]

But yeah, my time period you can usually buy all sorts of stuff like this. Japan in the future is like... super obsessed with efficiency and laziness at the same time, so like. You can buy tons of food like this. Ready to pop in a pan and eat. We don't gotta hunt anymore. Hell, you can go to a shop and have all of this sorta stuff made for you to take home and eat, too.

[lonelywar]

[He nods.] That sounds delicious.

[Mostly because it was the food he would be more familiar with. It's not that there was no preservation - he hadn't really been involved in it, but he was aware of the process of salting meat and other foods to preserve it for travel or for months of lean harvest or hunting. But most meals revolved around pots bubbling over open fires, preparing a soup or rice to be had with others.

He hums thoughtfully at what Ryuji describes. Striving for efficiency was only human, though he supposes it could go hand-in-hand with laziness, with complacency.

The brick of noodles he had been prodding at loosens in the boiling water, actually beginning to resemble food. To Ashitaka, this is a magic on par to the strange network device which allowed them to speak to others distant to them with little more than thought.]

It is certainly convenient. [He slowly stirs the contents of the simmering pot.] Though I will be the judge of whether or not quality is lost in that.

It certainly sounds as if there was a great variety though.

[Vaguely wistful, not only because there was a lack of variety in food back home but also because there hadn't been many options here or in France, either.] I feel I might get spoiled with too many options. [Eating back home had been less about uniqueness or great taste and more about just getting food enough to continue onward. At least, that was true for the people of his village and the working class people of Irontown that he had eaten with. As said, the company had been the more important aspect.]

[ryuji]

Spoiled rotten. [Maybe that's a phrase that Ashitaka hasn't heard yet, but Ryuji says it with such a gusto to his smile that it's hard to assume he had meant the ramen, and he goes to mete out bowls from the cabinets. Nothing special, more or less what you'd expect out of any hunk of junk pieces together with duct tape floating across the universe, but. It'll do. He casually places both of the bowls next to the pot. It's a sin that there aren't chopsticks and soup spoons around to authenticate the experience to its absolute potential, but, there's a time and place for everything.

Like a time and a place for being so utterly damn amused at Ashitaka's marveling at the noodles breaking apart and softening, turning into the symbolic, long strands of soft glutenous strings.]

And I'm the one that's gonna do it.

[Ya boy Ryuji here, reporting in as he engages in helicopter parenting, moving closer to rest his elbow on Ashitaka's shoulder and peering into the pot to see what his hard work and fine ministrations had been producing. Looks pretty damn good.]

Ain't gonna get much better than that.

[Truth be told, there's way too much ceremony to this entire experience for just a bag of ramen that would cost about 100 yen, but... it's kind of fun keeping up the pretense and the fanfare over something that he thinks is super mundane up against someone who's never seen this before. He moves his hand from his shoulder down to the range's operating panels and turns the heat off.]

Want me to handle the next part?

[lonelywar]

[He understands the vernacular, yes.

It is simply a strange shift in thought. Food for him had largely been a thing of subsistence and survival rather than luxury; their meager village, hidden nestled in the depths of the forest, offered little more than enough to give them means to make typical rice gruel with occasional feasts of fish caught from the river and the lake. It's not to say that the food hadn't been good, but nearly anything will taste good to you when you are tired and hungry from work.

Some of the meals in France had even seemed incredible when viewed through that lens, though the shift from a nearly life-long diet based on rice as a single powerful staple to the breads and red meats offered in France had been a sharp shock to him physically and mentally.

He's hoping that the ramen would be less so, separated not by land but by a distance of several hundred years in the same country.

Ashitaka's shoulder sinks a bit under the friendly weight of Ryuji's elbow, though it wasn't so much because of that so much as a humorous feint. There is much and more that they have all been through together since their recruitment, but this single moment of camaraderie he had with Ryuji over the roiling boil of the pot of brewing ramen was a definite high point.]

Oh? [He supposes it's done, then. What had once been a mystifying yellow brick was now a pot full of noodles. Incredible.

Ashitaka sets the ladle aside, nodding to his friend as he steps out of the way.] That might be best.

[To be honest, he's a little overwhelmed with the kitchen in general, as he still hasn't had a bona fide lesson in how to use it... so Ryuji was free to take the lead from there.]

[ryuji]

[The soft, faint smell of boiled spices wafts through like a sonorous welcoming home of sorts for the young blond. He's content in his ministrations, taking special care to hip bump his friend as he helicopter parents his most creative masterpiece since coming to COST. And... something about this just seems so awfully, incredibly, heartbreakingly normal, that it brings a smile to his lips even though there's a pang in his chest from the cognitive dissonance that reality has provided them.

In a weird twist of fate, he meets someone that he was never meant to- and then, under the dry humor of a fakeout towards the weight of Ryuji's own elbow, he scrunches his nose a little bit. Better to concentrate on the ramen than endure the feelings that are bunching up inside him. He felt like this with Akira too- when they had first met up at his favorite hole in the wall to take in one of Ryuji's favorite past times. It was then that he decided, without a doubt, that he would probably do anything Akira had ever asked of him. Friendship was always weird like that to someone who had so little of them to begin with. And as he takes out a bowl and begins to mete out two healthy servings of the impossibly unhealthy lunch, he figures that he feels the blooming of the same sort of thing with Ashitaka.]

Alright, dude. It's super hot, but you gotta eat it fast or else it's not worth eatin' at all.

[A lie (mostly- Ryuji's burnt his esophagus once or twice in the mission for this particular holy grail. He pushes the bowl across the counter to Ashitaka. Be careful, young padawan- it's extremely hot.]

You basically kinda suck in the noodles and a lot of air to cool it down as it goes into your mouth.

[A pause.]

Y'know, I never realized how dirty that kinda sounds.

i can't believe you made me write this

[lonelywar]

[Let's just say Ashitaka is used to a slightly different cultural standard of personal space... It's not that Ryuji is the only one with such a different view on it, though he was perhaps the one that observed it most often in his vicinity. It's not bad, per se, just something he blanks on having any sort of response to. No response than a smile remaining persistent on his face. Strange as it was, though the food and the surroundings were quite alien to him, there's something about making a meal with someone else. It reminds him of preparing the rice porridge with either the people of his village or the men of Irontown, the warmth of camaraderie and familiarity that could provide a shelter from the harsher world outside.

Friendship like this was actually somewhat novel to him. It wasn't that he hadn't had friends growing up, but... things were a little different when you were marked from youth, called "prince," considered the pride and future of your people. There had been a level of distance between himself and others, and it had seemed undermining of what he must one day become to circumvent that.

Not that any of that had mattered. He had left never to return, and all of the people of Irontown, too, had been people he had thought to keep at arm's length. He empathized with them as he did all people, but he knew that he could be their friend one day and supposed enemy the next, given his pursuit of absolution for his curse.

So this type of friendship, one without expectations, without conflicts of status, without interruption of his quest or his curse, was new. And it was nice.

He takes the piping-hot bowl of ramen from Ryuji when it is offered, regarding it with slightly wide eyes. It seems like a feast, from his perspective.

He's listening to Ryuji, realizing that he hadn't thought there would be so many rules to eating this food.] Why is that? [Would it really taste that much worse if it wasn't scalding?] Does the flavor fade with the heat?

[Was that a thing in the future???

Now, if Ryuji hadn't continued, he wouldn't have thought it sounded odd at all. He had turned his attention back to his bowl, looking up only to give his friend a confused expression with his head tilted slightly to the side. Because, of course, he's thinking literally - as long as the food was prepared well and your utensils were clean, there would be no worry for the cleanliness of the food...

Or..............................

He sits up a little straighter, getting a little red before, after his attention refocused on Ryuji, putting one hand to his face and laughing. It's a quiet thing, accompanied with a slight shaking of the shoulders.]

This is only because you bring attention to it. [He says this around a hand half-covering his mouth, not completely obscuring a smile.]

slUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURP

[ryuji]

[It was absolutely a thing in the future. See, Ashitaka, the flavor of things change as they cool down. The fat in a real bowl of ramen starts to become less appetizing, the noodles become too soft, the vegetables too water logged, the egg loses its runny quality. This is fucking science, man. Food science. The best and only one Ryuji actually cares about. But he'll let that question slide for now. It's the experience that matters. As it warms your throat to the point of boiling it alive and it swashes back and forth in your stomach; those are the right feelings that need to be taken into consideration. And he's pissed at the lack of chopsticks, but that's another raging battle that he's not going to win.

Instead, as he moves the bowl into his hands, he cups around it, fingers sliding up to the rim as he holds it perfectly still for a moment and judges the structural spot to pick it up properly. Everything is warm to the touch, so carefully, he lets his thumb and index finger be the point of contact as he brings the ridge to his mouth, blowing on the water softly so that it doesn't splash up and hit him right on the face. If anything, he wishes he had some spring onion to chop into this. Well, whatever. He takes a sip.

And it's delicious.

It's home.

It's the first thing that he's felt in BASE that actually feels right. Setting the bowl back down, he turns to Ashitaka, who's losing it. As far as he can tell, at least- this is the proverbial Letting Down of Hair that he's never seen from the other before. And that, too, is nice.]

Sorry, ramen is my only girlfriend.

[It's said so matter of factly that it must be true. He wants to make this entirely more perverse, more vulgar- but he stops himself. If that got a chuckle and a slight redness out of him, going on any further would be downright obscene.]