who; Soubi & Open where; Couple of blocks away from his apartment. when; Dec 29th. Say about 5 pm. summary; Soubi went.. grocery shopping? rating; Probably PG. status; In progress.
Soubi wouldn't say that he liked Los Angeles any better now than he had just a few days ago, but he was at least getting used to it. It was, in all honestly, pretty much like any other city he'd ever been in at its foundation. It was big, and busy, and full of people who were largely more interested in themselves than in anything that went on around them. --Soubi could understand that; there was only a handful of people that he gave a damn about, himself.
He'd quickly learned that, even though he was in what was apparently an alternate universe (which was why his phone wouldn't connect to anyone he knew), his bank-card worked just fine. And since he'd shown up in a studio apartment that was similar to his own, with items strewn about it in similar fashion, he'd simply assumed that.. whoever-it-was that had brought him there had wanted him to stay there. He'd settled in with no fuss, and if his neighbors had thought it strange for a twenty-year-old Japanese art student to show up one day with no warning and no luggage, well.. they'd been nice enough thus far not to say anything.
To be honest, Soubi had always been rather practical about things. Being a true, well-trained Sentouki meant that you lived a very peculiar life; your destiny was to be dominated. Your Sacrifice controlled every aspect of your existence, from what you ate down to the clothes you wore or how many cigarettes you could smoke per day. Soubi had been a very well-trained Sentouki, and Seimei had been the epitome of a Sacrifice. Soubi had been a dog.
When Seimei had supposedly died, he had followed his orders, and had become his younger brother's Sentouki. Ritsuka, however, didn't like giving orders. So Soubi had taken that in and dealt with it. --Practicality, again, rather than any especial desire on his part. But things had changed, hadn't they? And he'd grown to like the kinds of freedoms Ritsuka gave him, the way he could hedge around his little master's inexperienced orders.
Soubi couldn't really remember a time he'd felt free in any manner. It was.. disconcerting, painful---but strangely thrilling.
And so there he was, in LA with no Ritsuka-san, no Seimei-sama, no Ritsu-sensei. Without even a Kio to fall back on when he was lost and pulling apart at the seams.
For once in his life, Soubi had no idea what to do with himself. Always before, it had been a waiting game---waiting for Ritsu-sensei's lessons, for Seimei's orders, for Ritsuka to grow old enough to take Soubi as his fighter.
He'd decided, rather without preamble, that there was nothing to be done but to wait for Ritsuka again. Patience had always served him well before; he'd simply have to be patient again, and hope that his master would find his way there, where he would be.. safe. Safe from Septimal Moon, safe from.. from other things.
He was on his way back from the local grocery at that moment, evening falling around him and steps still unhurried despite that. Dressed in girls' jeans, a cut-off top with a butterfly motif, and a thigh-length jacket left open, with his long hair pulled back and his usual bandages covering the scarring around his throat, Soubi was a pretty, wisp-slim young man that anyone would have assumed to be easy prey. --At least, until they found themselves on the ground with a couple of broken ribs.
It was an image he didn't mind encouraging. Best to let people under- rather than overestimate you.
Bags hanging over one arm, he lit a cigarette with the other, hand cupping the flame. The lighter was tucked away, then, and he breathed out a stream of smoke as he waited for the light to change.