InsaneJournal

WHO: Kiriko and Reizo
WHAT: Chillin', cop killin', drug dealin' -- the usual.
WHEN: After this.
WHERE: Reizo's.
WHY: I'm still gunning for rank 10.

There were a couple of shopping bags lined up behind Reizo's couch, acquired a bit earlier in the day during a session of retail therapy. They had accumulated fewer items than one might expect from Kiriko, and she'd wound up paying for half of them - letting other people buy you things was nice, but nothing helped reassert control of some external situation than spending your own.

She was sprawled on the couch, now, one arm tucked behind her head and the other resting against her stomach, her legs crossed at the ankle and draped over his lap. Her worry about the angels had been relieved, or at least moved to the back burner, but it was at least in part because something else had floated into her mind. The new subject was weighty and hardly unfamliar, but she was contemplating rather than worrying, looking for words and conclusions as her clear grey eyes scanned the ceiling for imperfections.

"You're really not like us, huh?"