1 I Don't Care, I Love It [Chiaki] Wed Jul 17, 2019 3:45 pm
Mei-Mei
Rigid, purposeful amber scanned the length of the park before her, searching every nook and cranny for her prey. When she found him, when her gaze briefly softened and her lips pursed, she proceeded to further examine his nooks and crannies. She was having a grand time of it, really, one leg powerfully crossed over the other as every languid sway of her form brushed her heel against the ground.
This was Mei-Mei's "everyday"; decked out in her fashion of bright red and furs around every collar and sleeve, silk draping her arms and shimmering in the daylight every time she made a movement. She was the picture of aggrandisement - the image of a movie star in the middle of the day, sitting self-assured on a park bench and scoping out anything with a pleasant smile. She couldn't think of a better hobby, save perhaps fiddling with her hair and her attire until she could reason that even she would fall in love with herself.
A nice breeze flowed through and tousled a few strands free from where she had sprayed them in place, causing an arm to instantly snap up and fit it back into place even as her stare didn't waver from the like-aged boy across the way. She could, and perhaps would, do this for hours, sit and wait and watch until he noticed her. A woman didn't make the first move, after all. That's why you made yourself noticeable. That's why you were loud and pretty and desirable enough to be approached first. That's how you knew you won.
And Mei-Mei always won.
Still, there were limits and bounds to her enjoyment of "waiting." She was disciplined enough to keep her attention locked on him, but not quite disciplined enough to keep her legs from twitching and her fingers from idling in light taps against the wood she sat on. She traced shapes, faces, words; perfectly red nails, glittering with each ray of sunlight that kiss them, glided across the wood without digging in. They were made for digging in, fairly, but she would never deface public property. Konohagakure was still her village, after all. She had its standards to uphold.
Every so often she'd flicker her chakra around her tracing digits, getting in the most minute of practice while she followed her actual goal. It would flow out and, without thinking, leave its trail in the wake of her fingers. Her shapes became real, her thoughts in a light blue scrawl upon the bench's surface -- and then she caught herself. She pulled her hand up without blinking, ending the current of her chakra and flicking it from her hands as if it was a bug. There was no reason to give anyone ideas; this whole "ninja" business was an inconsequential secondary to her place in life, and she wouldn't pay it the mind anyone else thought she should.
She had her own aspirations. She was going to sit here, and she was going to wait, and she was going to fulfill them.
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This was Mei-Mei's "everyday"; decked out in her fashion of bright red and furs around every collar and sleeve, silk draping her arms and shimmering in the daylight every time she made a movement. She was the picture of aggrandisement - the image of a movie star in the middle of the day, sitting self-assured on a park bench and scoping out anything with a pleasant smile. She couldn't think of a better hobby, save perhaps fiddling with her hair and her attire until she could reason that even she would fall in love with herself.
A nice breeze flowed through and tousled a few strands free from where she had sprayed them in place, causing an arm to instantly snap up and fit it back into place even as her stare didn't waver from the like-aged boy across the way. She could, and perhaps would, do this for hours, sit and wait and watch until he noticed her. A woman didn't make the first move, after all. That's why you made yourself noticeable. That's why you were loud and pretty and desirable enough to be approached first. That's how you knew you won.
And Mei-Mei always won.
Still, there were limits and bounds to her enjoyment of "waiting." She was disciplined enough to keep her attention locked on him, but not quite disciplined enough to keep her legs from twitching and her fingers from idling in light taps against the wood she sat on. She traced shapes, faces, words; perfectly red nails, glittering with each ray of sunlight that kiss them, glided across the wood without digging in. They were made for digging in, fairly, but she would never deface public property. Konohagakure was still her village, after all. She had its standards to uphold.
Every so often she'd flicker her chakra around her tracing digits, getting in the most minute of practice while she followed her actual goal. It would flow out and, without thinking, leave its trail in the wake of her fingers. Her shapes became real, her thoughts in a light blue scrawl upon the bench's surface -- and then she caught herself. She pulled her hand up without blinking, ending the current of her chakra and flicking it from her hands as if it was a bug. There was no reason to give anyone ideas; this whole "ninja" business was an inconsequential secondary to her place in life, and she wouldn't pay it the mind anyone else thought she should.
She had her own aspirations. She was going to sit here, and she was going to wait, and she was going to fulfill them.
[ 521 ]