Description: Dear Diary, what is curry? What is it made from, and how is it prepared? Today a young man named Daisuke Kubo shared his lunch with me. I learned that curry has a very complex flavour, but it is nothing like ice cream or cake. He asked if I would sample his cooking again some time. Will it be another curry? Are there different kinds? Can he make them all?
Lunch hour is usually a pretty rowdy time at Taiyo High. Maybe not as rowdy as in a place like Gedo, but still, you don't put a lot of extremely active and high-spirited youths in one place and expect things to be *quiet*.
And yet, even amongst such a student body, there are a few people who want to find at least some peace and quiet amidst it all.
One such person happens to be Daisuke Kubo. Not because he's typically uncomfortable with large crowds or otherwise antisocial, even if he does tend to prefer smaller gatherings. The poor high schooler's psionic senses have grown much harder for him to handle lately, so big crowds now are unpleasant at best, and outright painful at worst.
Meet the school rooftop. Technically off-limits for students, but Daisuke finds his way up there regularly, thanks to him learning how to work the lock of the door leading up there with some choice channeling of energy. A little secret of his that only a few other people know about, so he's happy enough to make use of it here for the sake of some peace and quiet.
Though today, he forgot to make sure the door was locked again behind him when he made his way to the roof.
But without any worry otherwise, the redhead clad in Taiyo's boys' summer uniform has found himself settled on the far end of the roof, with his back to the safety fence keeping people away from the edge of the roof, with a bentou box of curry opened up on his lap -- flooding the immediate vicinity of the rooftop with the delightful scent of home cooking.
Surely nothing will break this little peaceful moment, right?
Regulations are the compass by which the school is governed, and Kula complies with the majority of policy. She only breaks a rule if it is illogical and serves no purpose, or if she's ignorant of it.
Because that makes sense, right?
Like when she spends her lunch periods on this roof, committing a daily offense while no one cares? That the teachers remain silent? They're complicit, therefore demanding compliance is pointless. Kula, on the other hand, attributes the perceived disinterest to her current position as a social pariah. Deemed cute but weird, even the bullies know better than to bother the naive girl who can crush them with a glacier, preferring to ignore her instead.
So without the sense of inflated self-importance that comes with flagrant contempt for protocol, Kula approaches the door, intending to freeze a key and pass through...
But the lack of the unlocking click alerts her to the futility of her actions.
Mulling over the first time for everything, Kula twists the knob and steps into a warm breath of summer air. Violet eyes search the rooftop courtyard, unsure of what to expect, until locating a boy who has quite the shock of red hair. She's actually uncertain if she's ever seen that shade before...
Her strappy Mary Jane heels fall at a leisurely pace as she approaches Daisuke, driven by the desire to find out if the colour is natural. The sun's rays alight on her cheeks, her skin so unblemished that it's almost eerie. Strawberry blonde sheets of silken hair trail behind the teen. This perfection is reminiscent of a porcelain doll given life. Her hands cradle a modest lunch, carefully wrapped by a pastel blue furoshiki. "Um," Kula didn't think about what comes next! "... Hello."
Deserving of a little credit for her restraint, at least the wintertime siren didn't say, 'Can you explain to me the pigmentation atop your head?'
As uncontrolled as his senses are, Daisuke can only really get 'accurate' information with it if he really, truly focuses (and he still really needs practice with *that* too). The same goes for extended distances, all being told. So it's not the *sense* of Kula's approach that alerts him to her arrival first. It's the sound of the door opening.
So the sight of Daisuke that she is greeted by first is that of the boy, still sat there, effectively frozen in place halfway to bringing a biteful of curry rice to his mouth. It even comes with the somewhat comedic addition of his mouth being left hanging partway open on account of this.
He's effectively like a deer caught in headlights. Except a redheaded boy caught in the gaze of a cute blonde.
He stays like that all through her advance towards him, only really lowering his hand down once she's right at speaking range, and... presenting him with that greeting.
Well, he's not much less akward about this, certainly. He's not entirely sure what to think of this whole situation, either, so he ultimately just finds his bright green gaze turning off equally akwardly to the side and away from her.
"...Came here to eat lunch?" he asks of her eventually. He doesn't think too much about it either. He might have seen the girl in passing a few times in the school building, but he's never engaged with her, or ever really heard anything about her reputation.
He might have thought at times that she seemed lonely, though.
Her violet gaze is gentle and soft, matched well to the subtle blush that brings a hint of rose to porcelain features. Kula shuffles on the spot, her length of skirt stirring at the movement, a touch embarrassed by the haste to quiz him without even so much as an introduction. Nervousness increases the longer she waits for a response, drawing the corner of her lip in to chew it thoughtfully and invent some way to salvage the situation, but then he speaks!
It's not much, and Daisuke casts verdant orbs off to the side, but the ice doll relaxes. She smiles faintly, latching onto the question hung between them like a lifeline, or a life preserver that will prevent her from drowning socially. "Yes!" Kula says, her sweet soprano accompanied by a curt nod of enthusiasm, "I do this everyday..."
The loneliness strikes, cutting quick and deep.
She's never sad when Diana, Foxy, or Candy are around...
Without them, well...
"Would you like to eat lunch together?" The hope is there, flowering at the tip to indicate her own bento box, the girl shaking off fledgling feelings before they take root and drag her mood down. "Kula is my name. Kula Diamond." As unique as the wintery princess herself, yet she's not a household name. Whether or not Kubo recognises her, either outcome is acceptable.
If the odds are in her favour, maybe this will lead to what's been burning in her pretty little head. Kula only wants to understand the world, stealing glimpses at that red hair...
Seriously, for someone who appears to be 15, 16, her behaviour is bizarre.
Rubbing her thumbs over the knot of the furoshiki, stimming but not, the repetitiveness starts to loosen the material. She holds her breath, Kula's fear of rejection starting to surface, fighting to keep it from overtaking her rounded face. The teenage girl has only been in suspense for twenty seconds, BUT AN ETERNITY HAS PASSED.
Honestly, even if Daisuke hadn't developed some kind of strange latent psychic senses a while ago - minor as they might be all told - he might still notice the underlying nervousness in the girl.
...Something he can sympathize with, certainly.
So while such a question from a girl like this might still take the boy a *little* off guard, there's only really the few seconds of delay between her asking the question and him offering, "Sure, uh..."
He scoots to the side just a little... even though there really is no need for such a thing, because there is an *excess* of space on either side of the redhead.
"Daisuke Kubo," he offers in exchange of the introduction, in kind, and dips his head forward slightly -- a gesture made in lieu of a proper bow, the motion of which causes his messy shock of hair to smooth itself out towards his forehead for a moment, only to flow right back again when he lifts his head upright once more over.
"I kind of like to get away from most folks here while eating too, honestly... Come on, sit down."
An expression that had only recently begun to bloom now flourishes in its entirety. The gently smiling Kula agrees to sit, adjusting the rear of her uniform skirt. She has yet to inquire as to why he felt compelled to move...
I mean, there's A LOT of room here...
It's more than enough for the two of them...
Kula places her bento box on her lap, maintaining impeccable posture with her legs tucked on the side unoccupied by the redhead. After untying the knot of the cerulean furoshiki, she uses it in lieu of a fabric napkin. "Thank you, Daisuke--" Yikes, how incredibly forward!
"Er, I'm sorry!" She backpedals so swiftly it may induce whiplash, her eyes of a peculiar colour flashing in a blink that is startled by her own audacity. "Oh no, is it all right if I call you 'Daisuke'?" Looking like a foreigner frequently excuses Kula's mistakes and failure to follow all manner of Japanese customs, but the teenage girl makes an attempt to respectfully honour her luncheon companion's request. He just needs to make discomfort known with her familiarity, and correction will be immediate.
The idea of the rectangular white box is inspired by winter sakura, delicate, slender fingers ghosting over the ornamental design painted on top. Long after Kubo verifies his preference of title, the doll-like Kula lifts away the lid and uncovers... a child's foray in a sweets shop, not something healthy or sustainable.
Dorayaki is available, but it's stuffed with maple syrup and butter. Sugary matcha pudding, a single serving of strawberry ice cream, two packs of gummies, tiramisu, and one little bottle of melon soda...
Teeth everywhere are rotting.
Friends share lunches, as Kula has witnessed in the few times she has eaten in her classroom. Staring down at the bento's contents, is there anything Daisuke could be interested in? Hm! She is torn and confused, but she's easily distracted by a wandering thought: "Do you often eat by yourself, too?" Repressing an appreciative noise of delight, the assassin disguised as a schoolgirl carefully opens the plastic of her dorayaki and pops its pancake bliss into her mouth. Stopping the rumbling in her stomach is just as vital as listening and focusing on the boy. The innocent and owlish gaze continues to fix on him.
That takes him by surprise, alright. Daisuke's not quite composed enough that he can stop the flush of red color from creeping onto his cheeks either, and he finds himself again, just... kind of staring back uncertainly.
Her actually questioning her own choice for calling him is a bit of a saving grace. It gives a bit of a calming notion, with the realization that the hurried choice might be just as embarrassing for her.
"Daisuke is fine, really..." He offers ultimately, with a bit of a wave of his hand, offering a smile that seems surprisingly genuine and reassuring in spite of the momentarily flushed reaction on his part just seconds earlier. "Do you... have a preference on what you want to be called? I was just going to call you Diamond-san, but, well..."
And then comes the revelation on the contents of her bentou.
And once again, Daisuke stares, a bit disbelieving of what exactly he is seeing. This... is her lunch? Really?
"Huh?" He ends up sounding out when she asks him about his lunch habits, breaking himself off from that momentarily line of wonder with a rapid blink of his eyes. "Oh. Uh. Yeah, kinda, I guess..." He contemplates this sight before him a bit further, and then comes to a decision.
"Do you want some of my curry?" He offers, turning just enough that he can hold the box out. "I, uh... I cooked it myself, so I'd be happy to hear what you think..."
Such relief is felt that she hadn't committed the most grievous faux pas and offended her company. "I would like for us to become friends, so could you please call me 'Kula'?" says the ice doll, warmly reflecting Daisuke's expression. Her unrestrained and simple candour, as well as the soft cadence and pleasant soprano, exude a refreshing sort of charm.
But those lunch options, man. Kubo, know that we're all concerned.
What she interprets as startled, her assumption is that it pertains to her curiosity. Never does Kula suspect the actual cause, oblivious to the baffling nature of her bento. Head tilting, sheets of strawberry blonde hair spill forth. More questions arise to replace the one that was asked, but it is forestalled, possibly permanently, by the food she's already shoved into her face...
As if they were already acquainted, the red-haired Japanese teen suggests his more savoury alternative to Kula's... future toothache. "I have not tried curry before..." she murmurs as she quietly swallows her dorayaki. The willowy young girl continues, leaning forward and inspecting, "Is it tasty? Is it sweet? What are the ingredients?" Deeply inhaling the aroma, pink lips purse in an attempt to better appreciate this dish on her own. "Is it... spicy?"
Kula eases back, clutching the package of dorayaki she purchased this morning from FamilyMart, which is readily available and has most likely previously served the redhead in a pinch. There's no shame in her lack of culinary expertise, and there's something of disinterest in it that he might pick up on, but that's not to say his passion for the craft isn't fascinating. Once she's returned the remaining half of the breakfast snack to the bento, a spoon makes its way to her hand.
While someone wanting to be friends right from the get-go and being so up-front about it is a refreshing change from the norm, it's still surprising. THere's a strange sort of innocence in that kind of statement of intent, and it's not something Daisuke has grown to expect in anyone since...
It should be something like 'elementary school', right? But it's hard to call it that either, since he can't *remember* elementary school from before the--
A sharp feeling inside his head. Like static from a malfunctioning tv screen materialized into being. It's enough to make the red-haired teenager hold his free hand to the side of his head momentarily, even while he murmurs, "Kula, then..."
But yes, he has no qualms about offering his food. Partly out of the instinctive desire to be nice to people, and partly out of the concern on her, uh, dietary choices. Something that he just grows even *more* concerned over when she expresses her inexperience with such a food.
"Er... I would like to think it's tasty," Daisuke offers in first answer with an akward little laugh. "It's not really spicy either, no. I... guess a bit sweet, but not in the way, uh, your lunch is. This one's rice and beef in sauce made with bunch of herbs. I have some diced onion and bell pepper in there too, but it's all small enough you probably won't even notice them..." As if he might suspect this girl who chose to eat sweets for lunch might have some issue with veggies.
Still, she's somehow recovered a spoon in this time, so he is happy enough to still hold the box o'curry out towards her so that she might have her taste.
Eep, is that a headache? A migraine? Unable to provide relief aside from the element in which she commands, Kula experiences faint surges of panic. Pale brows draw tightly together, her forehead creasing beneath the light fringe with concern. She could be misreading Daisuke's reaction, but...
He recovers quickly.
A slight jump interrupts what had been a focused stare. Violet eyes drop from the redhead's face to the concoction of her inquiry. Everything as Kubo describes it, Kula searches like herbs and veggies were about to line up and present themselves on command. Onion? Bell pepper? No confectionery has such names, so far as the NESTS experiment can recall. "Okay then."
Not even a protest, just calm acceptance.
Her eating utensil is unique. It shimmers delicately, modest and hazy. Thousands of crystallised snowflakes, millimetres in size, would not be revealed until the item was examined closely. Surely her spoon can't be made entirely of ice, right? That'd melt in Kula's fingers, or when she claimed some curry for her consumption...
But nothing happens when she scoops up the rice and its stew-like topping, or as she begins to sample it.
Kula chews, lost in contemplation, allowing the rich, earthy flavour to roll across her palate and tongue. What she can tell is that there's a savoury quality -- an obvious sign this meal was cooked by no amateur. Spiced perfectly to taste, and just enough sweetness to hold her interest, the younger girl finishes with a gentle pulse of her throat from swallowing.
Daisuke was right; she couldn't tell the... whatever onions and bell peppers were. Maybe some fruit?
Saying nothing, which her naivety might have stopped the guy's heart if she had, the assassin, who lacks all manner of dark and threatening auras, ponders, trying to choose her next words. The problem in doing so, Kula knows zip about the culinary arts, and her feedback amounts to a soft-lipped smile. "This is very good! I quite like it." Enough to have seconds, but only given permission.
Impressed and in awe, it's her first time meeting a peer with this particular skill. "You said you made the curry, Daisuke? Wow..." Kula expresses herself in a genuine, honest, and admiring manner, as if the ice ballerina was about to sing his praises from the school roof, or to NESTS themselves at some later point...
Either she's a moron, or the innocence the psychic picked up on earlier was not an isolated incident, but rather a permanent feature of Kula's personality. How bizarre.
Daisuke's own internal little issue is quickly brushed aside by the redhead in favor of putting all his puzzling mind into focus on Kula and... the *plethora* of things that need to be unpacked there.
Her behaviour as a whole is a pretty big one, but one that Daisuke himself is... honestly, not entirely willing to ask about right to her face. At least not in a direct manner. Not exactly easy to try to figure out a way to even approach that without being weird about it, though.
So that one will just have to be shelved as a long-term thing. Well, except for--
"Um... Is it really that impressive...?" The question comes with an akward self-conscious little laugh and a vaguely embarrassed rub of his hand against the back of his neck. Sure, he might be a better cook than most people his age (and adults for that matter), but *he* is never going to acknowledge that. And for that matter, as far as he is concerned, a teenager having cooking as a hobby shouldn't be *too* unusual. But even beyond that, her reaction is...
"Um... Does anyone cook food for you, Di- er... Kula...?" The instinct of going the polite japanese route is a hard muscle reflex for him to let go of, too. Even not adding a honorific to 'Kula' feels kind of weird for him. But nevermind that, we're totally focusing on Kula here!!
He's willing enough to let her have as much of the curry as she likes, either way. But the other major thing that caught his curiousity is still there. And this one's much easier to ask about directly.
And it's brought up by the utensil she's using to dig into the curry with.
"That spoon..." He eventually manages to speak out, once having gathered the bravery to bring it up. "Did you... make it?" He is, despite looking kind of goofy at times, surprisingly sharp and attentive. But his expression holds no judgement or fear or whatever else of the negative things she might have seen people associate with the revelation of her particular powers. Theres just pure curiousity.
As the psychic tries to unpack and understand what puzzling idiosyncrasies he has stumbled upon, Daisuke uncovers the very reason why she's been rejected by her peers. That Kula chooses to dine alone and lonely here rather than subject herself to their silent, scathing judgement, too aware of her strength to openly voice criticism. She cannot help her individuality, the strange singularity of her existence, but she does not begrudge her classmates for being ignorant -- it's doubtful whether the ice doll could or would. There's a newness to her that rises above such pettiness, an unspoiled purity of heart, like fairytale princesses who were finally freed after an eternity spent caged, yet see vengeance as a senseless continuation of an eternal cycle. To walk away and accept does not mean to forgive.
"It /is/ impressive!" Kula insists stubbornly, bolstering her praise with as much positive energy as she can muster. "And you were very kind to share with me..." she argues, her appreciation persisting, urging him to recognise his ability with her large violet eyes rimmed by darker lashes.
Kubo almost reflexively calls her 'Diamond-san' as pleasant conversation continues, but his self-corrective efforts are noted. He poses a question that first excites Kula until she realises she might not know the answer. "Where I come from, I... am not sure anyone has the time to cook. Not like this, using these flavours." Would Diana know how? Or Foxy? "Honestly, everything tasted the same." It was all soup. Soups for protein, vitamins, and carbohydrates. Variety was eventually introduced to the experiment's diet, especially after attending Taiyo, where culinary lessons are a requirement for... whatever goal this learning is supposed to achieve...
Before the red-headed teen can reply, Kula chirps in her soft soprano to sweep everything odd about her under the rug, "At least the sweets were good. I really like sweet things, like strawberry sorbet!"
Back at NESTS, the scientists and researchers have an overwhelming desire to collectively facepalm. No idea why.
She treats herself to another scoop or two of curry if the offer is still on the table, just enough for her to sort through its complex seasoning and have her fill. Kula then returns to delicious dorayaki-ness, folding the plastic packing over and stowing it beneath her bento to be recycled. A mini-pancake stuffed with butter and maple syrup isn't the worst lunch, right?
A single blink. "Make it?" she echoes Daisuke in his exact intonation. The fey ballerina's gaze of appraisal is attracted to the utensil in surprise, as if it had been forgotten, or deemed so insignificant that Kula didn't believe he would notice. She calmly assesses her work, the rough craftsmanship -- the spoon is unbalanced, dense, and not yet a perfect replica of the genuine article, but it's close.
"Would you like to see it?" There is no shame or fear, only pleasant relief that a fellow high schooler seems unconcerned or jealous of her abilities. He's not worried that the good-natured 'facade' will crumble, revealing a person very content to hurt him, so curiosity earns Kula's cute, warm, and beaming smile. "I was born with the power of ice." Wiping icky artificial human germs from the spoon's bowl onto the furoshiki, the wintertime siren extends it to her conversational partner. Her joy in having something to share is definitely apparent.
Assuming her creation is accepted, it's dry and a little chilly, but there was no temperature transfer to his midday meal. Wild.
Kula uses this moment to chomp her dorayaki, her smaller, quicker bites making for a speedy devouring. Yum! But what now, when there are so many possibilities to eat and only a finite amount of time remaining for lunch hour?
Even if Daisuke keeps to himself, he somehow has a way of maintaining a largely pleasant look to his expression. ...Well, atl east when he isn't getting hit with bewilderment as a result of an untold amount of potential bizarre things he somehow has an affinity for running into in his daily life. It's an idle warmth that graces the few people who actually spend more than a few passing moments with him. It's there for Kula here now, too. It probably helps in the assurance that he wouldn't react badly to her power.
But it fades away some, over the revelation of her situation. As much of a revelation as she can give safely, anyway -- and it's enough for him to get a hint of understanding on it. The reason behind why the home-cooked food made with enjoyment in mind is such an alien thing to her.
It briefly reminds him of the orphanage. He was lucky to only spend a few days there, after the fire, but he still remembers the gruel they served to the kids there. Quickly processed food desperately made just for the sake of keeping alive the number of kids filling out the already-overfilled system. Food prepared and served out of obligation rather than care.
...It makes him sad, to think that the kids that stayed at the orphanage for longer had to keep eating that. To think that he couldn't do anything to let them taste better food, too. And now, realizing that Kula lives with an arrangement that isn't all to dissimiliar? That makes him sad, too.
The admittance of her enjoyment of sweets brings him back away from that, though. ANd it brings another point of concern too, for that matter!
"A-ah... They're all pretty good, too, and I'm glad you got to enjoy that, but, er..." HIs expression edges rapidly towards a much more akward smile. "You, uh... should eat something else for lunch too, you know?"
He looks down to the box of curry left between the two of them, and his eyes close for a few seconds. Just a few seconds of thought, before the almost unnaturally-bright emerald orbs are allowed to shine out towards her again.
A distraction comes in the form of the spoon he called out -- and finally, he reaches out to take the offered utensil. It's turned once over between his fingers, and then drawn closer still for more curious study before his eyes.
"Born with it..." He repeats the words in a low, curious little whisper. As far as he knows, people manipulating chi do so after a great deal of training. But she would say she was simply born with that ability? Sure, he could be misunderstanding, and she could instead simply mean that she was born with that specific *quality* of chi.
...But he can't help but feel like it's not different from him. How the thing he mistakenly assumes to be some bizarre manifestation of chi simply just surged through his body one night (and nearly destroyed it while it was at it). The secret he's kept from most people, because, frankly, he's been *scared* of it. Because he knows it's not relatable to how it typically comes to be. Because he's scared of what people would do to him.
But if she's similiar to him, then could there be a way for him to understand it better afterall...?
"It's not as cold as I would expect ice to be," he offers after that moment of study. It's a genuine observation, even if it is offered partly just to make it seem like there was actual purpose to his silent contemplation. "And it's sturdy too... and pretty, honestly..."
The spoon is spun around in his hand again, and then held back to it's creator, so that she might continue eating.
"Hey, Kula... If you would like, I could share more of the food I cook at lunch."
The offer would come the intant she takes hold of the spoon, and it's with a small, gently warm smile.
"I would very much like to hear what you think of what I make, too."
An affinity for the bizarre, you say? Where does he even find such weirdness? I'd be curious to know if Kula counts among their number, but doubtful she's even a consideration as long as she continues to embody naivety and obliviousness. Her head tilts in unintentional puppy mimicry, like additional emphasis of the point.
Contemplating his complicated expression, using every tool at her disposal, she fails to understand. What is the source of Daisuke's sadness? Is he actually sad?
Or maybe his tummy hurts?
What to do...
When silence reigns between them, they're quite the pair. The red-headed teen reflects on his childhood, evaluating hers by normal, albeit tragic, standards, and Kula... moves on. Given that a doll cannot have significant insights, thoughts, or rally to defend her creators without any catalyst that he provides, she has nothing to occupy her mind.
However, in case it wasn't obvious, NESTS is wonderful. Love, praise, and head pats have been all the darling assassin blessed with the ability to wield ice has known...
The truth is gonna hit her like a tonne of bricks.
Suddenly Daisuke expresses disagreement that sweets would suffice for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. This earns puzzlement, for Kula's never heard of such a healthy criterion, and she's left reeling in his wake. The girl rummages through her bento, searching for something she hasn't eaten yet, something that isn't dessert. While he makes note of the utensil, the wintery siren reads the nutritional content of her melon soda. About ready to ask for an opinion, is Kubo confused?
Kula is now confused, too.
Not that she's in a position to talk about it, but is the manifestation of ability at birth not the case for regular human beings? Her existence isn't often reminded of its artificial nature...
Such is life.
Slowly, the proudest smile dresses her pinkish lips. Free of conceit and arrogance, this is a good child whose hard effort was recognised. Accepting the spoon back into her hands with a gentle gratitude, Kula's never heard that her powers are pretty. Wait until she tells Diana, Foxy, and Candy! She radiates happiness, and is absolutely gullible and distracted by his subtle play.
Forgotten are problems of acceptable eats, because her schoolmate suggests a reason for them to meet again: to share the lunch he prepares on a regular basis. How thrilling for the Anti-K' that he's the second friend she's made at Taiyo! "That would be good!" Kula nods vigorously, her straight-cut fringe bouncing all over her forehead, some strands strewn everywhere.
There's a beat. "I will need to learn how to properly critique your cooking, so I can provide constructive feedback." She's SUPER DETERMINED to be helpful.
Choosing her ice cream to have before the lunch period ends, the plastic lid lifts to reveal contents frozen, owing to a crude cup of ice surrounding the container. As she gets to enjoying the sugary treat, stem of her chilly tableware held trapped by the rows of pearly white teeth, Kula recalls her earlier fascination with Daisuke's hair. Time is running out, and it's running out fast, so she's determined to find out about that pigment as soon as possible. They're familiar enough that it wouldn't be impolite, maybe?
Social cues are hard.
As much as Daisuke is able to... 'sense' with his latent psychic abilities, the true depth and magnitude of Kula's innocence and naivety is still not fully apparent to him. He can see plenty of it just by spending time with her, without relying on the psychic part of his faculties, but... The full truth of it still eludes him. Wether this is good or bad is yet to be seen. Would it be a great shock to him, if he is to find it out properly?
She's agreeable to the idea of eating more of his food and giving her opinion on it, at least. It's eager enough that even though he asked her about it, he still is taken aback by a little by the... particular intensity of her desire to be simply HELPFUL.
"A-ah... I don't think you need to worry about *learning* about that too much," he insists, with a hand brought up to wave it in a vaguely dismissive manner. "I mean, I know there are professional food critics and all, but, like... I think, at the end of the day, the most important thing is you just tell me what first comes out from your heart, right?"
A lot of the talking and sharing of food took a good chunk of lunchtime, he realizes quickly. So with the spoon given back to her, he finally takes the chance to actually focus on his own food, to an extent. Still ready to respond to her if she does end up conversing with him.
...But he's feeling something. He still doesn't have full and proper control of his senses, so he still picks up on things wether he likes to or not. Even if he can't get them... clearly. Scarlet brows knit together while he chews through curry, distracted away from the taste by the odd sensation. ...Red?
Daisuke's head turns to set his eyes back over to Kula again, studying her for all of five seconds before letting his lips twist into a light smile.
"Wondering about my hair?" He asks with a self-conscious chuckle, hand going up to brush through the shock of red atop his head. "...A lot of people ask about it, honestly... It's not an usual color or anything but it's... just been that way as long as I remember. I don't dye it or anything."
Another scoop of vanilla ice cream hovers before the barrier of her mouth, intention made plain as she is given cause to pause. The ice princess blinks, wondering to herself, food critics don't speak from the heart? Are their taste buds so refined that they can make objective judgements? Deciding to research it later and alone, it saves Daisuke from her inquisitive bombardment. "If that works, then I shall try my best." Nodding affirmatively binds Kula to her word.
Pakku! The sound effect that goes hand-in-hand with the best desserts, Kula polishes it off. Kubo may be concerned for her stomach, and the chaotic blend of dorayaki, curry, and ice cream, but fear not. She's fine.
She even adds melon soda to the mix.
Kula maintains a strict routine, her bottle capped after every sip. Her reasoning is based on what would happen if the bell were to ring. Instead of a mad rush to pack things and depart, she's able to focus on proper goodbyes. The doll tucks errant threads of copper-tinted locks back into place and swirls the fizzy green liquid around in its container.
More minutes slip by while her pretty little head sits empty...
But he's still getting impressions of something, lingering remnants.
Her violet gaze holds him steady, a whirlwind of threat analysis and information swiftly processed. NESTS will almost certainly require a report, but the Japanese teen is regarded as harmless. Youthful features don't hesitate to relax, her slight smile kind and unguarded. "Not... worrying, but wondering," responds the fey-like Kula. Denying the immediate urge to touch, however benign it may be, she's learned her impulsiveness ultimately alienates others, specifically her peers. They don't see an artificial human understanding life and the universe, but a girl whose manners are atrocious, and that's just the beginning.
Both hands wrap around the drink, warming it naturally, or perhaps she's keeping it cool and refreshing. "I have never seen hair that red before." Black hair, white hair, black AND white hair, and sometimes the colour is out of the blue, quite literally. Daisuke's hair reminds Kula of fire in some ways, but only when the strands catch the light of the sun, shifting in crimson hues. "It... is very vivid."
There's a whole conversation on the new topic that could take place, requiring far more time than they've been allotted, but Kula won't have the chance to begin. She's as far as inhaling when the Westminster chime sounds throughout the school and grounds of Taiyo. Lunch has come to an end.
Hopefully, the redhead finished his food. Returning the trash and melon ramune to her bento, Kula re-ties her furoshiki. Her rise is graceful, like a dancer, like an assassin. Fair tresses cascade down her front as the strange high schooler bows awkwardly. "Looking forward to the next time. Thank you for today!"
Excited and barely able to contain it, Kula walks away with a bounce in her step. After her necessary communications, she can't wait to let Diana and Foxy know about this!
When the Anti-K' arrives in her homeroom, she realises she didn't leave any method for the red-headed empath to reach out to her. A..aw, oops. :/
Log created on 01:51:17 08/17/2021 by Kula, and last modified on 05:30:20 05/28/2022.