[It's not unexpected for Shindou to leave. Akira had been bracing herself for it. As Shindou does step away from the ceremony, away from her, Akira takes in a long, slow breath, quiet through her parted lips. She staunchly refuses to watch Shindou's retreat—that's what it is, a retreat—but after that, belatedly, she realizes she can't hear anything. It's a realization almost as dull as everything else around her. It isn't unexpected for Shindou to leave, but still, when she does, Akira can't save her brain from the wake of that retreat. She is rocking dangerously on the welters of that wake; she could be seasick, she could be blinded by foam. Froth like that is filling her eyes, it's bubbling into her ears. All sights and sounds are effervescent, and that same foam tests the boundaries of her skull; she doesn't even have the presence of mind to fear this spumy wash. The ballroom is lost to it, as are all the speakers, and no language makes clear landing, not even her native tongue. She's thinking about Shindou's back, but not the murmurs made around it. She's not thinking about dragging Shindou back here, by her hand or her hair. Weirdly, she's not thinking about doing that... If Akira hears anything through the weight of white, it's her own name—Touya Akira—isn't it? Some official, some remark upon her prowess? Or is it Touya, Shindou rolling her eyes, Shindou hiding things? Is Akira's name coming forth from the mouth of a middle aged man who thinks she's smart but doesn't realize she's brilliant, or as a dare from insufferable, mesmerizing Shindou? Akira has been taking dares all her life, you know.
Like roiling seas, all herald of thunderheads, Akira storms out of the ballroom. She looks more prideful than a god, entitled to it, chin held higher than Susanoo in his own storminess. Actually, she can feel her heart seizing inside her chest. She doesn't feel godly and she doesn't feel worthy of anything higher than the appalled clamor she's sure ripples after her. Her teeth clench hard while she tries to clamp down on all of it—she cannot think about what she's just done until she's far away from it...
It doesn't take long for the tension in her jaw to cause a headache. She can feel it reaching all the way up to the space behind her eyes. Best to keep it there, though. Best to keep it away from her hands, because she doesn't want to snap Shindou's fan in half, now that she's found it. She doesn't want to snap Shindou in half, now that she's found her. And she's sweating, too.]
Were you running away from me? [she asks at first, because Shindou is so fast... It's getting harder and harder not to hold the fan too tightly. Then she realizes that she probably does sound like a murderer when she asks it, if the whispers of her classmates are anything to go by. Akira swallows, although her throat is painfully dry from all the exertion. She's trying hard not to breathe too quickly or too deeply, even though there's no way to hide that she's winded. She just won't let herself gulp in air.] You were, um... it was hard to catch up.
[Akira is still standing, and looking down to the top of Shindou's head is an uncomfortable feeling. She shifts on her feet, and sets one hand against the wall to brace herself. A part of her feels the need to demand that Shindou get up, and a part of her wants to sit down right next to her.]
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Like roiling seas, all herald of thunderheads, Akira storms out of the ballroom. She looks more prideful than a god, entitled to it, chin held higher than Susanoo in his own storminess. Actually, she can feel her heart seizing inside her chest. She doesn't feel godly and she doesn't feel worthy of anything higher than the appalled clamor she's sure ripples after her. Her teeth clench hard while she tries to clamp down on all of it—she cannot think about what she's just done until she's far away from it...
It doesn't take long for the tension in her jaw to cause a headache. She can feel it reaching all the way up to the space behind her eyes. Best to keep it there, though. Best to keep it away from her hands, because she doesn't want to snap Shindou's fan in half, now that she's found it. She doesn't want to snap Shindou in half, now that she's found her. And she's sweating, too.]
Were you running away from me? [she asks at first, because Shindou is so fast... It's getting harder and harder not to hold the fan too tightly. Then she realizes that she probably does sound like a murderer when she asks it, if the whispers of her classmates are anything to go by. Akira swallows, although her throat is painfully dry from all the exertion. She's trying hard not to breathe too quickly or too deeply, even though there's no way to hide that she's winded. She just won't let herself gulp in air.] You were, um... it was hard to catch up.
[Akira is still standing, and looking down to the top of Shindou's head is an uncomfortable feeling. She shifts on her feet, and sets one hand against the wall to brace herself. A part of her feels the need to demand that Shindou get up, and a part of her wants to sit down right next to her.]