LET'S [test] DRIVING

[cava]

IT'S THAT TIME AGAIN, YOU KNOW THE DRILL. Here's a few options, all stolen shamelessly from previous iterations.

> The Park. Man, what a nice day out. Why not enjoy it? I'm sure -- shit, yep, there's some echo monsters or whatever they're called.
> The Mall. Exactly what it says on the tin! Dodge the hordes of teenage mallrats or take part, whichever suits your tastes.
> Rainy Day. Agh, it's fucking awful out. And is it raining those vermilion things?? Now you've got an Echo to contend with on top of everything else. Find some shelter, quick!
> Arts and Crafts Fair. WILL THE KITSCH OVERWHELM YOU


or make up your own whatever this is basic and just for the purposes of getting a new test drive up.

Comments

{...} | Hanna is Not a Boy's Name

[crossstitched]

[The approximately-thirty-year-old, laid-back, does-something-for-a-living Yuri Ota had an unusual experience with his morning coffee adequately-timed to put him off of water from the tap for a while - he'll be watching the news and internet for a while, and gave his brother a call asking if the water at his place has been all right, and with that done, he'll be quietly dealing with the consequences.

Which is to say finding some stylish way to hide the wing-shaped white tufts of hair that have popped up at either corner of his hairline. He owns a couple of fedoras, but they're just a tad small to tuck them inside comfortable. A dropping-by at the mall to select a new one it is.

After which at sometime around sunset he'll be at the park on a walk with his dog, new hat and all - concerns settled for now 'til proved they oughtn't be.]

yay for Hanna is Not a Boy's Name characters!!

[dancingonapin]

[Also wandering the park with the oddest urge in the world to feed ducks in the local duck pond has Dr. Francis Fell tossing crumbles of bread to the hungry little beasts all by himself. Which really didn't feel right. No, he knew this was familiar, but something- someone- was definitely missing. It was the most frustrating feeling in the world, to have the experience on the tip of his tongue, but it just didn't feel right. This memory had been particularly stubborn, returning to him only bit by bit over the past week, and it still wasn't there in full.

With a groan of frustration, Francis curses gratuitously loudly as he throws the rest of the bread crumbs into the pond, much to the delight of the ducks there, as he storms away from the edge of the pond back to the little path that wound through the park.

And that's when he notices the man with a fedora over his head who'd been nearby during that tantrum of his, (which may or may not have rung some bells, though not nearly enough of them), and hesitates, clearing his throat and blushing red. His accent is distinctly British.]

Pardon my outburst... It's been a... a frustrating work week, you see... [An awkward pause.] ... You have a very cute dog.