[ After finding Akira alive and well (enough), Ryo takes a moment to consider what he's woken up with: a gun. Well, more accurately, a gun with a kind of adherent or perhaps sealant that dribbles out the end like something wrenched from a standard construction worker's toolkit.
He has no idea whether or not the supply is finite (space bullshit), but he seems to have taken to testing its application with a dedicated fashion on a broken bottle he's come up with. One could argue that he's likely gotten it from the bar, but he's not forthcoming necessarily as he uses a thin shard of something to trace some black material over the jagged edge before adhering the last, shattered piece he has in his possession to the original body of it.
He'll glance over at you if you've been there long enough once he places the shard of (is that glass?) by his side, tucking something into the pocket of his jumpsuit. ]
I want to test something, [ he says, with absolutely no preamble. His eyes are steady and so blue on you, before he's coming up with a second glass he's set beside him. It's filled with water and he holds it out to you expectantly. ] Pour this, [ he gestures with a kind of precision that doesn't spill a drop to the once broken bottle, ] into that bottle. Slowly.
[ If you're not too busy asking him why the fuck, you'll notice he's put that sucker back together somehow with all the art of an archaeologist. ]
>> UNTIL MY DARKNESS GOES (MESS HALL)
[ Good food is good for the soul, people say.
Those people never apparently reached Ryo Asuka's ears, because what he comes up with from the replicator is more-or-less a block of shortbread after observing that no ill effects come to those who eat before him. He doesn't make much effort to mingle, but he does seem keen on scrolling through the network as he partakes of his "meal" among others with impressive disinterest. The only thing that seems more in place for a standard teenager is the coffee at his right hand, which he sips idly with more dedication.
It's completely and utterly black.
Either way, maybe you recognize what he's eating. Maybe you don't. Still, if you sit across from him or stare at his pitiful selection long enough, he'll lift his eyes from his communicator long enough to give you a faint nod of acknowledgement. If you're pulling some kind of face? He'll give you a toneless and distracted: "What?" without bothering to look up. ]
>> ACTING ON YOUR BEST BEHAVIOR (BAR)
[ Ryo's been through enough circuits to know two things: 1. you never accept an open drink from strangers and 2. alcohol is good for numerous applications. He'd been busy elsewhere for the better part of a few hours, but time finds him back here. He'd observed more than a few partake of what was available before treading over himself once it was deserted, eyes scanning the shelves with careful consideration.
If you come by later, you'll find there's a sizable collection of bottles in tidy rows across the surface of the bar. However, there's no one to be found that could be responsible for it. That is, until you choose to come up to the arrangement. You might have just laid a hand on the back of a stool or on the neck of a nice pick, but don't think it goes unnoticed. ]
I wouldn't drink that, [ comes a clear, level voice from behind the bar. If you peer over the lip, a set of pale eyes will peer back up at you from under dark lashes. Whatever Ryo is doing, he doesn't make it readily apparent. Instead, if you're not quick enough to answer him or instead choose to ignore him and drink from the selection anyway, he'll eventually rise on his own accord and set yet another bottle down on the bar. It's half-full, an ancient and indecipherable red. The liquid leaves impressive legs as it skims down the inside of the bottle, its cork dissolved in part across its surface.
He aligns it once it ceases sloshing about with the other wines he's accumulated. The shift leaves faint rings of moisture in each foot's wake. A cursory glance will give you the impression he's sorted them by type, a keener one by alcohol content. However, it would seem the most studious would gather that he's only placed up those that have been opened to begin with. ]
>> TAKE ON ME, TAKE ME ON
[ OBLIGATORY WILDCARD. HMU on disco at morning star#3715 or on rasasvada and I'll happily write you up something special. ]
RYO ASUKA | DEVILMAN crybaby
[ After finding Akira alive and well (enough), Ryo takes a moment to consider what he's woken up with: a gun. Well, more accurately, a gun with a kind of adherent or perhaps sealant that dribbles out the end like something wrenched from a standard construction worker's toolkit.
He has no idea whether or not the supply is finite (space bullshit), but he seems to have taken to testing its application with a dedicated fashion on a broken bottle he's come up with. One could argue that he's likely gotten it from the bar, but he's not forthcoming necessarily as he uses a thin shard of something to trace some black material over the jagged edge before adhering the last, shattered piece he has in his possession to the original body of it.
He'll glance over at you if you've been there long enough once he places the shard of (is that glass?) by his side, tucking something into the pocket of his jumpsuit. ]
I want to test something, [ he says, with absolutely no preamble. His eyes are steady and so blue on you, before he's coming up with a second glass he's set beside him. It's filled with water and he holds it out to you expectantly. ] Pour this, [ he gestures with a kind of precision that doesn't spill a drop to the once broken bottle, ] into that bottle. Slowly.
[ If you're not too busy asking him why the fuck, you'll notice he's put that sucker back together somehow with all the art of an archaeologist. ]
>> UNTIL MY DARKNESS GOES (MESS HALL)
[ Good food is good for the soul, people say.
Those people never apparently reached Ryo Asuka's ears, because what he comes up with from the replicator is more-or-less a block of shortbread after observing that no ill effects come to those who eat before him. He doesn't make much effort to mingle, but he does seem keen on scrolling through the network as he partakes of his "meal" among others with impressive disinterest. The only thing that seems more in place for a standard teenager is the coffee at his right hand, which he sips idly with more dedication.
It's completely and utterly black.
Either way, maybe you recognize what he's eating. Maybe you don't. Still, if you sit across from him or stare at his pitiful selection long enough, he'll lift his eyes from his communicator long enough to give you a faint nod of acknowledgement. If you're pulling some kind of face? He'll give you a toneless and distracted: "What?" without bothering to look up. ]
>> ACTING ON YOUR BEST BEHAVIOR (BAR)
[ Ryo's been through enough circuits to know two things: 1. you never accept an open drink from strangers and 2. alcohol is good for numerous applications. He'd been busy elsewhere for the better part of a few hours, but time finds him back here. He'd observed more than a few partake of what was available before treading over himself once it was deserted, eyes scanning the shelves with careful consideration.
If you come by later, you'll find there's a sizable collection of bottles in tidy rows across the surface of the bar. However, there's no one to be found that could be responsible for it. That is, until you choose to come up to the arrangement. You might have just laid a hand on the back of a stool or on the neck of a nice pick, but don't think it goes unnoticed. ]
I wouldn't drink that, [ comes a clear, level voice from behind the bar. If you peer over the lip, a set of pale eyes will peer back up at you from under dark lashes. Whatever Ryo is doing, he doesn't make it readily apparent. Instead, if you're not quick enough to answer him or instead choose to ignore him and drink from the selection anyway, he'll eventually rise on his own accord and set yet another bottle down on the bar. It's half-full, an ancient and indecipherable red. The liquid leaves impressive legs as it skims down the inside of the bottle, its cork dissolved in part across its surface.
He aligns it once it ceases sloshing about with the other wines he's accumulated. The shift leaves faint rings of moisture in each foot's wake. A cursory glance will give you the impression he's sorted them by type, a keener one by alcohol content. However, it would seem the most studious would gather that he's only placed up those that have been opened to begin with. ]
>> TAKE ON ME, TAKE ME ON
[ OBLIGATORY WILDCARD. HMU on disco at morning star#3715 or on