Okay so what I’m getting from writing Ryota this one time is that 1) he’s going to be the most tsunderest of the tsundere 2) he’ll also be really fricking dumb at times 3) apparently the titles of his posts are going to sound like they’re somewhat not-silly but the posts are going to be nondramatic at all because he’s a dork wow i didn’t even realize.
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[~Ryota~]
Though I knew it was unavoidable, I dreaded going to the bank at the end of each week to make a deposit. A simple task, it likely seems, but how grossly inconvenient for me. Not only was the bank located a great distance from my shop, but I had to deal with the biggest stick-in-the-mud of the whole island: Poet.
He was likely old as the island, by my calculations, and he seemed to care only about tradition. Yeah, he was nice enough, I supposed, but he got on my nerves. He was a prick, and I liked to think of myself as an easy-going guy. We clashed only naturally, since he didn’t appreciate my laid-back attitude and suave sense of humor. sorry but oh my god ur such a dork ur not funny calm down
So when I entered the bank that Friday afternoon, when the sun already neared the sea, I was already in a pretty foul mood. Just thinking about the visit turned my stomach. Poet the Prick appeared preoccupied as I approached his station.
When he didn’t notice me, I placed my small canvas bag carelessly on the counter. The coins within it shifted, a soft metallic tinkling breaking the silence of the building. A robust woman with pink hair and horns turned in my direction, but she quickly finished her business at the ATM and scurried out the door.
“Oops,” I said.
On the other side of the counter, Poet glanced up at me, peering over the rim of his thin glasses.
With a discontented sigh, he folded his newspaper, placing it neatly out of sight. “And how might I help you?” he inquired, pursing his lips.
Resting my forearms on the marble surface, I cocked my head. “Hook me up with the usual deal, pops.”
Without hesitation, he flicked my forehead, so quickly I couldn’t follow his movement. Recoiling, I massaged the spot with two fingers, and as a scowl settled into my brow and eased the corners of my lips down, I exhaled.
“No need to get violent,” I grumbled.
“I do not take kindly to rude patrons,” Poet said, twirling a pen between his fingers, “especially those who fail to recognize our actual age difference and prefer, instead, to remain ignorant.” The pen paused, resting along his thumb. “Would you care to ask again?”
A brief spasm twitched my fingers before they curled into fists. I swallowed, evenly balanced my weight between my feet. With gritted teeth, I bowed my head, cleared my throat and said, “Would thy oblique majesty thou careth to exchange my modest assimilation of precocious metal to be placed in your ever-abundant vault for mere digital monetary compensation?” wat an idiot gosh dang i didn’t know u were going to be this ridiculous when i made u
I remained, bent in a vulnerable and humbling position for a solid minute. Poet didn’t speak. I didn’t hear him move or breathe.
My cheeks grew hot, my hands clenching tighter than before.
In my frustration, I rose in an instant, and said, “Listen, you Bast—”
“Here is your receipt, sir,” Poet said, waving a thin slip of white paper in my direction. “I appreciate your effort in trying to appease me with your limited vocabulary. A job well done.”
“—iodon.”
Poet smiled, pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose until they rested perfectly before his piercing eyes. “Have a nice day.”
My tongue ran over the fronts of my lower teeth as I snatched the paper and pocketed it. Before departing, I pressed my index finger against the gem located smack in the middle of his forehead.
“Don’t test me,” I warned. He smiled on, reaching up and pinching my finger between his index and thumb.
“Do not give me reason to.”
As I strode out the door, I fingered the piercing in my lip. I didn’t really mind Poet, I guessed. He was entertaining, in the least. But man, was he annoying.
Outside the bank, shops were beginning their nightly routine of closing up. Day gave in to the night, and keys turned in their locks. Then, there was no one.
The sun still hovered just above the horizon, enough that it cast strange shadows over everything.
As I turned in the direction of the greenhouse—I’d made my home beside it—I heard a faint crying coming from the direction of the tree by town hall.
I bit my cheek and headed for town hall. There, a little Eevee girl sat, cross-legged in the grass, bawling her eyes out. She didn’t look injured—no blood or obvious scrapes—but kids cried about everything.
“Hey,” I said. She continued crying. “Hey.” Startled, she looked up, her weeping momentarily paused. “You okay?” She sniffled once, shook her head. “You hurt?” She shook her head again. “Then what’s the problem?”
Leaning her head back, she stared into the dark branches of the tree above. “M-m-my k-k-kite got st-st-stuck and I c-can’t reach it.” Upon finishing the sentence, she promptly dissolved into a fit of tears once more.
I scratched my head. “Arceus, kids don’t know how easy they have it. Calm down; stop crying.” She didn’t listen. “Hey. I said quit it with the waterworks, alright?” She hiccuped. “Just stay put and I’ll get your kite.”
As I took hold of a low but firm branch, I felt her eyes on me. “You might wanna get out of the way in case I fall or something.”
With a squeal, she scrambled out from the cove of roots by the base of the tree, and I proceeded to climb.
The tree itself wasn’t terribly tall, so I found little difficulty in scaling it. A branch nearly snagged my septum piercing somehow, but I managed to evade serious injury with that one.
At last I reached the peak of the tree, where the kite lay, snagged on a particularly gnarled branch. Pink flowers bloomed there, stark against the darkness of the night around it.
To avoid injury to the kite, I snapped the branch. The kite then easily separated from the branch, and I held each in separate hands. “Got your kite!” I called.
And promptly lost my footing.
The fall was only, like, fifteen feet, but it still hurt like a Bisharp.
“Mister? Mister, are you okay?” The little girl hovered over me, big brown eyes laced with concern.
I waved her away and tried to sit up, but the air refused to return to my lungs at first. I coughed, smacked myself in the chest, and forced myself to breathe. When all was right, I turned to her with a smirk, and said, “I am totally fine. Here’s your kite.”
With a gleeful shriek, she lunged for the kite. Didn’t know how such an outdated toy could be so valuable but it was whatever.
“Thank you, thank you!” she cried.
I held up a hand as I rose. “Don’t. Seriously. It’s whatever.”
She stared up at me. “Your cheeks are red.”
My hand immediately fell upon my cheek. It was hot to the touch. “N-no they’re not. You can’t even see my cheeks; it’s too dark.”
Giggling, she swished her tail. “You’re embarrassed,” she teased in a sing-song voice.
“Why don’t you just go home already?!”
Her teeth flashed in the darkness, crooked but pearly white. “Okay. Thanks again, mister.”
As she turned to leave, I said, somewhat distractedly, “Oh, wait. You want these flowers? They’re in season.”
That child’s eyes lit up. “How thoughtful!” she crooned, and returned to my side to retrieve the flowers. After sniffing them delicately, she peered up at me again. “What’s your name, mister?”
“Ryota,” I said without thinking.
“That’s weird,” she said. “I’m Evie.”
“Evie the Eevee?” I repeated. She nodded. “And I’m the one with the weird name?”
She pouted. “I like my name,” she said with a huff. I said nothing. She then turned to face a small cottage whose lights from within glowed warm and bright. “Thanks again, Mister Ryota. See you around!” Skipping, she proceeded to nearly fall flat on her face as she headed for the house. Silhouetted by the light of the open door, she spun around and waved.
I threw my hand limply in response, offering a quick jerk of a wave, before she closed the door behind her.
I kicked a stone in my path as I made way for the greenhouse.
“I saw that,” said a low voice from somewhere behind me. “You’re not as much of a meathead as you usually pretend to be, are you?” Standing in the faint glow of a street lamp was the pompous Derwood, the man who watched from above and once dropped a package of precious cargo—rare imported seeds from across the ocean—from roughly twenty feet in the air.
I would never forgive him.
“Oh, shut up,” I said, and tucked my hands into the pockets of my pants. He chuckled once, then took off into the night.
Sparse clouds drifted lazily across the moon, and a lone Zubat fluttered in circles somewhere above me. I pulled out a cigarette from my pocket and perched it between my lips. The flame of my lighter burned through the darkness, and a trail of wispy smoke disappeared into the air.
I placed a fist against my lower back where a bruise had already formed.
My eyes returned to the moon, full as ever.
The ipomoeas will look lovely tonight.
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I am so bad at endings wow sorry. (ipomoea = moon flowers yay)
What a fricking dork though wow u tough guy u red-faced loser wow
SOMEDAY SOON HOPEFULLY I WILL INCLUDE OTHER CHARACTERS OH GOSH
