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guitarsFuck the rain.
It's all Haruko can think as she trudges through, white boots smudged with mud and hair sticking to her helmet and the back of her neck. It's good when she wants it, but bad when she doesn't - why doesn't it just go away when she's not in the mood? Just another thing out of her control, that both frees her and drives her insane. It's hot and wet and clings to her like she's its last hope, slicking her skin and chilling her despite it being the warm sort of rain.
She's in the park, a desolate part with tall trees and a small playground that's been abandoned for a new shinier model over the hill, when it finally lets up. The skies are still cloudy and the sun hides away, denying her its warmth (another thing she can't reach up and grab not yet). She rips her helmet off once she no longer feels the peck of water against her skin and flings it carelessly into the wasteland of twisting pipes and tunnels. It thunks loudly against the iron playhouse and thuds across the plastic mat floor.
She grins, and tugs off her vest as well, letting the red leather plop in a sad wet heap on the floor. Stretching, she shakes herself off, not unlike a door, and scrunches the bottom of her white turtleneck. Her bra (red) can be seen through, because the shirt is soaked as well, but she couldn't care less. Maybe she'd make some poor loser kid's day with his first sight of boob.
It's all Haruko can think as she trudges through, white boots smudged with mud and hair sticking to her helmet and the back of her neck. It's good when she wants it, but bad when she doesn't - why doesn't it just go away when she's not in the mood? Just another thing out of her control, that both frees her and drives her insane. It's hot and wet and clings to her like she's its last hope, slicking her skin and chilling her despite it being the warm sort of rain.
She's in the park, a desolate part with tall trees and a small playground that's been abandoned for a new shinier model over the hill, when it finally lets up. The skies are still cloudy and the sun hides away, denying her its warmth (another thing she can't reach up and grab not yet). She rips her helmet off once she no longer feels the peck of water against her skin and flings it carelessly into the wasteland of twisting pipes and tunnels. It thunks loudly against the iron playhouse and thuds across the plastic mat floor.
She grins, and tugs off her vest as well, letting the red leather plop in a sad wet heap on the floor. Stretching, she shakes herself off, not unlike a door, and scrunches the bottom of her white turtleneck. Her bra (red) can be seen through, because the shirt is soaked as well, but she couldn't care less. Maybe she'd make some poor loser kid's day with his first sight of boob.
