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tampered2008-02-20 03:49 pm
fuckingqb.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2008-02-20 03:49 pm
Log; Complete
When; February 20, 2008
Rating; PG-13 [language]
Characters; Anezaki Mamori [![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fuckingmanager], Hiruma Yoichi [fuckingqb]
Summary; Mamori is out making friends; Hiruma has concerns about the people she's talking to.
Log;
The lock to the apartment clicked and the door swung open, shutting as the figure let himself in and then flicked the lock back into place. The bag was deposited on the couch, the rifle right beside it, Hiruma's knuckles cracking as he let it go. He hadn't realized he'd been gripping it so hard. Not that it mattered.
Outwardly he appeared calm, and not even the weight of his steps through the apartment gave away the rolling agitation stirring through him. He dug in his pocket, wanting something and finding something else. It was an acceptable substitute, the quarterback popping a stick of the sugerfree gum into his mouth and chewing slightly faster than normal.
He didn't knock, even though it wasn't his room he was walking into. He probably wouldn't have extended the courtesy, even if he'd been in less of a irritated mood.
It was deeper than that, though. It was more than irritation, dug itself further under his skin and made him--
--he reached out, grabbing the top of the laptop screen and swinging it, along with the rest of the computer, away from the person sitting in front of it. He flicked it closed, eyes never leaving the person sitting at the desk whose work he'd interrupted.
"Fucking manager."
Rating; PG-13 [language]
Characters; Anezaki Mamori [
fuckingmanager], Hiruma Yoichi [fuckingqb]Summary; Mamori is out making friends; Hiruma has concerns about the people she's talking to.
Log;
The lock to the apartment clicked and the door swung open, shutting as the figure let himself in and then flicked the lock back into place. The bag was deposited on the couch, the rifle right beside it, Hiruma's knuckles cracking as he let it go. He hadn't realized he'd been gripping it so hard. Not that it mattered.
Outwardly he appeared calm, and not even the weight of his steps through the apartment gave away the rolling agitation stirring through him. He dug in his pocket, wanting something and finding something else. It was an acceptable substitute, the quarterback popping a stick of the sugerfree gum into his mouth and chewing slightly faster than normal.
He didn't knock, even though it wasn't his room he was walking into. He probably wouldn't have extended the courtesy, even if he'd been in less of a irritated mood.
It was deeper than that, though. It was more than irritation, dug itself further under his skin and made him--
--he reached out, grabbing the top of the laptop screen and swinging it, along with the rest of the computer, away from the person sitting in front of it. He flicked it closed, eyes never leaving the person sitting at the desk whose work he'd interrupted.
"Fucking manager."