Kim Kitsuragi (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
aceslow) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
jigokulogs2022-05-08 02:03 am
aceslow) wrote in jigokulogs2022-05-08 02:03 am
[ OPEN ] scaring at the sky
Who⬤ Kim & YOU
What ⬤ Kim takes on shifts at the local 7-11, fields an attempted robbery at aforementioned 7-11, visits a gay bar, finds a skeleton woman's bones (substory 2), contemplates haunted dolls (substory 4), and goes about his daily life.
When ⬤ Throughout May (and probably into June as a catch-all!)
Where ⬤ Throughout Jigokucho
Content Warnings ⬤ None anticipated; will edit as needed
a. 7-11 shifts.
i. a normal day in hell.
[ A lifelong policeman, Kim had quickly come to realize both that his skills as a detective aren’t exactly transferable here, and that the paltry salary that their clan leaders have given them is not enough to live off of. The only solution to that is to get a job and, much to Kim’s chagrin, the most convenient place to pick up a paycheck happened to be one of Jigokucho’s many convenience stores. A temporary position, Kim had told himself, but a position nonetheless.
Which is why Kim finds himself here, perched behind the counter of a 7-11 in some awful polyester uniform, sporadically working day and night shifts alike and feeling bored out of his skull. Is your character here to pick up their daily slushie? Have they been living off of convenience store foods for the past week? Or do they want a chat as they’re picking up lottery tickets and cigarettes? Whatever the case, Kim is here, seeing exactly what everyone’s daily routine looks like.
When he’s not restocking shelves or tidying up or looking terribly bored, he can be found reading a book underneath the counter or scribbling away in that omnipresent blue notebook of his. But feel free to interrupt him – that’s his job, after all. ]
ii. a normal day in hell: robbery edition!
[ Though late one evening, Kim’s stupor is interrupted by a young humanoid yokai slamming down his haul - slushies, saran wrapped pastries, ice cream and candy; somebody’s got a sweet tooth! - and jabbing the stubbiest looking switchblade Kim has ever seen in his direction. ]
This is a robbery! Give me everything in your register, now!
[ If you’re particularly good at reading expressions, Kim looks almost… glad for the excitement? He raises his brows at the young man, reaching underneath the counter. ]
You’re... robbing me? With that?
[ Do you want to intervene in the world’s most pathetic robbery? Or did you see that there could be more dangerous accomplices around the corner? Or maybe you just feel like watching the show? Take your pick! ]
b. the homo-sexual underground (it’s a gay bar).
[ With how busy his job kept him back home it’s not as though Kim had the time or energy to frequent gay bars, but with more time on his hands and a lack of community at his disposal, he’s slowly come to realize precisely what it is that he’s missing: a tether to the homo-sexual underground or, as it may be here, the homo-sexual overground. For how little he’d frequented the bars back home in the past few years, it’s a place that’s always welcomed him and a place he always knew he could go back to. He’d cut his teeth in those dingy, secretive bars even before he had been old enough to drink after all, and he decides it’s about time he gets acquainted with what Jigukocho has to offer.
With that in mind, Kim dons appropriate attire - a black leather jacket, white undershirt, dark wash trousers and some good, solid boots; there’s no point in messing with the classics - and heads to the Tamamo District to scope out the scene. It’s less a matter of asking around, and more of being able to spot his own. Once he sees exactly who is streaming into one of the bars, he slips in himself, looking comfortable and at ease, though in truth, he’s trying to get a lay of the land. He’s only ever been in the gay scene in one city, and to acquaint himself with another’s language seems like quite the task.
He winds up sitting at the bar, waiting for the bartender to finish chatting with another customer to place his order and looking far more approachable than he usually does. He’s in no hurry to get his drink, though – whether you’re here on purpose or stumbled into the gay bar by accident, why not say hello? ]
c. substory 2: vend me a dream.
[ If Kim had known just how long this satellite investigation was going to go, he wouldn’t have signed up for it in the first place, he thinks. But now that he’s invested, he’s come face to face with someone that he would probably feel obligated to help regardless of what comes at the end of this whole jaunt: skeleton clad in a beautiful, intricate dress, pooling on the filthy streets of Jigokucho. If you happen to listen in, you may hear Kim say, perplexed: ] You say they… took your bones, Madam?
My bones! They stole my bones! [ The woman’s jaw crackles and pops as she speaks, the entire effect a rather eerie one, though Kim tries his damnedest to keep a straight face. ] How will I get anywhere without my legs?
And who were these miscreants, exactly?
A dog.
A dog, ma'am?
A dog, a dog!
A dog took both of your legs?
[ The skeleton woman shrugs. Her bones crackle. ] A dog took one of my legs.
I see. [ Kim very carefully does not sigh. The absence of a sigh is somehow even louder than if he had. He turns to anyone nearby - that’s you! - and says, ] Pardon me. I don’t suppose you’ve seen a dog with a bone around here, have you? It would be a very large bone.
d. substory 4: haniwhat?
[ While his aren't as bad as some, Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi is no stranger to nightmares, especially at times of unrest. When he bolts awake in the morning with a shout - perhaps audible to other residents of Sutoku housing - he expects that it's nothing more than an overactive subconscious up until the point he sees an eerie looking doll staring back at him from across the room, perched precariously on the chair he habitually hangs his jacket on. Voice croaky from sleep, he rasps, ] What the fuck?
[ He doesn't do more than get himself looking baseline presentable before taking action, grabbing a pair of tongs from the kitchen to transfer the strange figurine from a chair to an old grocery bag. He carries it out of his apartment and sets it down as gently he can out on the sidewalk, using the tongs again to unwrap it from the bag and peer suspiciously at it, more than a little spooked. Usually he wouldn't want to be seen like this, in a loose tank top and sweatpants, hair mussed instead of being slicked back with a prodigious amount of hair gel and face unshaven, but he feels inclined to get to the bottom of this. Experimentally, he pokes it. ]
If you're alive, [ he tells it sternly, ] You should say so. And you certainly shouldn't be breaking into people's homes.
[ It stares emptily back at him, silent as the grave. Perhaps you've seen one of these too and can enlighten him as to what's going on -- or where to dispose of it. ]
e. daily life.
[ Otherwise, you can find Kim going about his regular business. If you live in Sutoku housing, you may have him for a neighbour and run into him as he takes out the trash, or perhaps figure out his schedule by the fact that he stands out on the communal porch of Sutoku's building for his daily cigarette, breathing chestnut-scented smoke into the light-saturated nighttime of the city of the dead that never sleeps. He's largely a polite, conscientious neighbour, though he sticks to himself and never appears to welcome any visitors.
Otherwise, he can be found doing his weekly grocery shopping, hitting up thrift stores for clothing and household goods, peering into the windows of Sutoku's many arcades (he seems particularly interested in those racing games), eating at one of Jigokucho's many cheap dining establishments, or even studying the advertisement in the window of a gym. Wherever you can reasonably expect someone to visit while going about their day, you can find Kim! ]
f. wildcard!
[ hit me with a wildcard – or if you’d like to plot/would like me to write you a custom starter, I’m more than happy to do so! Comment to me on the cr meme or on plurk and we can work something out! ]
What ⬤ Kim takes on shifts at the local 7-11, fields an attempted robbery at aforementioned 7-11, visits a gay bar, finds a skeleton woman's bones (substory 2), contemplates haunted dolls (substory 4), and goes about his daily life.
When ⬤ Throughout May (and probably into June as a catch-all!)
Where ⬤ Throughout Jigokucho
Content Warnings ⬤ None anticipated; will edit as needed
a. 7-11 shifts.
i. a normal day in hell.
[ A lifelong policeman, Kim had quickly come to realize both that his skills as a detective aren’t exactly transferable here, and that the paltry salary that their clan leaders have given them is not enough to live off of. The only solution to that is to get a job and, much to Kim’s chagrin, the most convenient place to pick up a paycheck happened to be one of Jigokucho’s many convenience stores. A temporary position, Kim had told himself, but a position nonetheless.
Which is why Kim finds himself here, perched behind the counter of a 7-11 in some awful polyester uniform, sporadically working day and night shifts alike and feeling bored out of his skull. Is your character here to pick up their daily slushie? Have they been living off of convenience store foods for the past week? Or do they want a chat as they’re picking up lottery tickets and cigarettes? Whatever the case, Kim is here, seeing exactly what everyone’s daily routine looks like.
When he’s not restocking shelves or tidying up or looking terribly bored, he can be found reading a book underneath the counter or scribbling away in that omnipresent blue notebook of his. But feel free to interrupt him – that’s his job, after all. ]
ii. a normal day in hell: robbery edition!
[ Though late one evening, Kim’s stupor is interrupted by a young humanoid yokai slamming down his haul - slushies, saran wrapped pastries, ice cream and candy; somebody’s got a sweet tooth! - and jabbing the stubbiest looking switchblade Kim has ever seen in his direction. ]
This is a robbery! Give me everything in your register, now!
[ If you’re particularly good at reading expressions, Kim looks almost… glad for the excitement? He raises his brows at the young man, reaching underneath the counter. ]
You’re... robbing me? With that?
[ Do you want to intervene in the world’s most pathetic robbery? Or did you see that there could be more dangerous accomplices around the corner? Or maybe you just feel like watching the show? Take your pick! ]
b. the homo-sexual underground (it’s a gay bar).
[ With how busy his job kept him back home it’s not as though Kim had the time or energy to frequent gay bars, but with more time on his hands and a lack of community at his disposal, he’s slowly come to realize precisely what it is that he’s missing: a tether to the homo-sexual underground or, as it may be here, the homo-sexual overground. For how little he’d frequented the bars back home in the past few years, it’s a place that’s always welcomed him and a place he always knew he could go back to. He’d cut his teeth in those dingy, secretive bars even before he had been old enough to drink after all, and he decides it’s about time he gets acquainted with what Jigukocho has to offer.
With that in mind, Kim dons appropriate attire - a black leather jacket, white undershirt, dark wash trousers and some good, solid boots; there’s no point in messing with the classics - and heads to the Tamamo District to scope out the scene. It’s less a matter of asking around, and more of being able to spot his own. Once he sees exactly who is streaming into one of the bars, he slips in himself, looking comfortable and at ease, though in truth, he’s trying to get a lay of the land. He’s only ever been in the gay scene in one city, and to acquaint himself with another’s language seems like quite the task.
He winds up sitting at the bar, waiting for the bartender to finish chatting with another customer to place his order and looking far more approachable than he usually does. He’s in no hurry to get his drink, though – whether you’re here on purpose or stumbled into the gay bar by accident, why not say hello? ]
c. substory 2: vend me a dream.
[ If Kim had known just how long this satellite investigation was going to go, he wouldn’t have signed up for it in the first place, he thinks. But now that he’s invested, he’s come face to face with someone that he would probably feel obligated to help regardless of what comes at the end of this whole jaunt: skeleton clad in a beautiful, intricate dress, pooling on the filthy streets of Jigokucho. If you happen to listen in, you may hear Kim say, perplexed: ] You say they… took your bones, Madam?
My bones! They stole my bones! [ The woman’s jaw crackles and pops as she speaks, the entire effect a rather eerie one, though Kim tries his damnedest to keep a straight face. ] How will I get anywhere without my legs?
And who were these miscreants, exactly?
A dog.
A dog, ma'am?
A dog, a dog!
A dog took both of your legs?
[ The skeleton woman shrugs. Her bones crackle. ] A dog took one of my legs.
I see. [ Kim very carefully does not sigh. The absence of a sigh is somehow even louder than if he had. He turns to anyone nearby - that’s you! - and says, ] Pardon me. I don’t suppose you’ve seen a dog with a bone around here, have you? It would be a very large bone.
d. substory 4: haniwhat?
[ While his aren't as bad as some, Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi is no stranger to nightmares, especially at times of unrest. When he bolts awake in the morning with a shout - perhaps audible to other residents of Sutoku housing - he expects that it's nothing more than an overactive subconscious up until the point he sees an eerie looking doll staring back at him from across the room, perched precariously on the chair he habitually hangs his jacket on. Voice croaky from sleep, he rasps, ] What the fuck?
[ He doesn't do more than get himself looking baseline presentable before taking action, grabbing a pair of tongs from the kitchen to transfer the strange figurine from a chair to an old grocery bag. He carries it out of his apartment and sets it down as gently he can out on the sidewalk, using the tongs again to unwrap it from the bag and peer suspiciously at it, more than a little spooked. Usually he wouldn't want to be seen like this, in a loose tank top and sweatpants, hair mussed instead of being slicked back with a prodigious amount of hair gel and face unshaven, but he feels inclined to get to the bottom of this. Experimentally, he pokes it. ]
If you're alive, [ he tells it sternly, ] You should say so. And you certainly shouldn't be breaking into people's homes.
[ It stares emptily back at him, silent as the grave. Perhaps you've seen one of these too and can enlighten him as to what's going on -- or where to dispose of it. ]
e. daily life.
[ Otherwise, you can find Kim going about his regular business. If you live in Sutoku housing, you may have him for a neighbour and run into him as he takes out the trash, or perhaps figure out his schedule by the fact that he stands out on the communal porch of Sutoku's building for his daily cigarette, breathing chestnut-scented smoke into the light-saturated nighttime of the city of the dead that never sleeps. He's largely a polite, conscientious neighbour, though he sticks to himself and never appears to welcome any visitors.
Otherwise, he can be found doing his weekly grocery shopping, hitting up thrift stores for clothing and household goods, peering into the windows of Sutoku's many arcades (he seems particularly interested in those racing games), eating at one of Jigokucho's many cheap dining establishments, or even studying the advertisement in the window of a gym. Wherever you can reasonably expect someone to visit while going about their day, you can find Kim! ]
f. wildcard!
[ hit me with a wildcard – or if you’d like to plot/would like me to write you a custom starter, I’m more than happy to do so! Comment to me on the cr meme or on plurk and we can work something out! ]
no subject
[ How many times has Kim had his back, brought him back from the brink, and all in a week? Sleeping in his bed is just another to add to the list. But how could he ever payback all he owes to the lieutenant? It feels so impossible to consider what could crystalize all his gratitude. Maybe that isn't the point. Then what is? ]
no subject
[ He still leaves the door slightly ajar as he pads out of his room, just in case. Truth be told, he doesn't want the weight of Harry's gratitude. It is impossible to tell him not to feel it - Kim knows he would feel the same way in his position - but it's not what he's doing this for, and he certainly doesn't want the man to feel as though he owes him a debt. He simply wants Harry to get better.
Of his own accord. But with help that he can provide. If not as a colleague, then as a friend. Surely even Kim can budge that much. Regardless, he waits for the tell-tale sound of Harry snoring before he relaxes a little and gets on with the rest of his day, seemingly content to shift any of his plans around for a quiet day at home. And if he happens to make enough food for two upon Harry's waking, well, it's not that difficult to double the evening's meal anyhow. ]
no subject
Then a woman approaches from behind, orange bob framing the hateful eyes and clenched teeth. One of her partners just died because of him. If their positions were swapped, would he want to kill her too? No, no, it's worse than that. She doesn't just want him dead. Her gun is aiming right at Kim's head.
He opens his mouth, gaping like a fucking idiot, doing his very best to scream. Nothing comes out. He's useless, less than useless. The gun explodes and Kim drops over his stomach, the back of his head impounded and open for all to see. Then, his head twists and glares emptily.
Harry rockets up, gasping for air, panting like a dog under the hot sun, now in a sparsely decorated bedroom. He is cold and covered in sweat and he just saw his friend die. Or did he? Without a second to waste he swings his legs over the bed and gets up, wobbily on his feet but determined to find Kim. ]
Kim? Kim?!
no subject
Still, Kim didn't get to the position he's at in life by allowing himself to simply fail to focus, so he spends the time in the interim doing all the household chores he had meant to get done at some point throughout the week. He keeps the radio's volume down low so as to not wake Harry up, leaning in a little so that he can listen to it - it's Jigoku-cho's premier arts and culture radio station, with a dry-voiced host clinically describing a dance only performed by Rokurokubi and their long, graceful necks - and folding the large pile of laundry he had recently washed at the local laundromat.
He's so intent upon his listening that he jumps when he suddenly hears Harry's voice calling his name, foot bumping up against the filled laundry basket and sending neatly folded socks, underwear and thin undershirts rolling out of it and onto the ground.
Shit. Another dream? He was never going to get a proper night's sleep at this rate. ]
Yes?
[ He meets Harry just at the doorway, expression quizzical and a little concerned. He looks much the same as when they had stumbled upon each other out on the street: hair mussed and ungelled, in loose, comfortable clothing meant for a quiet day at home, tired, and blandly, ordinarily human. And still very, very much alive. ]
What's wrong?
no subject
AUTHORITY - You didn't fuck it all up. ]
You're ok.
[ He breathes out and takes another breath, a sob stuck in his throat that he forcefully swallows. Don't fucking cry over a nightmare you fucking child, you sissy, pathetic little shitstain. You didn't get him killed after everything he's done for you. Congratulations on making it through another day without blowing up everything and leaving it all in ruins. He shoves his knuckles against his eyes, wet with a fresh batch of tears held back. ]
Sorry. I had another nightmare. It was the tribunal. [ That's all he wants to say on the matter. Kim was there, he knows what happened. He looks at the radio and sound returns to his ears. ] What are you listening to?
[ Please don't ask about the dream, please let it go. ]
no subject
[ He gives Harry a reassuring smile, then glances away. It seems that that dream had really affected him. Of course it did. Harry's dreaming of something that never came to pass; Kim had lived through it. Without preamble, he walks away and leans down to scoop up some of his laundry to put it back into the basket where it belongs. ] I've dreamed of it too, [ he says simply. ] It's not pleasant.
[ At least for this one, he can wake up and have some confirmation that the worst did not come to pass, that the only thing Kim is currently suffering from is the break in his regular routine. When Kim has dreamed of it, he dreams of that awful moment where he saw one bullet make its impact into Harry, then two (two, if he hadn't been wearing that armour that Kim hadn't wanted him to get his hands on in the first place), the cry of pain, the spray of blood, Harry's nonsensical rambling as Kim begged him to stay conscious and stay awake, the screams of pain and alarm breaking out around them as everyone tended to their dead while Kim was left to tend to him, the trail of blood that was left behind as they hurriedly dragged him into the shelter of the Whirling-In-Rags, the cries of is he dead?! while Kim hurried to keep him alive, every laboured, wheezing breath a gift. In those dreams, sometimes he does die, the breath leaving his lungs and heart stuttering to a stop, only to open his eyes once again and say --
No. Not very pleasant at all. He unrolls, then rerolls a pair of socks to his satisfaction. After those dreams, he has sometimes thought about texting Harry for some peace of mind, then dismissed the thought. It's a stupid impulse. ]
In any case, I'm perfectly fine. I've been listening to some programming about the local arts and culture here. Some specialty folk dance that a local community has been revitalizing.
[ Though from the tinny voice on the radio, it appears that they've moved onto a different topic, chatting spiritedly about how urban living has alienated their cultures from their roots. Despite the fact that they're currently discussing demons, it's not so different from what Kim had listened to back home. ]
no subject
[ Tune in for more brilliant statements from Harrier Du Bois, after these messages. Any distraction is a welcome one right now from the parrot screaming inside his head, repeating all the things he wants to push away. Is this what it was like for him? Then no wonder he wanted to wipe it all away.
Stop thinking about it (he won't) - Harry steps up closer, tempering his voice to prevent an outburst, and listens into the discussion.
EMPATHY - It's not hard to unravel why the lieutenant is so interested.
CONCEPTUALIZATION - If painting is the expression of the mind, dance is the expression of the body. Full throttle, the conversion of kinetic energy into communication of the inner heart.
ENDURANCE - You can keep it going for a long time.
SAVOIR FAIRE - And you're not half bad at it! ]
Hm. I guess it makes sense that the yokai here have their own separate cultures. I didn't really give it any thought until now.
no subject
I know you do. A neighbour of mine suggested that I do more research into their culture, and I decided to do just that. I can't say any knowledge I have about dancing will come in handy, but it can't hurt. I've been doing my reading too.
[ He leans over, cranking the radio just high enough so that they don't have to struggle to hear what they're saying, but low enough that they won't have to shout over it. If Harry's awake, then he's awake. He won't send him out into the cold just yet, though. ]
I'll let you borrow them when I'm done. But for now, if you're awake, I may as well put you to work. [ He scrutinizes Harry's face. ] Are you still feeling the effects of the diphenhydramine?
[ He's going to put some calories into Harry's gut; he doubts the man has eaten in his sleepwalking stupor, and if he has, it's probably the sort of shit he doesn't want to know about. It'll be good to keep his hands busy too, so long as he's not too tired to handle basic kitchen equipment and winds up bleeding all over his nice clean kitchenette. ]
no subject
no subject
[ This is a lie. He was able to procrastinate chopping onions by telling himself that dealing with the laundry - and keeping an ear out for any disturbances coming from his bedroom - was a much more important task. He waves for Harry to follow him to where a cutting board sits with a cheap but sturdy knife sitting on it, accompanied by two onions, the dry yellow skin already shedding onto the counter and waiting to join its multicoloured sliced pepper bretheren. ]
Don't worry about how even the slices are. It'll all cook down in the end.
[ As Harry takes on the unenviable job, Kim rummages around in his modest cupboard, grabbing a can of tomato paste and a few jars of dried spices that had clearly come in a pack. He's far from what he'd call a good cook, but he's certainly functional enough with the basics, and has only grown more functional here in Jigoku-cho, where so many of the foods that bring him comfort are no longer readily available, instead replaced with a bevy of foods he's unfamiliar with, meant to be eaten with utensils he's still trying to get the hang of.
Ingredients now neatly stacked by his sorry excuse for a stove (it's really no more than two hotplates shoved together), he ducks into the fridge to grab a package of sausages, pink, chubby little things, and frees them from their cellophane prison. Typically, he would ask a houseguest if they like the food he's preparing, but he's seen the sort of thing that Harry puts in his body. He'd be offended if this is where he drew the line. He slides over a bulb of garlic. ]
Slice some of this up while you're at it.
no subject
So he starts chopping.
PAIN THRESHOLD - There's an immediate *sting* that wafts into your eyes through your olfactory senses. You shut them fast and crush them hard, but there's no way to stop the tears welling up and the runny nose following suit.
COMPOSURE - It's very hard to keep it together, but try to relax. This is *not* your first time cutting an onion. It's just been long enough that you're sensitive to it again. Open up and cut through it.
Chop, chop, chop. He's finishing up just as the garlic is rolled over and he grabs it to slice up too.
INTERFACING - The mind has forgotten, but the hands remember. This is easy for you.
LOGIC - Well, maybe it's not that shocking you know how to cook. You have been living alone for quite some time. ]
Well damn. I can really chop this shit.
no subject
What, you haven't tested out your skills in the kitchen since you've arrived? Maybe you ought to give it a shot. Unearth a hidden skill or two. Merci, [ Kim says, taking the cutting board and emptying it into the waiting pan, the kitchen coming alive with the healthy snap and pop of sizzling vegetables. He dumps the peppers in afterwards, as well as the can of tomato paste and some dried seasonings from a multipack, and pushes them around the pan, letting it all sweat off. He glances over at the fridge - normally he would toss in half of a cheap bottle of beer - then thinks better of it and simply pours some water from his kettle, as well as a boullion cube from his cupboard. He tosses the sausages on top, tops it with a mismatched pot lid, and voila.
He grabs a crusty loaf of bread from off the top of his fridge, already half-eaten, and begins to saw off a few thick slices. Two of them will be toasted to eat the vegetables and sausages with, but the third is smeared with a layer of butter and sliced in half before Kim offers Harry a piece, munching on it standing idly in the kitchen as god intended. ]
I've never been much interested in cooking myself. But you grow tired of take-out and meals from street vendors at some point.
no subject
INLAND EMPIRE - Hey, the trash food is better than it appears! Plenty of good meals are tossed away with only a bite or two taken out.
LOGIC - It's still eating out of the trash... ]
I can't say I agree, Kim. There's so much good food here, and not just 'fast food' either. Plus it's easier to decide on a meal made for you than suffer over figuring out what to make yourself.
[ There's the internal fear of screwing up too. What if he makes something that isn't edible? Then he's wasted the time and the money on making it. Not to mention the self-confidence spent to even get started. It isn't so easy when the moment he goes to a grocery store his head begins to buzz with every option available and everyone has a different opinion. Though this is probably why he also struggles with his money so much...
He ponders this as he chews on the buttered bread, his taste buds lighting up with appreciation for the simplicity given. It's been well over twelve hours without anything good eaten. ]
no subject
[ He glances over at the bubbling frying pan and admits, wryly, ] Mine doesn't exactly live up to the food carts back home, but it's better than nothing.
[ Missing home is what it all comes down to. Kim is not what he would call a naturally adventurous person, and though he tends to eat for sustenance rather than for taste, he misses his old favourites. Crusty bread and familiar sandwiches piled high with slaw, meat shaved off of a spit, local restaurants that preach food just like mom's!, and while Kim cannot boast a mother, it's the sort of simple, familiar food he grew up with.
The food here, while delicious, is foreign enough to make him hesitate and scramble over the menus, as though ordering something he doesn't like is a matter between life and death. Childish behaviour, really, but so it goes. He ducks back into his fridge, grabbing a bag of mixed greens and dumping it into a large bowl to dress simply, just with some salt and pepper, oil and vinegar. ]
I suppose the memory loss complicates that a bit. Still, there must be a meal or two that you miss now that we're in... a different culture.
[ Seolite Hell. His aversion to really exploring the food of what others consider to be his people has come back to bite him in a big way. ]
no subject
VISUAL CALCULUS - A shame you have such poor sense of timing. You never get to the store in time for opening. The wait would be half an hour if you weren't there within fifteen minutes on Sunday morning.
ENCYCLOPEDIA [FAILURE] - They were serving a special meal. You don't know more than that. ]
Mhm. No, noggin isn't coming up with anything. [ He sighs, frustrated only for the next few seconds. It's not the first thing he can't remember and on a scale of what he wants to recall, this is on the lower end. ] But I like all food. I'm not a picky eater in the slightest.
[ Considering he has eaten out of the trash (and... still does) his mouth is not above shoving anything down his throat. ]
I will say -- the kebabs here don't measure up. That much I do remember.
no subject
[ He opens up the cupboard door. There are four of every type of dish in there: four large plates, four small plates, and four bowls, all clearly of the same set. The cutlery drawer tells the same tale. It appears that only one of each item is used, and that Kim simply washes and replaces them as they go; the plateware isn't sturdy, and only one of each shows any wear and tear. Kim does not often have visitors.
He passes Harry two of the plates and waves an idle hand towards the cutlery drawer. ]
Food's almost ready. Go ahead and set the table, and grab our glasses of water while you're at it. I'll bring the rest over shortly.
[ The hotplate snaps and pops behind Harry as Kim fires up his second one, too shabby to light up without some difficulty, but soon enough, a knob of butter has made its way into the pan to fry up two slices of bread to go with their supper. ]
no subject
REACTION SPEED - Oh, look! He has a rather nice looking plant on his window still. Maybe that could be a good center piece?
CONCEPTUALIZATION - It's no vase of hand-cut flowers arranged by color, but it will do. ]
Need anything else set out?
[ He heads back into the kitchen with his question, quickly checking if any food can be set out on the table. It's a strangely pleasing task. +1 MORALE ]
no subject
[ Kim passes Harry the pan of sausages and vegetables to set in the middle of the table, on the folded towel that lives there instead of a proper trivet, while Kim himself brings over the bread, mustard, and jar of pickled vegetables that he had practically celebrated mid-deli aisle upon finding. This is the first meal shared inside of his own domicile, he realizes, and it may well be the last. He is intensely private, even here where his home has nothing for him to hide, and it has simply not occurred to him to invite someone in. It's a curiously domestic feeling.
Sitting across the table from Harry gives him a chance to properly look him over. He still looks death slightly warmed over, but he looks better -- a little colour in his cheeks, a little spark in his eye, time spent away from whatever nightmares that had plagued him doing him some good. ]
All right, help yourself, [ he says, ignoring the reflexive instinct to make some comment on the quality of the food before Harry can. He looks down at the table setting and the plant, everything set neat and as pretty as it could be in his shitty apartment, like he'd been styling it for some charming photoshoot. Shithole Weekly: How To Make a Hole A Home! His lip quirks as he helps himself, spooning fragrant peppers and onions onto his plate before spearing one of the plump sausages with his fork, sending the fat oozing into the pan. ] You really took setting the table seriously.