[ Being recognized wasn't anything new for her; she was slightly famous in some circles, mostly amongst other scientists and hobbyists. Neither of which seemed to match this man's description, but who was she to judge?
It was his tone which struck her as unusual - like he was seeing a ghost or something. There's a momentary pang of remembrance, and she really hopes and prays that this isn't someone else who'd been going through hell because of all the time travel. Someone who'd known her before. It had been difficult enough the first time. ]
[ When he's gripped by emotion, sentimentality, it's in the moment Hiruma blinks, remembers to inhale, that it's over.
He was right — sometimes he really hated that about himself. Makise Kurisu didn't remember him, and opening the door to one insecurity let in several more. She was here, real; she bumped him, she acknowledged and spoke to him. But without the memory, Hiruma was just another face. A foreign one, something alien. So he looks away, down at his hand. ]
No. [ His voice is detached, expression schooled into something neutral. ] No, that'd be impossible, even with your stubbornness.
[ It comes off a bit snippy, the curt tone a result of his turmoil — what could he even say? If she didn't remember, why should he bother even making a case for himself? "You and I were trapped in American suburbia in an alternate dimension"? Yeah, fucking right. ]
We met. Once. But even that seems like a long time ago, now.
[ the testy reply makes her wrinkle her nose; clearly, she finds that sort of attitude a little distasteful, and she would have been more than willing to end this conversation right there and continue on her merry way. But, again, he goes and says something unusual.
Her dreadful curiosity always gets the better of her. ]
Once? Where? Were you at a convention? Forgive my bluntness, but you don't look like the scholarly type.
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[ugu]
[ Being recognized wasn't anything new for her; she was slightly famous in some circles, mostly amongst other scientists and hobbyists. Neither of which seemed to match this man's description, but who was she to judge?
It was his tone which struck her as unusual - like he was seeing a ghost or something. There's a momentary pang of remembrance, and she really hopes and prays that this isn't someone else who'd been going through hell because of all the time travel. Someone who'd known her before. It had been difficult enough the first time. ]
@ u@
He was right — sometimes he really hated that about himself. Makise Kurisu didn't remember him, and opening the door to one insecurity let in several more. She was here, real; she bumped him, she acknowledged and spoke to him. But without the memory, Hiruma was just another face. A foreign one, something alien. So he looks away, down at his hand. ]
No. [ His voice is detached, expression schooled into something neutral. ] No, that'd be impossible, even with your stubbornness.
no subject
... Have we met, sir?
[ He looked like a punk. She'd remember meeting someone like this; her memory is good. But there was nothing to recognize in his features. ]
no subject
[ It comes off a bit snippy, the curt tone a result of his turmoil — what could he even say? If she didn't remember, why should he bother even making a case for himself? "You and I were trapped in American suburbia in an alternate dimension"? Yeah, fucking right. ]
We met. Once. But even that seems like a long time ago, now.
no subject
Her dreadful curiosity always gets the better of her. ]
Once? Where? Were you at a convention? Forgive my bluntness, but you don't look like the scholarly type.