Shimmerlace danced down the cracked sidewalk in the violet-pink-gray magic of another Tokyo sunset. An 80s American synth anthem cast through her earbuds mist, mystery, plus pounding drums that made it impossible, simply out of the question, for her not to
step, twirl, heave. Even with the box of newly acquired belongings clutched between her arms, even in costume, it was
out of the question. Once upon a time, Charlotte had worried the magic around sunset at LAW would grow cob-webbed and dusty, as is the usual wont of wonderment and mischief. But since then the sun had set on her held under an almost 200 pound kitten’s breasts, stepped on by a girl almost half her size, mind-strapped and corrupted by demonic wiles, not to mention defeated in the contest of Whacking Day. God only knew what strange baubles tomorrow would bring.
(Lose lose lose, yeah-yo, yeah-yo! You’ll lose lose lose). Grinning, Shimmer twirled to the beat.
The box was a trifle risky to be hauling about in the open, given it was brimming with...materials. Anyway, Shimmerlace was relieved to arrive at the Lioness dormitory without encountering any Tokyo elder, out on an evening walk, who might be offended at the contents of her haul. The Seelie Scion noted the open car trunk.
We got a new resident! Wonder what her vibe will be?.
Shimmerlace didn’t have long to wonder: She was soon to pass the girl taking in her empty dorm.
Punk was the first thought through Shimmer’s mind, but it was a happy little word, adjacent to
Chemical Romance,
Sex Pistols and (especially with the wee collar) just
sexy. For half a second, Shimmerlace considered continuing, depositing her open box—with its flogger, and the wee strapon, and the less wee strapon, and the three dildos, (all of which lent a sort of subtext to the clothespins and collar and leash and candles), plus a pink cane that decidedly failed the
rule of thumb—in her own dormitory, and then returning to say hello in a more socially acceptable mien. As with most such thoughts, this did not survive long in Shimmer’s mind. Instead, she grinned over the top of her overflowing pile and gave greeting.
”Soooo. You’re the one with nine boxes worth of belongings sitting out in the lot!” Shimmerlace glanced at the door.
”Sakura is it now? As in, like, cherryblossom, right—like the flower what’s the same color as your hair streak an’ all? Well that’s a fine choice,“ said the wrestler bedecked in pink.
”I dig it most heartily. Name's Shimmerlace, by the by! Shimmerlace Snuggleblossom."
