( he isn't the type to mind chores. in fact, had there been no instructions to recycle in the first place, kuroh might have been uncontrollably tempted to pick up everything himself anyway, if not for the fact that his first priority was finding his clan. the layer of garbage provided a lack of sturdiness and consistency, but it was not unlike walking through a snow-covered terrain for the young man. his steps are vigilant —— cautious, light, and every now and then, thrust entirely into knee-deep or waist-deep territory. )

What nonsense. ( he scoffs while climbing his way back up to the surface, finding himself increasingly bothered by the State of the Trash ™. ) They didn't even provide the proper tools to recycle ...! ( —— dignity be damned, he's fallen neck-deep now. with a brilliant flash of silver, he's pushed back atop the pile, scanning nearby with a wary glance, before spotting ... someone? else? just as it starts to rain, too. before any questions can be asked to his Fellow Recycling Committee comrade, he realizes ... a rat has crawled up one of his pant legs. he's cut off before he can even say anything, expression contorting in discomfort and embarrassment. )

( like many, he was hit with an onslaught of disorienting shuffling, grappling, and fighting before being disposed of. try as he might, he was no match for the sorting process, and as he was pitched into the garbage chute, kuroh could not help but regret not resorting to violence sooner. eventually his bearings are regained and his prudence restored, directing his immediate attention not to the inevitable fiery death that the incinerator promises, but instead to anybody nearby that might be in need of his help.

his master had taught him better than to go into this alone, and although death was ... slow and sluggish and easy to be distracted from, it could still be impending. right? perhaps it was some tactical maneuver to get people to let their guards down.

... honestly the situation felt less dire the more everything stopped and started, but that only alerts him more. ) Do you need help?

( -- whatever the answer is, his hand readies at his katana as he runs over, seemingly more alert than the situation calls for. ) Don't let your guard down. This could all be a trap. ( a very slow one ........................ )

( it was too good to be true.

he should have known. in fact, as the illusion of Ichigen-sama's hat fades from his grasp, replaced with a life-sized cardboard cutout of some generically-beautiful model in an incredibly revealing bikini, kuroh believes he's being subject to some sort of Divine Punishment. he displayed a disappointing spectacle of being unable to resist a sentimental attachment to the material world, and now he's stuck looking like some freak.

it doesn't help that he can't even look at the cut-out without feeling incredibly nervous and embarrassed. it's too immodest. he's.

too weak. and both of his hands are stuck on it, holding it in somewhat of an embrace. he lifts his foot, trying to kick off, but ends up falling over and having the cardboard-waifu fall with him. his leg now jammed through it and impaling her.

please help... )

( waking up was like breaking the surface of icy waters, giving him a gasp of air that he didn't even know he was missing. his chest heaves for a moment, mind stirring from its dizzied state as he tries to recall exactly when he lost consciousness, or just why it feels so nice to have the entangled proximity he currently has.

and entanglement is an understatement. they're bound -- maybe back to back. maybe chest to chest. maybe simply by the wrists and feet. it feels like being resurrected after having needed another person so desperately, but the moment he reorients, there's nothing but confusion about this entire state of affairs. he mentally accounts for his belongings -- still secured and fastened at his side and within his pockets, before speaking: )

... I'm not sure I understand.