((SPOILER/CONTENT WARNING: Fukawa has an eccentric split personality with a bloody past named Genocider Syo, who is attempting to put her murderous ways behind her. The canon treats this all rather irreverently and with little accuracy. I'll be putting a separate prompt for her under this top level. Anyone who doesn't want to deal with Syo never has to, and if I app I'll have an opt out post available. For now you can always message me, or if you don't respond to one of my tags I'll respect that you may not want to thread.))
A) A Blood Offering
[Fukawa's had worse dreams. None quite so vivid, nor explicitly instructional. Strange that something so demanding still left her with enough rest to feel better than she has in ages.
Sadly, as she cracks open an eye and finds tangerine-tinted wood paneling on the wall and peach bedsheets swaddling her body, all that good rest goes to waste.]
What? Wh-what the hell?!
[She's upright and on edge in a split second. She'd be on her feet if she hadn't clocked the second anomaly. A complete stranger in the bed opposite.
Fukawa shrieks. A projectile pillow follows, ready to whap whoever the unsuspecting sap is direct in the face.]
Who are you?! [She's drawing the sheets up to shield herself, in spite of still wearing her (heavily tattered) school uniform.] What do you want with me? G-G-Get out!
B) The Roller Rink
[All right so this is hell. She's in hell.
First off, her and her pestilent "roommate" had to give blood to be let out of their own rooms. Which was vile and beyond absurd, but considering the prices she's been asked to pay before perhaps not so devastating. Far worse than mortal sacrifices, though?]
This is so s-stupid, absolutely stupid... [One hand passes over the other as she tries not to end up in the splits, clinging to the boards for dear life. It's a cruel world that forces Fukawa Toko into any kind of sport, much less one with so many witnesses. She grumbles through grit teeth as every other patron zips past her, blithely carefree and physically fit.] Wh-what a bunch of assholes...why can't they wait for winter and ice skate like normal people?
[It's not even that she wants the damn walkman. It's just the closest thing to a clue she might get. For example, there might be a secret about the origin of this place on a tape. Ergo, she needs to get it. That stuff happened all the time in Towa City, why should the trend shift now?
One of Fukawa's legs slips too far to the left and she yelps, scrambling for purchase and finding herself leaning ever closer to the ground. She just has to make it around the rink once. Just once, goddammit, come on!]
I won't give up! [HUFF, HUFF] I w-won't be humiliated! I won't!
C) Mallrats
[They don't even have a bookstore!
Fukawa had trekked from one corner to another, from the first floor to the last, and there is nothing. No consideration for the more intellectually inclined. Instead they've got a clunky, junk-infested electronics store, where everything is so outdated she might as well try using an abacus. The cinema is playing soapy trash blockbusters. Her only hope is the record store, but even that is teeming with filth and mediocrity. Whoever heard of Huey Lewis and the News? What a terrible name! They probably had one milquetoast hit and were destined to die in obscurity. Where they belong.
Fukawa has flicked through one sheathe of vinyl too many by this point, and so turns to her last resort: talking to people.]
D-Do you know if they have a classical section in here? Or would that explode their simian pea-brains? [She casts a withering glance to the store clerk, who has a certain je-ne-sais-quoi about him that says he'd be of no help to anyone. (Might be the weed smoke.)] Or at l-least a Japanese section. Something familiar would be nice.
Toko Fukawa | Danganronpa: Another Episode -- Possible Spoilers/CW
A) A Blood Offering
[Fukawa's had worse dreams. None quite so vivid, nor explicitly instructional. Strange that something so demanding still left her with enough rest to feel better than she has in ages.
Sadly, as she cracks open an eye and finds tangerine-tinted wood paneling on the wall and peach bedsheets swaddling her body, all that good rest goes to waste.]
What? Wh-what the hell?!
[She's upright and on edge in a split second. She'd be on her feet if she hadn't clocked the second anomaly. A complete stranger in the bed opposite.
Fukawa shrieks. A projectile pillow follows, ready to whap whoever the unsuspecting sap is direct in the face.]
Who are you?! [She's drawing the sheets up to shield herself, in spite of still wearing her (heavily tattered) school uniform.] What do you want with me? G-G-Get out!
B) The Roller Rink
[All right so this is hell. She's in hell.
First off, her and her pestilent "roommate" had to give blood to be let out of their own rooms. Which was vile and beyond absurd, but considering the prices she's been asked to pay before perhaps not so devastating. Far worse than mortal sacrifices, though?]
This is so s-stupid, absolutely stupid... [One hand passes over the other as she tries not to end up in the splits, clinging to the boards for dear life. It's a cruel world that forces Fukawa Toko into any kind of sport, much less one with so many witnesses. She grumbles through grit teeth as every other patron zips past her, blithely carefree and physically fit.] Wh-what a bunch of assholes...why can't they wait for winter and ice skate like normal people?
[It's not even that she wants the damn walkman. It's just the closest thing to a clue she might get. For example, there might be a secret about the origin of this place on a tape. Ergo, she needs to get it. That stuff happened all the time in Towa City, why should the trend shift now?
One of Fukawa's legs slips too far to the left and she yelps, scrambling for purchase and finding herself leaning ever closer to the ground. She just has to make it around the rink once. Just once, goddammit, come on!]
I won't give up! [HUFF, HUFF] I w-won't be humiliated! I won't!
C) Mallrats
[They don't even have a bookstore!
Fukawa had trekked from one corner to another, from the first floor to the last, and there is nothing. No consideration for the more intellectually inclined. Instead they've got a clunky, junk-infested electronics store, where everything is so outdated she might as well try using an abacus. The cinema is playing soapy trash blockbusters. Her only hope is the record store, but even that is teeming with filth and mediocrity. Whoever heard of Huey Lewis and the News? What a terrible name! They probably had one milquetoast hit and were destined to die in obscurity. Where they belong.
Fukawa has flicked through one sheathe of vinyl too many by this point, and so turns to her last resort: talking to people.]
D-Do you know if they have a classical section in here? Or would that explode their simian pea-brains? [She casts a withering glance to the store clerk, who has a certain je-ne-sais-quoi about him that says he'd be of no help to anyone. (Might be the weed smoke.)] Or at l-least a Japanese section. Something familiar would be nice.