( the thing is, he doesn't need to recognize dabi's handwriting to know whose little request this is. smoke. ash. metal. a lingering heat in sharp contrast to a cool demeanor of arrogance. not even a man who cloaks his presence from spirits could stand up to the raw identification power of a dog— it does mean kirma's first instinct is to crumple the paper, then very genuinely consider eating it. a pointless gesture that he thankfully refrains from. he is still stuck soliciting help elsewhere to actually read it, but that, too, is an easy thing to accomplish.
one thing's for sure. despite the marked upgrade in size of his new suite— the tenth floor is starting to feel real crowded.
with the message firmly tossed into a wastebasket and mental note to answer the door a little faster in the future, kirma ends back up on dabi's doorstep only a few hours later. behind him, across the hall, his own door remains wide open. neighbors, huh. he slams the bottom of his fist against the door once, twice, then turns back to his own room, hands shoving into pockets.
and on the ground just before the door sits the measuring cup: filled with exactly one cup of sugar. no more, no less. )
no subject
one thing's for sure. despite the marked upgrade in size of his new suite— the tenth floor is starting to feel real crowded.
with the message firmly tossed into a wastebasket and mental note to answer the door a little faster in the future, kirma ends back up on dabi's doorstep only a few hours later. behind him, across the hall, his own door remains wide open. neighbors, huh. he slams the bottom of his fist against the door once,
twice,
then turns back to his own room, hands shoving into pockets.
and on the ground just before the door sits the measuring cup: filled with exactly one cup of sugar. no more, no less. )