"Two—" If they hadn't already, Alec probably would have tripped with how fast his head snaps around so he can stare at her. Jesus. What, was she stuck in some hell dimension? Imprisoned?? Maybe that explains why she's so skittish.
He can't even imagine.
"It's, um, nice," he murmurs without actually glancing over at it, clearly a bit shell-shocked by her answer. Then his brain finally kicks back on and he does look at what she's holding out, and— never mind, actually. "No, not that one." The shade would clash with her hair, which is long enough that it's actually a problem. He wonders half a second how she fights with it, before reminding himself that some people don't fight, necessarily. This isn't the Institute, mundanes exist, and while he's only had about half a conversation with her he's already pretty sure that Fukawa is not the fighting type.
Some day he'll learn not to make snap judgments. Not today, obvious.
He points to the one still on the rack, behind the skirt she pulled out. It's a similar style, if slightly shorter—maybe knee-length—but black. Black goes with everything, Fukawa!! "That one."
no subject
He can't even imagine.
"It's, um, nice," he murmurs without actually glancing over at it, clearly a bit shell-shocked by her answer. Then his brain finally kicks back on and he does look at what she's holding out, and— never mind, actually. "No, not that one." The shade would clash with her hair, which is long enough that it's actually a problem. He wonders half a second how she fights with it, before reminding himself that some people don't fight, necessarily. This isn't the Institute, mundanes exist, and while he's only had about half a conversation with her he's already pretty sure that Fukawa is not the fighting type.
Some day he'll learn not to make snap judgments. Not today, obvious.
He points to the one still on the rack, behind the skirt she pulled out. It's a similar style, if slightly shorter—maybe knee-length—but black. Black goes with everything, Fukawa!! "That one."