pointedlook | xx. a musebox

From:

[ When he'd chosen to come to New York School of Design, it'd been 1) because it was in New York, where he was close to already 2) they had interesting specializations. Mostly it was that it was local. Arthur already has an undergraduate degree in fashion merchandising, being much more interested in the business side of things rather than the actual creation.

But, he was a curious sort and never liked to have too much downtime on his hands. So he'd applied for the menswear specialization after painstakingly putting together a portfolio (it'd been so long since he'd done anything of the sort). Fast forward to months later and he's got his student housing all sorted out. It's not a dorm really, more of an in-between of a dorm and a real life apartment. But cheaper (thank god). He didn't luck out and get a single, but that was fine. Arthur was okay with people. And he didn't plan on being in the room much, more focused on getting those studio hours in on the machines and dress forms.

He's in the middle of unpacking his clothes, carefully hanging shirts and slacks in the closet he's claimed, when he hears the front door open, mostly likely letting in his new roommate. A pressed pair of pants hangs over his forearm as he peeks out of the room, waving a polite hello to the newcomer. ]

Hey. Decided to come early too?

From:

repelling

[ True to his word, at eighteen Uryuu flew. The farther from Ryuuken, the better. Though it might have gotten him next-to disowned to forsake a medical path and apply in secret to schools across the world, for Uryuu, it was essential. A matter of survival. It had already been years since he last asked that man for a yen. Astronomically foolish, with a measure of stupidity that man had somehow underestimated his capacity for -- he'd heard it all.

He didn't care.

Or about the utter unavailability of scholarships for this avenue of study. Foreign students were too appealing as sources of revenue. Few wanted to give a loan to a student without a parent's backing, but at high enough interest rates, even the most cautious looked away. Add to that visa wrangling to permit working an arguably illegal number of hours at an assortment of jobs, and really, it was astronomically stupid.

Not with the trouble by any account.

Only, Uryuu thrilled for it, a yearning long buried in his blood, able here to breathe.

Thoughts of devoting his every hour to the Fashion Design track, of students modeling his clothing; these were dreams within his grasp. Even having to share an apartment for sheer practicality--Uryuu wasn't okay with people--couldn't dampen his mood. After all, though antisocial at best, he knew he would be far too busy for prolonged interaction.

His frugal, already separating life had fit into a small suitcase, wheeled now as he unlocks the door. It does surprise him to hear life, to see the light. Both travel and his nature had made him this early. It's unusual to be beaten in that. Uryuu blinks, and instinctively begins to bow, before stopping himself a quarter through it. Instead, delayed, he lifts his hand.

At least his English is good. ]

Hello.

[ ...and since his being here means, yes, obviously he also decided to come early, he just doesn't answer that. He did, however, receive some basic information about his roommate, enough to, while slipping off his shoes and shutting the door, conjecture the equally obvious. ]

Arthur?

[ It feels too familiar, and he almost grimaces for that, but Americans don't use suffixes. Even if this guy is older, he isn't going to call him Mr. Smith, either. ]