LANGUAGE WARNING: Jerks

It's amusing to do this at a strip mall, more or less behind a 7-11. History and everything. A long, long lineage of disreputability.

Mizudori's battered combat boots with the over-knotted laces and the flapping tops hang down over the side of the building, and she leans over to look down at the deserted back lot. It smells of hot garbage and cigarette smoke and yuppie chainstore frozen coffee, and the latter two are the direct influence of Mizu and Kurota's presence there.

Her headphones are pushed up on her head, green hair flat and lank in the heat and humidity, and they're plugged into her pocket, and she's starting to get sunburnt shoulders. She also doesn't care. She ashes over the edge.

"There is literally no reason for it to be this fucking hot," she observes. "Look at the thing. Um. Forecast. I don't want to drip on my gear. My headphones are already disgusting. Is it going to let up?"

    Kurota shrugs his shoulders, looking uncomfortable without his 'trademark' hoodie. It's way too hot for hoodies, so he's just got on a grey t-shirt instead, but without a hood to pull up, he feels almost naked. At least he still has his own headphones, the sleek black-with-blue-LEDs set currently resting around his neck.

    He takes a drag on his own cigarette, blowing a stream of smoke up into the air through lazily pursed lips before he pulls out his smartphone. It has a blue and blue case. At least the kid is consistent.

    He taps it a few times with his forefinger, holding the cigarette off to the side so he doesn't accidentally get ash on the phone.

    Then he puts the phone away. "Nope." He says, sounding resigned.

    The Beat Defenders at work, ladies and gentlemen.

"Ugh," complains the girl, and flicks the end of her cigarette across the back lot out of habit, rather than actually seeing how far she can get it to go. She slumps. It's too hot to kick her heels against the building. It's too hot to sprawl backwards on the roof.

Listlessly, she reaches for her plastic cup of melting coffie slush and drinks some.

"I don't even want to bother with a setlist. Like can we just set up the drum machine and jam covers into each other." It's apparently too hot for question marks. "Or like. Waterproof everything and set off the fire sprinklers."

She peels her shirt front off her front, tenting it out and giving it a faintly disapproving look. "I don't even care I'm going in shorts and a tank top, whatever."

    Kurota watches to see how far Mizudori is able to flick her cigarette butt. Even though she isn't trying to go for distance, a moment later he flicks his after it, and when it goes about three inches farther, he turns and smirks at her, all like 'did you see that /loser/'. But she's still stuck on this heat thing and not paying attention to his flicking prowess, so he just sighs.

    "If your bitching was marketable we'd be top-40 artists." He says, scowling a little bit. "Yeah it's hot, whoop-de-fucking-do, it's summer, what did you expect." He reaches over and grabs the cup of coffee slush out of her hands, popping the top off so he can drink some from the lip of the cup rather than using the straw and possibly contracting his bandmate's cooties. "Actually that sprinklers idea is kind of hot though, think we could string LEDs up there so it lights up the water and makes it look like its raining neon?"

"My bitching comes with amazing ideas, obviously, don't knock it or I'll push you off the roof," comes Mizudori's automatic reply, and then she sloooowly turns to stare at Kurota, and her green eyes narrow. "Is that why you stole my drink? So I wouldn't push you?"

Immediately she twists around and braces a heel against the low lip of the rooftop, and

/shoves/

but she's pretty predictable. "LEDs up top and also on the floor. I can pick up the self-contained scatter kind losers put in pools on my way home to pick up my shit. Bring your stupid trash keytar and I'll bring the bluetooth electribe, I can waterproof that super easy."

    "I stole your drink because it's hot as hell and I was thirsty." Kurota replies to that unwarrented accusation. "I wasn't afraid you were going to push me-" and then she pushes him. But at this point he was expecting it. Demonstrating some definite super-hero moves(despite not being in henshin), he grabs her booted foot, then allows himself to be pushed.

    Its only like 10 feet to the ground, not really that far for an in-shape teenager who was expecting the drop, especially not one with amazing superpowers. So Kurota drops down and lands lightly on his feet, though in the process he does his best to pull Mizudori's boot off.

    Standing in the parking lot below and looking up at her, he scowls. "Don't tell me what to fucking do." Then he pauses, and adds, "But ok, that sounds good."

"God-- FUCK-- dammit!" sputters Mizudori as she braces against the edge of the roof and her boot goes flopping undramatically down to land in the wasteland of cracked asphalt and cigarette butts below.

Her face is this distressing cross between a scowl and a pout that's neither angry enough to be the first or cute enough to be the second. "Okay cool, we might not even have anyone pass out in the pit tonight. Hopefully no one'll be dumb enough to bring anything expensive, haha. I'll start a fire so we'll have an excuse."

She might be joking.

Since he just told her not to tell him what to do, she adds a pitiful, "Catch me? That shit is unkind to sock feet."

And then she falls off the roof.

    "You should have thought of that before you pushed me off the roof." Is Kurota's reply, and maybe for a second it looks like he's not actually going to catch her, but no, of course he does. Actually pretty smoothly too, although he stumbles back dramatically as he's about to drop the girl. "Damn, what have you been eating, rocks?" He smirks as he lowers her to her feet, immidiately dodging out of the way of some kind of expected retaliation.

    He then walks over to her boot and tosses it back to her, so she doesn't have to walk on her socked-foot to get it through the admittedly unkind terrain of cracked pavement and detritus (a fair bit of which is expressly their fault, but they're not on trial here so shut up).

    Then he walks back to her and gives her his best 'Kurota is serious' look. "Don't. Set fire. To the club." He punctuates each stop with a little poke against her forehead. "The last thing we need to do is go down in history as the greatest band to ever go down in a /literal/ blaze of glory."

Of course there's retaliation. But it's super hot and humid and strength-sappingly aggravating outside, so the usual deadarm ploy lacks the proper countermeasures against dodge. Instead she just sort of lamely touches a fist to the top of Kurota's bicep and then pulls down her eyelid and sticks out her tongue, then swipes her boot out of midair as Kurota tosses it to her.

She hops unbalanced-ly as she pulls it back on, and is in range to get forehead-poked, almost falling on her butt in the process, because still on one foot. Until she stomps that foot and makes a grab for his hand. "Don't fucking poke my forehead, what's the matter with you."

The grr lasts about .02 seconds, and then Mizudori legit laughs like 'kekekeke'. "Dumbass. I mean we'll probably get kicked out for this stunt anyway, but it'll be worth it. Who actually turns the fire suppression system on during a show? Only us."

Forlorn, her slaughtered frappuccino joins the rest of the detritus, forgotten and spilled anyway. The girl turns and starts off across the back lot, pulling out her pack and lighting another cigarette. "Come on, I want to sit in the air conditioning and go over the electrical map for the place so we can figure out what we have to tape plastic over."

    Kurota lets Mizudori grab his hand when he's poking at her, but then he uses her own grip to twist her arm around. This no doubt results in a few seconds of ineffectual half-wrestling because it's way too fucking hot to actually start tussling around in a packing lot, but finally he backs off. "What's the matter with me is that I'm in a band with a fucking pyro, that's what." He returns, snorting with amusement.

    Then he rolls his eyes a little bit at her malevolent giggle, before shrugging his shoulders. "Can't say you're wrong about that. We just have to brand it. 'A new form of interactive entertainment: Wet Dubstep." He pauses, then makes a face. "No that's terrible. Eh, we'll come up with something."

    As Mizudori starts to walk away, he follows, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his slightly baggy black pants. "Alright, but if we go to my place, don't leave cigarette butts in the armchair cupholder again, I got yelled at last time."