Post by Shinpei Minamoto on Mar 27, 2015 4:36:38 GMT -5
When it came to maid cafés, Shinpei was mixed on whether he liked them or not.
On the one hand, he could certainly appreciate a girl in a short skirt, faux corset and some frilly hair-thing bending over and serving her patrons. It was even better, in his opinion, if she was a little embarrassed about the whole getup. This particular shop had a wide selection of personalities: from cool and collected businesswomen in maid outfits (a stray hand or glance was rewarded with a slap and a chiding remark) to bubbly and effervescent ditzes (fond of tripping and falling in compromising and revealing positions, or slipping and catching themselves on nearby customers). There were even some specific fetishes, he supposed, tossed in: a girl with glasses who clearly didn't need them, a woman who acted like an aunt, and some young-looking girls who were clearly working a very specific kind of angle.
However fun the visual aspects of it were, Shinpei couldn't help but feel as if he was watching a very elaborate production, almost a theatrical play, instead of real life. Maids put on their skimpy outfits, put on their cute faces and put on all sorts of endearing mannerisms for customer after customer after customer. Even if they got grabby. Even if they looked like they hadn't been outside a basement in weeks. Even if they spent their time trying to look down the waitresses' tops.
Perhaps the amount of time Shinpei was spending in the place was to blame. After about 30 minutes he'd begun to see patterns which had taken the whole production apart, and now that an hour had passed he could practically mouth the maids' lines for them. Like I said: a play.
Why was he here for so long? A better question might be why he was here at all, but it turns out the two answers are basically the same. He'd got a number from a cute-looking girl a couple days ago and she'd promised to meet him here, at this address, about an hour ago. So Shinpei had showed up on or around the right time--initially shocked that she'd picked a place like this to meet up--and waited.
He'd thought after ten minutes that maybe she was one of the maids (a day job?) but on closer inspection none of them resembled her much. After twenty minutes he'd given up on her, ordered a shake and started sipping it.
Now, an hour later, he was still here.
Why?
Well, honestly, he didn't have much to do.
Shinpei was a man with simple tastes. He liked sex, women and... well, that was the end of his decidedly short list. Sex and women. Sex with women. Sex on women or under or beside or... he wasn't picky.
He didn't want for money, especially given the miniature apartment he'd rented and the modest cell phone he carried. He didn't want for entertainment: people were his entertainment and they were cheap going on free. He didn't want for much of anything, in fact, so his needs were few and his free time was plentiful.
And this, he'd decided, was as good a place to relax as any.
Shinpei had long ago grown lax at hiding. He'd never been any good at working with his Reiatsu (or anyone else's, for that matter), so he'd given up concealing it early on. Now it waved loud and large like a huge red flag saying to everyone who could see it: "hey! Look at me! I'm a Shinigami, come here!"
It brought him Human attention every now and then: the marginally spiritually capable would cast their eyes around to find something they couldn't name, then convince themselves it was nothing.
And so far it had led to 0 conflicts vs. 1 romp in the hay.
He liked those odds.
On the one hand, he could certainly appreciate a girl in a short skirt, faux corset and some frilly hair-thing bending over and serving her patrons. It was even better, in his opinion, if she was a little embarrassed about the whole getup. This particular shop had a wide selection of personalities: from cool and collected businesswomen in maid outfits (a stray hand or glance was rewarded with a slap and a chiding remark) to bubbly and effervescent ditzes (fond of tripping and falling in compromising and revealing positions, or slipping and catching themselves on nearby customers). There were even some specific fetishes, he supposed, tossed in: a girl with glasses who clearly didn't need them, a woman who acted like an aunt, and some young-looking girls who were clearly working a very specific kind of angle.
However fun the visual aspects of it were, Shinpei couldn't help but feel as if he was watching a very elaborate production, almost a theatrical play, instead of real life. Maids put on their skimpy outfits, put on their cute faces and put on all sorts of endearing mannerisms for customer after customer after customer. Even if they got grabby. Even if they looked like they hadn't been outside a basement in weeks. Even if they spent their time trying to look down the waitresses' tops.
Perhaps the amount of time Shinpei was spending in the place was to blame. After about 30 minutes he'd begun to see patterns which had taken the whole production apart, and now that an hour had passed he could practically mouth the maids' lines for them. Like I said: a play.
Why was he here for so long? A better question might be why he was here at all, but it turns out the two answers are basically the same. He'd got a number from a cute-looking girl a couple days ago and she'd promised to meet him here, at this address, about an hour ago. So Shinpei had showed up on or around the right time--initially shocked that she'd picked a place like this to meet up--and waited.
He'd thought after ten minutes that maybe she was one of the maids (a day job?) but on closer inspection none of them resembled her much. After twenty minutes he'd given up on her, ordered a shake and started sipping it.
Now, an hour later, he was still here.
Why?
Well, honestly, he didn't have much to do.
Shinpei was a man with simple tastes. He liked sex, women and... well, that was the end of his decidedly short list. Sex and women. Sex with women. Sex on women or under or beside or... he wasn't picky.
He didn't want for money, especially given the miniature apartment he'd rented and the modest cell phone he carried. He didn't want for entertainment: people were his entertainment and they were cheap going on free. He didn't want for much of anything, in fact, so his needs were few and his free time was plentiful.
And this, he'd decided, was as good a place to relax as any.
Shinpei had long ago grown lax at hiding. He'd never been any good at working with his Reiatsu (or anyone else's, for that matter), so he'd given up concealing it early on. Now it waved loud and large like a huge red flag saying to everyone who could see it: "hey! Look at me! I'm a Shinigami, come here!"
It brought him Human attention every now and then: the marginally spiritually capable would cast their eyes around to find something they couldn't name, then convince themselves it was nothing.
And so far it had led to 0 conflicts vs. 1 romp in the hay.
He liked those odds.
