[so he'd heard something about an app, and he'd heard something about changes, and - memories? he'd heard a lot of things about a lot of different things, but the issue at hand is that it's... all - how did they say? 'on the line'. and mikazuki munechika is many things. he's a very intelligent museum curator who is known for bring in some truly delightful artifacts from all over the world, he's the former head of the sanjou family though that's since been passed down to his sweet son, and he's everyone favorite grandfather figure who spends his day meandering the parks, gardens, and halls of the museum to share fun facts about the treasures and hands out roasted acorns.
he is not, uh, on the line. or tikking the toks, as the kids say.
hence why he'd spent the better part of the month minding his own business, thinking occasionally of how he missed the horses as these new feathered animals didn't seem as delicious to eat. but no one else paid it any mind, so mikazuki did not either aside from trying to decipher how all of his portraits depicting horses changed overnight. it became his personal project, but why would some little rectangular box be of help?
up until one morning when he awoke, and his face was not his own. he'd slid out of his unreasonably large bed, slid on his orthopedic slippers, and thought that today would be a good day, for his joints did not seem to be creaking all too angrily at him. when he awoke, he found himself face to face with a young man and thought that perhaps there was a new attendant who'd been hired who'd gotten lost.
until he realized this face was somewhat familiar.
moments later, he retrieves his intelligent phone from where it is diligently charging, and taps on the screen to try to reach an old friend - perhaps the only one in the city who would know this face as intimately as mikazuki did, and could tell him if he was seeing things.
this is how mikazuki munechika is trying to facetime, but he's pressing the phone to the side of his head, so there's nothing but blackness:]
Ah, Tsurumaru? My dearest Tsurumaru, this is Mikazuki Munechika speaking. I hope this call finds you in good health.
regain one: i'm a bishounen now.
he is not, uh, on the line. or tikking the toks, as the kids say.
hence why he'd spent the better part of the month minding his own business, thinking occasionally of how he missed the horses as these new feathered animals didn't seem as delicious to eat. but no one else paid it any mind, so mikazuki did not either aside from trying to decipher how all of his portraits depicting horses changed overnight. it became his personal project, but why would some little rectangular box be of help?
up until one morning when he awoke, and his face was not his own. he'd slid out of his unreasonably large bed, slid on his orthopedic slippers, and thought that today would be a good day, for his joints did not seem to be creaking all too angrily at him. when he awoke, he found himself face to face with a young man and thought that perhaps there was a new attendant who'd been hired who'd gotten lost.
until he realized this face was somewhat familiar.
moments later, he retrieves his intelligent phone from where it is diligently charging, and taps on the screen to try to reach an old friend - perhaps the only one in the city who would know this face as intimately as mikazuki did, and could tell him if he was seeing things.
this is how mikazuki munechika is trying to facetime, but he's pressing the phone to the side of his head, so there's nothing but blackness:]
Ah, Tsurumaru? My dearest Tsurumaru, this is Mikazuki Munechika speaking. I hope this call finds you in good health.
[he starts his phone call like a letter]