Rokuro won't argue against being invited inside. It's not as if he has anywhere more pressing, or desirable, to be. Tech's room is a little messy (by Rokuro's standards), and somehow that makes it more comfortable than his own entirely spartan space. Empty of personality except for a singular electric kettle.
He leans down to remove his shoes at the door, only to remember he isn't wearing them, and so he does his best to wipe his feet off on the generic entrance mat.
"W-What is all this?" In regards to the many bits and bobs. He catches a distorted reflection of himself in the nearest metallic surface, and can see why the clone suggested he clean up. Rokuro looks like he got in a fight with an automatic door and lost. Blood and tears streak down his cheeks, pale from exhaustion and ruddy from crying. Wiping at his face with the back of his sleeve only serves to smear the mess around.
On the positive side, he doesn't feel the need to fight said reflective surface in defense of his soul. Rokuro still keeps the mirrors within his unit covered at night, but he is no longer paranoid of his tea kettle and every other shiny metallic object.
no subject
He leans down to remove his shoes at the door, only to remember he isn't wearing them, and so he does his best to wipe his feet off on the generic entrance mat.
"W-What is all this?" In regards to the many bits and bobs. He catches a distorted reflection of himself in the nearest metallic surface, and can see why the clone suggested he clean up. Rokuro looks like he got in a fight with an automatic door and lost. Blood and tears streak down his cheeks, pale from exhaustion and ruddy from crying. Wiping at his face with the back of his sleeve only serves to smear the mess around.
On the positive side, he doesn't feel the need to fight said reflective surface in defense of his soul. Rokuro still keeps the mirrors within his unit covered at night, but he is no longer paranoid of his tea kettle and every other shiny metallic object.