Chapter Text
“Onee-chan!” Nijika’s voice pierced through the phone speaker. “Where are you?”
“Sorry, there was a long line at the checkout-” Seika adjusted her grip on her single plastic grocery bag, her palm already getting sweaty - “I’ll be there as soon as I can, promise.” And it was true, the store was a bit of a mess today - why the prospect of saving thirty yen per roll of paper towels was so damn enticing, Seika didn’t think she’d ever be able to say.
“Okay…” Nijika didn’t sound too convinced. Couldn’t blame her for that. “What are we having for dinner? I’m hungry,” she wheedled.
Seika sighed. It was still so tempting to be annoyed, to dismiss her stupid kid sister like she often would with her bandmates. But all Nijika really wanted was some reassurance - they both did. Maybe Nijika was the smart one for having the presence of mind to just ask for it.
“I found a recipe on my phone for some pork cutlets that looks simple enough for me to manage, so we’ll try those,” Seika answered. Hopefully there would be enough left over for another meal later in the week as well.
“Okay…” Nijika repeated. “What about dessert?”
Seika looked down into her grocery bag. Oh balls.
“Um… I’ll come up with something, just you wait.” The words rang hollow before they had even left her lips. There wasn’t a single thing in the bag that would remotely qualify as dessert to a nine-year-old, or to Seika herself, really. She sped up her walking pace and silently reviewed her mental map of the neighborhood. Was there anyplace between here and home where she could find something sweet?
The traffic light changed and she hurried across the street, her mental search having come up with zero helpful ideas. There was an izakaya that served fruity cocktails along with the beer for some reason, but that was not what she was looking -
A car horn honked and tires screeched. Instinctively Seika whirled around towards the source of the noise; her heart jumped up into her throat as she waited for the other shoe to drop.
But it never did. Just some idiot panic-braking because they didn’t expect to find some other idiot stopped at a green light, probably because they were texting or something. No contact. No harm done.
“Onee-chan?” A small voice from the phone in her hand filled the ensuing silence. She had forgotten that Nijika was still on the line.
“I’m still here,” Seika answered. She heard something that sounded like it might have been a sigh of relief in response. “Would you like to start setting the table for us for when I get back?” she asked gently.
“Okay.” Click. Seika watched the two cars pull away, leaving behind an empty intersection - with a video store on its opposite side, Seika now noticed. Hmm. Well, maybe if she broadened the definition of dessert a little bit…
“Good evening! Can I help you find anything?” The video store employee’s peppy entreaty was accompanied by a beaming customer-service smile. Poor guy must be a new hire. Seika was tempted to answer him no, but the truth was that she was in a hurry and the shelves in this place didn’t appear to be properly labeled.
Something for each of them. That was how Mom would have done it. Always.
“I’m looking for music DVDs-”
“Aisle four.”
“-and an anime,” Goddamnit what was it called. That one Nijika kept asking to watch with her. “Pretty something. Pretty-”
“Pretty Cure?”
“Yes. That one.”
“Aisle seven.”
Seika gave the employee a quick nod in lieu of thanks, and then hurried towards the aisles in question. The music section didn’t have too much that she was into, but she did find a film of the Fuji Rock Festival, one of the years she didn’t attend, and for Nijika - oh, this was going to be harder than she thought.
Seika had been under the impression that Pretty Cure was one anime, but apparently it was like twelve. Which one had Nijika been talking about? She couldn’t ask her without ruining the surprise. Clicking her tongue in frustration, she pulled out one of the DVD cases at random. The cover featured a bunch of little girls with big sparkly eyes wearing frilly outfits, against a blue sky backdrop, joined by a cute animal of indeterminate species. It certainly looked very… colorful.
From the corner of her eye, Seika noted another customer in the aisle, a schlubby-looking man wearing a baggy hooded sweatshirt. He seemed to be sizing her up; her wardrobe was, admittedly, still pretty rocker-chick even on a day off. Then his eye settled on the DVD in her hands.
“You don’t look like the usual type to be watching that,” he chuckled.
One benefit of dressing like a punk and playing the cheap stages full of drunks and hecklers for the last few years - Seika had gotten pretty good at staring people down. She flashed the man a dirty look strong enough to wilt fresh celery and sauntered off towards the checkout counter.
“That’ll be 2598 yen.”
Seika hung her grocery bag awkwardly off one shoulder and reached into her purse, which yielded two bills, a handful of coins, and the realization that she was about two hundred yen short. She frowned; the clerk across the counter looked at her expectantly.
She did have a credit card she could use instead, of course. But that would put the name Ichiji Seika next to the words Pretty Cure DVD on a receipt and in the records of some bank someplace, and jerks in sweatshirts notwithstanding she still had some pride. So she sighed, set one of the two DVDs aside, and handed over the cash instead.
The Fuji Rock Festival could wait. She had dessert to serve.