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Word, XXXII.
20%
ttenandayo
I knew it was coming. I've been in and out of Japan on kankou-visa in 90-day spurts, uh... three times now. Finally, the other day, immigration was like, "...Yeah, you really gotta have a visa by the next time you enter the country..."

...Okay.


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:: uproot

It's not a very long hunt, but he is still somehow surprised when he finds an outlet for his laptop charger.

…Of course Urahara would have outlets. He's seen the kitchen; there are some very normal-looking human appliances in there. (It's very likely that, long before this, he's even been served coffee here courtesy of those appliances.)

But it's still weird.

Urahara's place isn't supposed to have normal electrical outlets. It's where you go to go to the realm of the dead. It has a training basement canyon. It's home to Urahara, who is sort of unreal himself.

...Maybe they aren't normal outlets.

Apprehensive, Ichigo aligns the prongs with the outlet and presses it forward cautiously. He squints in anticipation of some kind of explosion, but it sinks into place uneventfully with the all-too familiar sound and sensation specific to plugging something into a wall.

After second or so, he deems it safe to open his eyes, and he glances over at his laptop and cable. No apparent damage, and the small green charge light on the surge protector is indeed lit up.

Well, shit. It does work.

(Ichigo wonders briefly if it's actually electricity from the Karakura grid or from some kind of ridiculous reishi-fueled electric generator in Urahara's lab.)

He reaches across the floor to take his alarm clock out of the box—blindly, eventually grabbing it by the cord. It occurs to him, in retrospect, that he really ought to have tested the outlets with his alarm clock. Or, at the very least, anything less expensive than his laptop.

Oh well. No harm done.

He plugs the clock in—also without a hitch, its face a flashing "00:00."

And that's it.

That's the last thing he needed to unpack.

He takes a sweeping look around the room, sees his personal effects scattered across the tatami—the same tatami where they treat the wounded after altercations with hollows. He half-expects to see a bin of medical supplies lying around somewhere, but no.

Just... all his belongings.

(Iwakan.)

He swallows. He's not just camping out at Urahara's for the night, is he...? You don't usually bring your alarm clock—much less a filing cabinet—to an overnight arrangement.

Instead of the sense of success that usually comes with unpacking, he feels a little nauseous.

(He still needs to ask Urahara if he has internet.)

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Somewhere up there, I used "all-too familiar" in a non-negative context. Is this okay? Can we do that? ...And, by the way, the meaning of "iwakan" (違和感) is like... I don't know the actual definition, but it's sort of a sense of being out of place. It's an uneasy feeling.



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