[ Sensing that they're done now, she watches Aki seem to observe herself — or rather, her hands — anew. Denji rolls a kink out from her neck while her gaze bears downward at that same thing; there may be a few faded scars here and there, but to her, Aki has the kind of hands of someone who could have easily made a living modeling watches and jewelry on the home shopping channel. Long and spindly. Weirdly gentle, when she'd applied her makeup for her, but with enough strength to slap she and Power clean across the backs of their heads, to scythe her blade through the innards of a devil, to wrench the cord at Denji's chest and rev her back to life.
When she gets older, huh…
As if they both don't already know that Aki will never reach the same age as her mother when she died. But she doesn't point that out. Wouldn't have, even if Aki had given her the chance to before bringing up styling her hair a different way. For a moment, she can only blink at her, surprised by how relieved she is to have the distraction. Why, she doesn't know. ]
My hair?
[ Denji cups a hand up against the wild ends of one side, bouncing the strands. Unconvinced. ]
Ain't it too short, though? It'd just look like… [ Her nose wrinkles. ] A topknot. It wouldn't be a ponytail like yours.
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When she gets older, huh…
As if they both don't already know that Aki will never reach the same age as her mother when she died. But she doesn't point that out. Wouldn't have, even if Aki had given her the chance to before bringing up styling her hair a different way. For a moment, she can only blink at her, surprised by how relieved she is to have the distraction. Why, she doesn't know. ]
My hair?
[ Denji cups a hand up against the wild ends of one side, bouncing the strands. Unconvinced. ]
Ain't it too short, though? It'd just look like… [ Her nose wrinkles. ] A topknot. It wouldn't be a ponytail like yours.