shark bait / bnha

food

(Name)'s been visiting the homeless shelter for as long as she can remember. Obviously she still has a home, but it's hard to always have food that's well, healthy. Most of the time she survives on old bottled water, granola bars, and ramen she can't even boil. ( Only one of the stove tops works, and the flame is too dull anyways. )

The shelter isn't the biggest one around, but it's big enough to hold the amount of people that always flock to the cafeteria for just a bit of food. The building is run by the Momo family, who apparently have enough money to run a few more over the entire Tokyo region. 

She usually sits with a group of older ladies that always seem to be there whenever she pops in. She loves sitting with them since they always have new stories to tell her from their old jobs and their lives when they were younger. Plus, a group of nice old ladies that share their food with you are much better than a group of kids in her opinion. 

Only three of the five ladies are here today. Usually at least four of them are there, but she doesn't mind. ( Sometimes she's scared she'll come in one day and be told one of them passed. )

The ladies smile at her when they see her walking, broken smiles with yellowing teeth. They always have on the same clothes, but occasionally they'll have a blanket. She doesn't actually know all of their names, most of them want her to call them Grandma or Nana. They say it reminds them of their family and grandchildren, who don't come out to the slums to see them.

She usually calls the five ladies Nana, Grandma, Shimizu, Chiyoko, and Konno.

Nana is the oldest of them at 87. She's actually in rather good health for her situation and age. Her hair is gray and ratty, and it's gotten rather long without a haircut. Normally Nana will just put it into a braid. She says she used to be a bee keeper. The idea makes (Name) smile.

Grandma hasn't said how old she is, she still finds it disrespectful and the others laugh at her for it. Her birthday is January 19th though. Her hair is still a dark brown and goes to the middle of her back, where she usually leaves it hanging. She's the shortest of all the ladies. Apparently she used to do accounting in a large office building.

Shimizu is the tallest one. She's 79, with almost pure white hair. Wrinkles line her forehead and body, and she always seem sick with a cold. She never lets the other women worry about her though. She used to be a math teacher at a smaller high school in a relatively bad area.

Chiyoko is the second oldest ( from what she knows of, Grandma still doesn't say her age ) at 83. She has to use a stick to walk most of the time, or use (Name) as support. She never shares her food though. She also refuses to tell them what her job used to be. They have no clue why.

Konno is there the least whenever (Name) goes to the shelter. She doesn't know if she just goes at the wrong time, or if Konno just generally doesn't go that often. She's 77 and used to work cleaning jobs.

Only Nana, Grandma, and Chiyoko are there today. They don't say anything about the other ladies when she sits down, because they don't have any idea where they are anyway. They already have their small portions of food with them, and Grandma shares some of her rice and a bit of chicken with her. 

The women talk and she reverts to simply listening. Nana speaks.

"Apparently the Momo family's daughter got into 1A at U.A.," (Name) raises her eyebrows at the statement.

Chiyoko clears her throat, her voice is scratchy today. "Is that the hero course?"

(Name) nods and adds in her own two cents. "Yeah, 1A and 1B are both hero classes. I got into the general studies course, it's 1C,"

Grandma smiles at her. "Have you made any friends yet?"

(Name) nods in response, really hoping that Shinso is actually her friend. It'd be so incredibly awkward if he wasn't.

It's another hour before she's left the shelter and on her way back home. The sun has already set and you can't see the moon behind the clouds. Cigarrete buts sit stuck in between the cracks in the sidewalk. Old cans of soda and beer lay next to trash cans instead of in them, and a bird perches atop a street lamp she walks under.

The area is quiet right now, and she fidgets with the pepper spray that resides in her jacket pocket. She watches her shadow on the ground and checks for another. She walks a bit faster past alleyways. The walk home is tedious— it always has been.

Underground heroes are usually the ones that patrol this area, but who knows how seriously they take their job. A baby is crying in the far distance; she doesn't go check.

Once her apartment complex comes into view, she makes a quick bolt across the street and into the building's stairwell. She's already fished her keys out of her back pocket and it takes a good two seconds for her to get inside and close the door behind her.

Already flicking her eyes around the dusty space, she can tell Dad hasn't arrived home yet. He didn't call her tonight like he usually does, but she could care less at the moment. She shakes her head as the anxiety from walking home slowly leaves her bones.

Her room is small and barren, with only a mattress laying on the floor. There's a small dresser that holds her limited closet and a box next to it with memories from when she was little. The charger for her phone sits idly plugged in next to her mattress. Her school uniform is kept atop the dresser where it won't get as dirty as quickly. It'd be disgusting if by the second week of school she already had a stain on her skirt.

She rubs her eyes in a tired fashion, seeing the small white and black colored dots pop into her vision. A migraine has started to form and it's already pounding against her skull even though her bedroom lights are off. Normally she doesn't go to bed this early, but there's no point in staying awake to just experience pain. ( She has no clue if she'll even be able to sleep with this migraine; she hopes that it'll split her skull open in two. )