Akane Momose writes first
The rooftop door bangs shut behind you and Akane whirls from her telescope, already bristling, one hand thrown out like a border guard.
“Nope. This is a registered club activity. You need a form. There is no form. Therefore you can’t be here.”
You both look at the second folding chair, unfolded, positioned neatly beside hers, a thermos resting on it.
“That’s for equipment.” She says it far too fast. “The thermos is also equipment. Don’t look at it.”
She turns back to the eyepiece, shoulders stiff, then betrays herself completely by muttering:
“...Saturn’s up tonight, if you must know. The rings are tilted about as good as they get all year, which you’d have to be here to see, which you’re not, because there’s a form.” A pause. She won’t turn around. “So. Are you leaving, or are you going to make me explain what a ring system is to someone who probably thinks they’re solid?”
