sasuke
Sasuke sat there, shocked. Engaged? That seemed like such a foreign word at this moment. Engaged? Sure, it was a common practice for a man his age; half his friends are already engaged. Shino, Kiba, Hinata, Gaara, heck, even Rock Lee managed to get engaged. However, the word simply didn't seem to apply to Sasuke. He slowly raised his head to face his father, certain that his expression showed only pure shock.
"What, were you not expecting this?" Fugaku asked.
Sasuke couldn't even utter a single syllable. He simply shook his head, and lowered his head once more.
Fugaku rose from his seat and patted Sasuke on his shoulder before walking out the room. Right as he exited the door, he left Sasuke with some advice. "Sakura is a good girl, Sasuke. I know what you're.... up to... with that blond man Naruto, but this is for your own good. Don't squander this opportunity I'm giving you."
A hot bath was his definition of a luxury; this overwhelming pile of stuffed animals was not. How could anyone afford to just throw their money away on something as frivolous and unnecessary as this? James was slowly regretting his hastily made decision to mentor the Buxtabautons. The family was ridiculously rich and had no sense of moderation. He knew that wealth was distributed unfairly, but this was grotesque. Absolutely shameful. James slowly made his way back to the entrance and grabbed his rucksack that he had dropped earlier in shock. Staying with the Buxtabautons would be a constant reminder that there were those that lived comfortably in luxury while his little sister was stuck living off of scraps. He left the manor and made his way back to the desolation, never once looking back.
The octave was harder to compose than he previously expected. Unwilling to simply drop the task like all the other unfinished poems he had littered around his desk, he instead grabbed his clipboard and stepped outside. He fished out an old fashioned fountain pen (a gift from a friend, he would never have been able to purchase such a pricey commodity himself) from his oversized denim jacket and settled down out next to the patio. It was a tad arduous being a poet in the modern 21st century, but he had to make ends meet somehow. Besides, he always got inspiration from watching the people pass him from his patio view. Paris was never boring.