[Look, just because Ryoma has been approximately fifty years old since the age of twelve doesn't make him antiquated. It just makes him... proper. Distinguished.

A jumbotron is a monument to man's arrogance and not to be trusted.]

It seems so strange that the skies are always so cloudy, though I can't quite place why I think that.

[Maybe the skies had been clearer before...? No, no, Ryoma didn't need to think about that. This world was strange and wonderful and yo-yo'd rapidly between one extreme and the other. Ryoma prided himself on being able to adapt as best as he could.]

Technology is... something. Too powerful, I sometimes find myself thinking.

[Then again, the microwave was a delight as much as it was a mystery. The thought left Ryoma, frivolous and fleeting as he lifts his head to watch for the show, eyes narrowed as he glanced between the display and the crowd. If there was any disparity, any strangeness... he hoped to see it.]

My...? Oh, I'm afraid not.

[Not yet, anyway. Perhaps someday, if fate was kind... or cruel, depending on what sort of memory came with birthdays.]