Whoo, back again! Higurashi Month 2019, because it has become one of my lowkey life goals to keep perpetuating this until it becomes a proper tradition for all three-and-a-half people in this graveyard of a fandom. And then keep doing it anyways, because tradition. If you wish to check out the prompt list, its on my tumblr page under the same username.
June 4th, 2019
It was an entirely sound, logical, thoroughly-planned and well-thought-out proposal, that was offered by Satoko, which meant that what Keiichi should have done was take to the hills, screaming, and run as fast and as far as he could.
Even out of context, it still sounded bad.
"Children our age" and "explosive devices" and "making" were not concepts that should have been strung together, ever, at any point, within general radius of the Hinamizawa Club.
It was a good idea, Mion had agreed musingly, since the use of flares could be so vital to their plans, should Tokyo send some more bastards after them. Having a home-grown supply meant they could cache supplies and even, in a pinch, color-code their rockets.
Rena, Keiichi darkly suspected, had agreed just because she liked the idea of the colored raw materials Satoko had so generously demonstrated they would need to use. Gunpowder and sulfur and saltpeter and different colors of tissue paper and cardboard and the very pressing issue of just where the hell she had acquired that stuff, because Keiichi was pretty certain ordering those chemicals in this quantity got you put on some kind of list. Not to mention it was also probably regulated strictly to the mail-order of adults.
Rika, Shion, and Satoshi automatically agreed to anything that Satoko put forth, the bastards.
It was thus left to him and Hanyuu to attempt to instill order and common sense within the rowdy teens and small children that comprised this tiny local chapter of hellions, and Hanyuu, to his woe, was not good at asserting herself over the nearly-unanimous voting of the rest of the club.
So Keiichi did what he did best.
He protested loudly, continuously, and eloquently, at the top of his lungs. He protested on the way up the mountain (because thank god at least Mion had the common sense not to mix explosives in a domestic area), he protested as they laid out their tools, he protested as they mixed the chemicals and measured them out, and he damn well protested when the matches and Bic lighter Shion had swiped from her butler were brought out and the fuse rolled and placed. He would have protested at the ensuing, enormous explosion, but he and the others had to save oxygen and lung space for running as fast as they could away from the ensuing miniature landslide they had created, and insult upon injury, he had to piggyback the shorter-legged Satoko, author of all this chaos, as she cackled in his ear all the way down.
Eventually, he was sure, they would get it right, but until then, Keiichi was certain that there would be more explosions in his future.
AN: You know the club would've tried making explosions at some point, don't at me.
11.06 AM, USA Central Time