First sentence thing: There was a strange smell in the air, a strange ominous smell that foretold only of a Great Trouble.
To Iwaizumi it smelled like his gym bag when he left it in the club room over vacation with his practice clothes in it: a little bit damp, a little bit sweaty, and it left kind of a sour taste in his mouth when he accidentally took too deep of a breath near it.
To Daichi it smelled like burnt popcorn: stale and lingering and a disappointing reminder of something that could have been an almost euphoric experience.
To Akaashi it smelled like suffering: he had essentially traded two muscled idiots for two other muscled idiots - same genus, different species is all.
“Wow,” Suga groaned in sympathy as he looked around, “this is impressive even for them.”
“Impressive is not quite the word I’d use,” Akaashi replied, voice tighter than the muscles in his shoulders as they surveyed the damage. “Not. At. All.”
Well, I don’t know Kristen’s IP address yet (working on it so I can block her permanently), but I know what kind of phone she’s using and her network thanks to a little sleuthing, and I’ll know it when it comes up on statcounter.