thefoundation | nobody's in the mood for recording 6.9: the post-trial garden tea "party"

You've got it backwards. [ That's said more in line with his usual tone, but that extra note persists irritatingly enough. The approach does get him to straighten up a hair, not that he was seated overly slouched before, but it's noticeable all the same. The read of the kanji might also have something to do with it too.

He looks to the outstretched hand and then Subete, and remains still. ]

Why?

Edited 2020-04-29 05:09 (UTC)

[That just gets him a Look from Subete, half-exasperation and half-sharp inquiry, but this one he lets go, because it's not the important thing right now. It might be important later, but right now he's just kind of focusing on looming and-- reaching over to the camera he himself carries, tapping it just once.

There's nothing particularly special about it, other than the fact that the little light denoting that the object is recording seems to be flickering. Unsteadily, stuttering, like a candle about to go out.]

The same reason I'm here.

[He's not going to bother to elaborate more than that, but Subete will wait even if he's, yes, looming.]

[ A beat passes and then two, the light flickering like some kind of weird pendulum in this enclosed space, even if the rhythm is irregular. The silence is both short and long, but eventually Hikage answers, his expression more unreadable than it's ever been. ]

Fine. [ He removes the camera without anymore fuss, dropping it onto the outstretched palm. ]

[To his credit, perhaps, Subete waits just as unstirringly, silent as a stone and without further changes in expression. The most that shows up is the exasperation still tinting the edges of his stare; barely blinking until Hikage finally acquiesces. Then some hidden tension flows out, betraying its own existence before vanishing.

He doesn't keep the thing for long -- just enough to place his palm over it, loosely, not splayed enough to bother to fully hide the kanji that sinks into the machine and sets its light to sputtering in not-quite-rhythm.

断: To sever.]

There.

[And it's returned just as easily, no more than a couple seconds having passed. He leans against the bunk itself without sitting, keeping himself tucked away.]

Now, tell me what you saw.

[It's not a request -- there's no questioning or give in his words. Merely a bald opening, as though they're talking about the latest piece of evidence the cat dragged in.]

Edited 2020-04-29 06:17 (UTC)

[ The action earns a small smile, flowing onto his lips and reaching his eyes, washing away the blank slate that had been there moments ago. They really are in a separate space here, and he inhales deeply, ostensibly, to really appreciate the clean miasma free air. ]

How demanding. [ Simply stated and left there like a comment card at a restaurant. ]

But I owe you, I haven't forgotten. I'm fairly good at remembering things if I say so myself. So... [ He folds his hands together neatly on his lap and exhales, his right eye shifting to that increasingly familiar red. ]

You were young. You were young, determined, wide-eyed, innocent, desperate to follow the path that had been laid out for you in bedtime stories, in books of the Logos War and the Writing War, in every word your father spoke to you. The chosen one: Kenzaki Subete.

You had to prove yourself, you had to...verbalize, to claim your destiny in front of that gateway...spire...wall? It doesn't matter, because you found her.

You found Maia all on your own.

[He ignores both the smile and the effect of it in the air, in the comment. It's blithe, maybe purposeful, or would be if--

If, sometime during the time when Hikage was speaking (reminiscing), his hand hadn't drifted up to his face -- the left hand, blocking out the side Hikage is on and a good amount of everything else, fingers digging into his cheek just a touch too hard before loosening. There's quiet, a breath, two, that resolve themselves into low laughter.

It doesn't really sound like anything is all that funny. There's the faintest rustle to the edges, like brittle old paper before he stops.]

Right. That was Maia and me. A long, long time ago. There wouldn't be any way to know one without knowing the other, without knowing...

[It's level, dispassionate like he was a moment ago. His face is still in his hand.]

... Tell me, Hikage. How does your power do with real memories and false ones?

[ The laughter passes without remark but with observation, his head tilted slightly to the side as if to catch all there is to see, all there is to hear. But that all changes when that question escapes into the air. ]

False ones? [ The smile he's worn pulls upward into a grin and it's his turn to laugh, short, brief, amused, hollow. ]

Well that depends. Memories aren't static things, they're pushed and pulled, obfuscated behind others, buried with belief and polished by nostalgia.

[The sudden (not unexpected) emphasis finally tugs his gaze back up and he lowers his hand a little, eyes swiveling to catch the lees of what's spilling out: the almost familiar shape and echo of it. Clearly, they're doing great.]

Yes, of course. Like this house... it's easy to build them up, break them down, and dress them up into something completely different for any reason, or none.

But no, perception can only go so far.

[A brief brush of his fingers in his hair, back over his ear before he lets his hand drop.]

Are you going to answer my question?

[ They're doing fantastic in this space where their only audience is each other. ]

If I ask why, you're going to give me the same type of answer again aren't you? [ A sigh, a reshuffling of his hands, left on top of right. ]

But I did answer: it depends, and I haven't really had the opportunity to explore it much. I've been pretty busy, you know.

[It's possible that this is the best they can do: it's possible in the same way that sometimes, very occasionally, meetings being productive is possible, because communication inside this house is always a crapshoot. There's still tension all through Subete's shoulders and frame but the initial dark cloud of it seems to have mostly left with the miasma; his hands are in his pockets now.

Sometimes you just have to find a quiet place to crash several incomplete trains of thought together until you arrive at something like the truth.

It takes a long, long moment but he does speak up, quietly.]

... They're convenient things, aren't they? Memories. Once you've had them long enough you don't even think to question them anymore.

And sometimes they really just don't matter, in the greater scheme of things.

[A shrug like he's shaking off water or shedding something else. Hikage gets a quirked brow.]

We've all been busy, I'm sure. You should work on your multitasking.

Edited 2020-04-30 06:03 (UTC)

[ There's some stirring when Subete speaks, a reaching up with his free hand to errantly tap at the beauty marks below his left eye. Sometimes you discover spare thoughts left behind for a rainy day, one giant bundled together soggy mess, but still there all the same. ]

They are. Given enough time they fit together like a puzzle, even if you need to add a little glue. [ He lets his hand drop to his side. ]

I had more to do in the previous mansion than in this one, that's all. And I wasn't about to read the memories of every Foundation agent I came across, but I'm sure you understand my inclination to not fill my head with useless trash.

[He shifts a little in turn but doesn't stir; maybe it's because it's the same side, maybe he wants to do his hand-face thing again reflexively when this entire interaction really calls for it, or it's just the beginnings of a laugh again -- a little sharp but bordering on amused this time.]

I don't know whether that's a good thing or not, in this case.

[He doesn't elaborate on which this it is, just lets it hang out there for a moment; then there's another shift, brushing it aside like papers off a desk.]

But I'm not interested in the Foundation knowing my business. That includes those here. [the emphasis is rough, a little disjointed but it smooths out] Like I said, it doesn't matter. Here, or at the Foundation. They both have too many eyes and ears, and neither of them are worth it.

Neither, it's whatever you make of it. [ He sounds confident in that proclamation even if the subject is ephemeral and perhaps ever shifting, but so is the nature of this discussion and of this house. ]

And I'm not interested in sharing, I'm pretty bad at it, actually. Unless it's worth my while, of course. And that's the question for both of us then, isn't it? What is worth it? [ He gestures with his palm, a play at grasping the intangible in a quite ridiculous fashion. What isn't a play of any sort is the translucent quality of his words, shining just like it was yesterday. ]

As I said, perception only goes so far, even here.

[That's a quick retort, not quite polished in the wake of all the moving parts of the conversation, slid across the table like an afterthought. Subete watches the dramatic gesturing with an indefinable sort of stare, but something about it makes the corner of his mouth curl up, echoing the edges of his laughter.

There's a thoughtful hum as he allows things to settle again, contemplating what they have out on their metaphorical table. Finally, softly:]

Nothing. Nothing in this world is worth it, I'd say. The Foundation doesn't have anything to offer that would change that, last I checked. [that's said easily, but there's an underlying note to it, near-exasperation or maybe impatience] Why do you stay with them, then?

[It might seem like an abrupt topic change, but he presents it smoothly, like flipping a card.]

[ A hum, not so much disagreeing but not willing to concede the point so easily. His own views on perception are unique, but it's not time for that discussion yet. So for now, he lets it slide past, a curl of his lips as it does. ]

Freedom is freedom. There's really nothing like stretching my legs after so long. [ All too heavy for someone who's supposedly spent several months imprisoned, but he's not trying hard at all in this closed space to hide the refraction of light, or all the other colors hidden behind the primary ones. ]

But...it's not really like I need them for that, anymore. And you?

[He hears the hum, the voice in it, because he always does: it's not actually something he can escape now, even if he can choose not to listen or capture it. This time he chooses not to brush it aside but simply to turn it facedown like a card not yet played. Perhaps this card analogy is a little belabored, but it really can't be helped when a conversation is all decked out like this.

There's so much else in all the give-and-take of what's not quite negotiation.]

Ah. This would still be more freedom than you've had, hmm? [of course that's not precisely what Hikage meant, the scope of their conversation is so much wider, but here where the walls -- both the mansion's and his own -- are closing everything in he voices it anyways] I'm willing to use them, and their resources, until there's a better option. A lot of this world is like my own, and if so... I'll have to keep looking.

[There's a brief stumble there, the idea that the world is so much like his own is both an easy notion and not-so-easy, for what alternatives to the Foundation might even exist. It's hard to say with what little he's seen so far.]

[ The question, for as rhetorical as it is and isn't, is one he needs to consider however briefly. In some ways yes, in other ways no, and in the end it might come down to values: being the master or a piece, or being able to exist properly with very little strings attached. So he doesn't answer, but it's something he'll think on for perhaps a later discussion. He has his grievances, them eventually piling sky high, but he's also a pragmatic individual no matter what.

For now though, and to address the topic and the closed space at hand; his smile relaxes, his countenance not quite his usual even keeled, his attention is far too focused for that but the matter of gravity still stands. ]

Then I don't think we're actually at odds here, or more precisely at odds where it matters. [ It's not like they're always on the same wave length or even shop at the same hat emporium, but there does seem to be something between them. A mixing of avant garde with colorpop or something similar that somehow aligns even if it shouldn't. ]

I'm always looking for whatever will catch my eye. [ There's no curl to his lips, but there is a mischievous glint in his eyes. ]

[Freedom is such a strange and relative concept; especially here, crushed under so many layers and yet punched out through so many dimensions, where all of them are somehow simultaneously out of this world and part of it and yet somehow under its thumb. It's not something he usually bothers to consider beyond being a philosophical sort of thing, but there's an echo here somewhere.

Destiny is, after all, a product of the turning of the world itself.

For now his gaze is wholly on the path forward instead of back; it's hard to tell whether things are going smoothly just on the mood of the conversation, whimsical as it is.]

No, I suppose not. Neither of us truly owe them anything, and even less so now.

[It's a quiet huff because they've already seen plenty enough of this Foundation mission, haven't they? If nothing else, he can rely on the barest modicum of common sense. (Or maybe, yes, there is something sliding slowly into place -- never quite clicking but bouncing any viewer between color palettes and trompe l'oeil without pausing for breath.)

His exhale is almost a sigh again, but slightly lighter.]

That eye of yours really is more trouble than it's worth.

Exactly. [ Time will prove this true for the both of them; the most important allegiance is to yourself in a place like this. But time might also prove that there's room for other things, like a brooch on a vest or a bangle to really draw out accents and colors. Hikage seems to like straddling that line regardless, between the understated and the over the top.

His lip does quirk at the exhale finally, though it's not a proper rise out of him given the atmosphere. Still, some things are just instinctual. ]

You can only say that because you don't know how worthwhile it really is. Maybe I'll show you one day. [ No promises goes unsaid, but so much goes unsaid in their conversations. And with that spoken, like a flower in his cap rather than a feather, he leans back on the bed and stretches. ]

[In some ways, whether in this world or the next his most important person has only ever been himself; in other ways it's not so simple, because to whom is your allegiance if self is a definition as corrupted and elusive as memory, as the worst of the creatures passing through the Logos World at home?

Here and now, perhaps, it doesn't matter as much: it's easy to delineate here and there and then and now, maybe even them and us, without touching the other definitions. He can tuck those in the back of the book like bookmarks that won't see use, maybe ever, because Subete isn't the best at toeing lines, himself.

Instead he just inclines his head, an acknowledgment and a side-eye all at the same time.]

Who knows how much I should look forward to that.

[An easy, unvarnished thread to the rest of the conversation, a doubt that isn't a doubt so much as a slight step forward, two steps sideways. This is just the start of the dance, after all. He straightens, himself, ignoring the smugness radiating from the bed and slowly and steadily dismantling his barriers with a quick flick or two of his hand. 断 pops easily out of both their body cameras, fading into his palm like a mirage.]

Don't forget what we talked about.

[There's something just a bit tongue in cheek about it as he moves to take his leave.]

Who knows. [ It's dragged out as much as his stretch is, though he's still a measure of attentive as the barriers disperse and the rest of the mansion rejoins the stage proper. When all's said and done his posture is proper again, though he chooses to remain seated. ]

I won't, even if this weekend manages to repeat itself. Promise. [ A final bit of sass for the road and an assumption that's easy to make, even if it's entirely wrong. The miasma time bomb is already ticking, he just can't hear it. As is a subsequent water bomb or two. ]

nobody's in the mood for recording 6.9: the post-trial garden tea "party"

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[private from inbetweeners as well from this point on]

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