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

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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