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

[tsunderine]

The flowers that bloomed at the end of the trial are ones that only seem to prove, continuously, that the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Of course, it's only natural that many of the people are full of mixed emotions - grief? sadness? anger? frustration? maybe something else completely different?

But it's there, along with the end of the week.

Miasma still continues to be around, of course - but make use of the fact that this might be the last time it'll be at a low level one before it shoots up again.


Well.

Life continues as usual, disregarding any feelings that any of the house's occupants might be feeling.

So what are you doing these next two days?

Comments

[kaliedoscopes]

[ 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. ]

[noneforall]

[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.

[kaliedoscopes]

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. ]

[noneforall]

[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.]

[kaliedoscopes]

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. ]