[The sight rarer perhaps than Subete in a fluffy bathrobe: Hikage conceding a point, especially in pseudo-public (it really isn't public at this point anymore), but as they've discovered over the years and the past hours miasma really does bring people together in so many dubious ways.
Regardless, he's going to rest on his laurels a little despite the fact that they're both anachronisms now in some way: the funny thing is, Subete and those in his inner circle have always been out of time and out of place in some way -- ghosts in the machine in so many different ways, and now it's debatable whether they're still ghosts after their own fashion in the midst of this little bustling burb of California.
Some time jumps truly are larger than others, though: a child of the Digital Age, compounded by the addition of all kinds of mecha and metaphysical bullshit, probably has an unfair advantage at this point. Not to mention Subete himself is hardly the pinnacle of realism, either, because sometimes you have to have reality yield the way instead of the other way around. There's a self-satisfied spark to his eye, spilling over into his expression as he watches Hikage attempt to reorient.]
Good. Though really, this is more of a proper venue than I expected to find on such short notice. At the least, the city is more hospitable than its landmarks.
[Lordt, what does it say that all of this is still part and parcel of their first impression of the Bay Area; accidental cross-dimensional immigration really is a complicated affair, but they don't have to deal with that at the moment. Instead he selects his own cup, spring green veined through like cracks or branches, and while he's a little more restrained in his drinking he does finish the first one without pause.
The appetizers themselves, at least, arrive in short order -- a colorful spread of fried foods sprinkled with greens and seafood in various configurations, there's at least one or two salads and some octopus in there, maybe some of the croquettes.]
I would hope it's good company, given the alternative. [it's as light as their entirely careless perusal of top-shelf liquor, but there's the smallest brightness to it, too] A toast, though... to nightlife and freedom.
[Oh, he'll even be a good host of some kind and refill both their cups. No matter how obedient or convenient the service is, after all, this is between them.]
no subject
Regardless, he's going to rest on his laurels a little despite the fact that they're both anachronisms now in some way: the funny thing is, Subete and those in his inner circle have always been out of time and out of place in some way -- ghosts in the machine in so many different ways, and now it's debatable whether they're still ghosts after their own fashion in the midst of this little bustling burb of California.
Some time jumps truly are larger than others, though: a child of the Digital Age, compounded by the addition of all kinds of mecha and metaphysical bullshit, probably has an unfair advantage at this point. Not to mention Subete himself is hardly the pinnacle of realism, either, because sometimes you have to have reality yield the way instead of the other way around. There's a self-satisfied spark to his eye, spilling over into his expression as he watches Hikage attempt to reorient.]
Good. Though really, this is more of a proper venue than I expected to find on such short notice. At the least, the city is more hospitable than its landmarks.
[Lordt, what does it say that all of this is still part and parcel of their first impression of the Bay Area; accidental cross-dimensional immigration really is a complicated affair, but they don't have to deal with that at the moment. Instead he selects his own cup, spring green veined through like cracks or branches, and while he's a little more restrained in his drinking he does finish the first one without pause.
The appetizers themselves, at least, arrive in short order -- a colorful spread of fried foods sprinkled with greens and seafood in various configurations, there's at least one or two salads and some octopus in there, maybe some of the croquettes.]
I would hope it's good company, given the alternative. [it's as light as their entirely careless perusal of top-shelf liquor, but there's the smallest brightness to it, too] A toast, though... to nightlife and freedom.
[Oh, he'll even be a good host of some kind and refill both their cups. No matter how obedient or convenient the service is, after all, this is between them.]