exsilium | voice; forward dated to past midnight (action open to anyone around?)

voice; forward dated to past midnight (action open to anyone around?)

( there's a slight sound of rustling after the feed clicks on, as oz makes himself more comfortable on a seat in the observatory. why he's there late at night — night by circadian rhythms, anyway, simulated nights on the moon — is anyone's guess, or maybe it's obvious enough. in any case, when he speaks up a moment later, he sounds to be in a good enough mood. )

What's your favorite story? Scary ones are probably best for late at night, but what I really want to hear about are everyone's favorites. For instance, something about a princess and a dragon, or maybe a mystery with a twist ending, or something out of history....ah, if you make it up or adapt it from a book, that's fine too! Or even if it's a real one that's happened to someone you know, ( and a light laugh ) — don't worry, I don't tell anyone!

But it's rude to ask without giving my own preference, right? I can start with mine, if anyone wants.

( he'll tell people about holy knight. all about it!!!! don't ask him about it. )

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It's really fine.

( and he means it; it's better to realize that than not, especially since this whole ordeal really is one in which he wants to take responsibility, not something that comes especially easily to him. )

I wasn't planning on sleeping soon. ( who needs sleep, really! and if there's a touch of dryness when he answers it's because he remembers what happened the last time he had adventures in drinking strong coffee. ) And I usually take tea.

I usually don't. Sleep very often, I mean; I used to drink tea all the time back home. [ even if the inherited tea service was a little melancholic to use... ]

Anyway... if you'd like to continue this, I have some I wouldn't mind sharing. I promise, it's genuine.

[ this is somewhere between a bribe and a peace offering. ]

Well, how can I turn down an offer like that?

( the attempt would be more than enough to mollify him if he needed the placating; the fact that she wants to is more than enough. but he'll not turn down tea or company, especially after the past few days (and weeks and month, and it'll be nice when he can stop thinking after the past — ). stories make a fine companion, for insomnia or otherwise, but a real person is always better. )

I'll meet you in the cafeteria, then.

[ the place is quiet enough at this forced hour, and she's easy enough to find, even if tea isn't quite as easy to make as she anticipated.

with no water in the faucets, bottled has to suffice, and finding some way to boil it is a little tricky with these weird coffeemakers.

(rua, she thinks, would have been able to solve this sort of thing in an instant back in the city, but he hasn't been there with her in a very long time, and a thought like that doesn't help her much now, either.)

but her adventures in absconding from the deliberate nature of missions and smuggling her own comforts serves her well enough now: she greatly doubts that a genuine tea set is among the available dishes in the pantry.

and in the end, the endeavor will prove successful, though it's still a work in progress when oz finally arrives. ]

( the last time he met someone over tea in the cafeteria was only a day before, perhaps at around this same time. that had been coincidence rather than the deliberate intent that takes him there now, and haruka is far better company by far already; this isn't especially difficult by virtue of the fact that she's neither covered in horrific amounts of blood nor possibly a serial killer. the jury's still out on that one.

since he's come directly from the observatory, he still has his tablet in hand — closed — to be put away later, and it's with some subtle relief that he approaches her. he'd gone for a distinct lack of places to go in the base, but it's still his least favorite room. )

Do you need help with that?

( the machine, he means; a few days using it in the ue was plenty long enough for him to become well-acquainted with making tea in it. )

[ (her roommate is pretty weird, there is never any doubt about that.)

the sound of a voice, regardless of familiarity, has her turning with a speed and sharpness of movement that betrays her. her bad side is kept to the counter, her good facing oz.

it's a couple seconds before she answers, averting her intense gaze — before her shoulders relax, ever so slightly, and she ceases looking like startled prey, sizing up its predator for counterattack. ]

... Yeah, I'm still not used to these. [ she gestures, almost lazy; trying to mask her prior surprise. ] I only need to heat up water, not make that... whatever it is they're calling coffee.

( he hardly hesitates, only for the space of time it takes for her to relax. knowing break has acclimated him to being around people with compromised vision, and he's hardly one to blame anyone for being jumpy these days. his half-smile is apologetic, but he doesn't otherwise say anything, moving up to the machine with a measure of being deliberate, trying to not leave her line of sight. )

It's a little hard to figure out at first.

( reaching out a hand to fiddle with some of the settings, switching to something more tea-appropriate )

[ it's not a deliberation he needs to take, strictly speaking; even with her guard (somewhat) lowered, she doesn't allow him to drift back into her blind spot, either. someone unfamiliar with the type wouldn't notice the treatment at all

some don't understand what they can see; others will understand what they can't.

for now, though, she watches his work with the machine — trying to figure out what he's doing, in case it works. (she won't be able to rely on him doing this every time she wants something civilized to drink. ]

They give me the creeps.

( if he notices, he says nothing of it, only shooting her a glance at the comment. )

The machines?

Mmm...

[ she nods twice in a slow motion, keeping her gaze mostly fixed on his hands. ]

I only trust it enough for heating water, because it's impossible to get anything out of the faucets.

( the settings only take another moment to fix, and he drops his hands as the machine starts to generate hot water. )

You're right.

( about both things, really, the faucet and the less than pleasant associations he has with this particular coffeemaker. )

It happens a lot.

[ it's not much of a joke, considering what led to this fairy hour tea party in the first place. in the counter space adjacent to the now-heating machine, she's measuring out dark, dry tea leaves from a small canister into the china teapot. (seriously, does she do anything on missions besides shopping?)

her shrug is apologetic. ]

It'd be nice to be wrong, sometime.

( there's a half-smile earned by that anyway, and he watches with some appreciation the finer things she has to work with. gil and break had brought some nice tea with them, but just the same a regular supply of quite nice tea things is harder to come by. )

Some things are better to be wrong about. With knowing comes having to decide what to do. ( and then, admitted: ) I'm not so good at that, though.

It's hard. Maybe... [ maybe, maybe this, or that. something good, or the worst possibilities; these gentle steps toward the truth has her uneasy, but it's easier to answer with her attention focused on the task at hand.

she gauges the temperature of the coffeemaker with her knuckles. ]

... That's why it's easier, to decide what not to do.

What not to do, huh...

( he moves a bit out of her way, leaning back against the table. )

That is a lot easier. So you mean, then you can narrow it down?

... No.

[ satisfied with the temperature, if not the quality, she lets the sound of hot water filling the pot eat the silence. her resolve hasn't changed, but... it's hard to be so flippant and dismissive about her intentions now.

it's been a long eight months. ]

I mean, deciding not to do anything.

( isn't that a philosophy he's well-acquainted with. just accept, just don't bother trying to understand or trying at all, expect nothing. )

That'd be even easier.

( it would be the easiest thing in the world to just let things persist as they are, and he's tempted. it's something he's been asked so often, do you always act as though it doesn't matter what happens to you?

because

it doesn't.

or does it? )

...but. I don't know if it's sufficient. Or — ( this is hard; he shakes his head ) — if that won't make things worse, later.

Worse?

[ the words are very quiet now; the volume of a whisper without the hush of it. she turns her head to look at him, and tries to measure just how much weight he's bearing.

how much of her cowardice he's taking to heart—and how much of it he understands for what it is. ]

For whom?

( there's a perceptible softening, whether from affections remembered or giving way under something heavy — or both — is for her to judge. )

It's always worse for other people that way. ( 'how many hearts have you broken, acting like that?' ) I'd learned that, but...

... You take the damage, too.

[ the minutes have passed; she keeps her gaze focused on her hands, her work, as she carefully pours the tea through its strainer and into each cup. the heat and the scent of it waft gentle into the air; the steam is easily visible.

with a delicate hold, ruka offers one of the two cups to oz. ]

Or is it something else?

That's fine.

( dismissive, too dismissive, as he accepts the cup. even if he's got a good scare now out of the ue, what was worse was everyone else being hurt at the ue, is the possibility of his own (alice's) power being used against people he cares about. he blows over the surface of the mug, briefly interrupting the steam's flow. )

But it's no good to be the one causing hurt, either.

( the very night of the party gil had said that a genuine reaction, no matter how distraught, would be preferable to a smile; but he doesn't even know what that could even do about something already done and past. he's tired, still too tired, and can't think how to act.

or even that really something like this shouldn't be framed this way at all, for fear of what he might do and not what's been done to him, but that's not a step he's been able to make yet. )

Edited (prepositions????) 2013-10-25 03:23 (UTC)

[ will your inaction cause harm, she almost asks, but the answer comes to her before the words can make it past her teeth. not answers, rather, but clues. hypotheses.

after all, hadn't she warned him already? if he has some power, if he has some strength—and all evidence, from his capture to his reactions, points that he does—then, didn't she say, then isn't it his responsibility to devise its counterweight? even the gentlest spirit could be weaponized; didn't she know that better than anyone?

anything could cause hurt, and harm beyond measure.

she warms her fingers on her own cup, heartless as it remains. ]

... When I first arrived there... in Exsilium... there was a promise I made to myself.

What was it?

( it's not his power, though that's there, gnaws into his frayed cheer; but he's afraid of his inherent carelessness, of how his minuscule self-regard causes problems. he wasn't careful last month and caused a mess for those he knows, got hurt himself, and doesn't want that to happen again. )

That I wouldn't do one useful thing for the people of this world.

[ she doesn't smile, or try to soften how it sounds; her voice is level. ]

I don't want to help the people who took me from my home, and I don't intend to help other people help them. It's the most selfish thing to decide, but I don't mean to do anything different, either.

But for me, that sort of decision... it's easy, when there isn't anyone here who recognized my name. My face.

... The path I take is ready for me, because my actions can't hurt the ones I care about.

voice; forward dated to past midnight (action open to anyone around?)

private;

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private; requisite combos

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