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 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.

( she may not smile but he does, and then he laughs despite himself. )

I should've expected an answer like that! I don't think there's anything wrong with that; it's something you have the freedom to do.

[ he might laugh, but it doesn't shake her demeanor; it's a balm that doesn't sooth, and a weapon that doesn't sting. ]

... But it's something you don't.

( he shakes his head, recognizing it for the luck it is in some ways. before gil's arrival he'd spent so much time convincing himself that he didn't want him — anyone else familiar, really — here in a place like this. and it's terrible, but there's been undeniable relief from not being alone. a relief, he realizes, that haruka doesn't have. )

No, I have to be more careful.

Taking no action isn't an option for you.

[ what thoughts, what realizations he has about her, ruka does not know, and does not suspect. she has her cup held in one hand now, the other crossed to brace support under her elbow; steam obscures the sight of her one eye, and the fragrance of the tea begins to cling to her hair.

her version of being alone here is so much worse than he imagines. ]

You want to protect them, don't you?

( he does, but — )

I'm not sure that's something I can do.

( ruefully. the tea's had plenty of time to cool off a bit, so he takes another sip of it. )

Why?

[ there's so many ways to mean it, so many motivations — built in abilities, or in weaknesses, or in judgments of worth... ]

( but he breathes out wryly and shakes his head, drinking some more of the tea. it's worth, of course, the idea of his powers being too weak (save for when they're too destroy), how much bad things seem sometimes to trail in his wake, the protections he's had to accept he needs. )

[ she focuses on the little details of his silence: the way his chest shrinks and his shoulders lower as breath leaves him; the degree and the speed of the shaking of his head; the look on his face, and where his eyes rest; the way he holds the cup.

who does this remind her of, she asks herself, whose life is most like his, whose path runs parallel? which mood, which tell, is key to solving him? why, she asks herself, does she allow herself to care so much about solving him?

this isn't for her to do anymore. the air she breathes stings a little for the thought, and burns hotter in her lungs the more her thoughts still her action. if she pours his feelings, his conflict and burden into the chalice of her heart, it tells her, it will only serve as new food for rot. when he inevitably disappears... ruka will only be back where she started.

she turns her gaze elsewhere. ]

If you have an answer for yourself, that's enough, I think. It's probably for the best that you don't tell me, anyway.

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

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→ action remember when i could rp me neither

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