exsilium | 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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[ 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.

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

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→ action remember when i could rp me neither

→ action is that what we're supposed to be doing