[ he glances at her when she specifies the "black", mild surprise fleetingly evident in his features (a quirk of his eyebrows) followed by a twitch of his lips (faint amusement): two black coffees, then. he's always preferred it, not due to any perceived increase of caffeine, but a simple liking for the bitterness.
he leans against the counter whilst he's waiting for the kettle to boil, attention returning to haruka. there's no hurry to speak, so he doesn't, not for the moment. what had happened in the mines had been — he supposed enlightening was one word for it, given the range of occurrences, but it hadn't helped anything make sense; he's no closer or more likely to trust the denizens of the network at large, nor does he care to. his interest is primarily (solely) himself. if understanding what was occurring at large would help with understanding it with regards to him — and he imagines it will — then that's what he'll do, but he's without any intention to indulge in altruism.
and then there was the matter of the sage's words. whilst he's disinclined to believe any of it, he's equally as disinclined to disregard it. the best of lies, he knows, have some bearing in truth — "a liar begins with making falsehood appear like truth, and ends with making truth itself appear like falsehood" — and he's willing to concede that there was (is) a kernel of truth in it all, buried beneath allusion and illusion and metaphor.
he wonders if anyone else has reached a similar conclusion; he imagines the majority lean towards one or the other: belief or disbelief. (naïveté, he thinks.)
( a click as the kettle reaches boiling point and switches off; the clink of a metal spoon against china. )
he places one cup in front of her before joining her at the table, seating himself opposite. gaze shifting towards the cup, he eyes the tendrils of steam swirling upwards and dissipating before speaking, the corners of his lips curling upwards in an image of private amusement. ]
Defence of the Earth. [ it's uttered quietly, though wryly and after a beat, he looks back across at haruka. ] I can't help but think the Earth chose exceptionally poorly.
no subject
he leans against the counter whilst he's waiting for the kettle to boil, attention returning to haruka. there's no hurry to speak, so he doesn't, not for the moment. what had happened in the mines had been — he supposed enlightening was one word for it, given the range of occurrences, but it hadn't helped anything make sense; he's no closer or more likely to trust the denizens of the network at large, nor does he care to. his interest is primarily (solely) himself. if understanding what was occurring at large would help with understanding it with regards to him — and he imagines it will — then that's what he'll do, but he's without any intention to indulge in altruism.
and then there was the matter of the sage's words. whilst he's disinclined to believe any of it, he's equally as disinclined to disregard it. the best of lies, he knows, have some bearing in truth — "a liar begins with making falsehood appear like truth, and ends with making truth itself appear like falsehood" — and he's willing to concede that there was (is) a kernel of truth in it all, buried beneath allusion and illusion and metaphor.
he wonders if anyone else has reached a similar conclusion; he imagines the majority lean towards one or the other: belief or disbelief. (naïveté, he thinks.)
he places one cup in front of her before joining her at the table, seating himself opposite. gaze shifting towards the cup, he eyes the tendrils of steam swirling upwards and dissipating before speaking, the corners of his lips curling upwards in an image of private amusement. ]
Defence of the Earth. [ it's uttered quietly, though wryly and after a beat, he looks back across at haruka. ] I can't help but think the Earth chose exceptionally poorly.