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jests) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
savetheearth2013-06-22 11:14 am
jests) wrote in savetheearth2013-06-22 11:14 am
Entry tags:
(no subject)
who: haruka (hoennmaihime) + luke (jests)
what: miscellanies relating to the ~sage~ ordeal
where: luke's apartment
when: the sunday after said mine fiasco
[ he'd have preferred somewhere public — a loose means of keeping his private life exactly that, but preference so rarely aligns with reality. equally, he can appreciate the want and need for keeping any conversation about that, about what had occurred, what the sage had said and how much of it was truth (or a version of) away from unwanted ears.
(it's for the same reason he's avoided discussing it much on the network: he can't wholly rid himself of a distrust in the network. he's aware he's in possession of a degree of hypocrisy relating to that — whilst he's more than willing to reveal who he is (for an image of trust), that's about it. everything else is negligible, open to being bent and manipulated for whatever seems most useful.)
so: whilst he's not entirely happy about the location, he can't argue that it doesn't make sense — and from a purely personal standpoint, it's easier. whilst he wasn't injured to the degree that some were in the mines, he didn't escape scot-free: he's bruised and he's tired and the lack of need to go anywhere is almost welcome.
equally welcome, then, is the fact that his apartment is clean and tidy; it's modest and minimalist in the sense that there's little that immediately pops out as personal upon entering (though the electric kettle in the kitchen (open plan) betrays his british origins; the small, visible assortment of books in the lounge speak of an interest in politics and international relations; and the singular family photo paints him as an only child).
though they hadn't agreed on meeting early, it's not yet noon; early enough, then, that the day won't have felt wasted by the end, early enough to sit and wait with nothing more useful than a cup of coffee and have no need to feel as if one ought to be doing something more useful. ]
hoennmaihime) + luke (jests)what: miscellanies relating to the ~sage~ ordeal
where: luke's apartment
when: the sunday after said mine fiasco
[ he'd have preferred somewhere public — a loose means of keeping his private life exactly that, but preference so rarely aligns with reality. equally, he can appreciate the want and need for keeping any conversation about that, about what had occurred, what the sage had said and how much of it was truth (or a version of) away from unwanted ears.
(it's for the same reason he's avoided discussing it much on the network: he can't wholly rid himself of a distrust in the network. he's aware he's in possession of a degree of hypocrisy relating to that — whilst he's more than willing to reveal who he is (for an image of trust), that's about it. everything else is negligible, open to being bent and manipulated for whatever seems most useful.)
so: whilst he's not entirely happy about the location, he can't argue that it doesn't make sense — and from a purely personal standpoint, it's easier. whilst he wasn't injured to the degree that some were in the mines, he didn't escape scot-free: he's bruised and he's tired and the lack of need to go anywhere is almost welcome.
equally welcome, then, is the fact that his apartment is clean and tidy; it's modest and minimalist in the sense that there's little that immediately pops out as personal upon entering (though the electric kettle in the kitchen (open plan) betrays his british origins; the small, visible assortment of books in the lounge speak of an interest in politics and international relations; and the singular family photo paints him as an only child).
though they hadn't agreed on meeting early, it's not yet noon; early enough, then, that the day won't have felt wasted by the end, early enough to sit and wait with nothing more useful than a cup of coffee and have no need to feel as if one ought to be doing something more useful. ]
KEYWORDS
Haruka had been standing in front of the doors of the apartment complex for five minutes and counting now, willing herself to hurry up and press the buzzer for his apartment already. He wouldn't hurt her, this wasn't weird it was pretty much the only workable option for a private conversation, given that neither of them were up to going out of their way to find a deserted place to talk in (and really, that wasn't much better). Somewhere between getting healed and getting home a mutual agreement had been made that they should meet, should talk, tomorrow given everything that had happened.
Her long-sleeved (though lightweight) dress and tights hid her bruises from view, while skillfully-applied makeup hid both her pallor and the shadows under her eyes. But, even though Haruka held herself as straight as ever (or at least tried to), the aura of weariness surrounding the girl was plain to see.
...Hopefully he'd slept better than she had. She was grateful that they were meeting earlier rather than later - it had been bad enough spending most of the night awake, whiling away the hours until she could leave the apartment again. Not even the longest bath she'd ever taken had relaxed her enough to drift off. It would have been worse if she'd had to wait until later in the day.
Even if she was having trouble with the buzzer now. Until, fed up with herself, she finally leaned forward and poked the button with unnecessary force.]
no subject
(for his part, he's wearing a pair of slim fit jeans and a relatively plain t-shirt; he'd seen one of his neighbours in passing already, and he'd shrugged his appearance off with a sheepish smile and a simple: "rugby." it was an easy lie, despite his lack of interest in the sport — the us was interested in it even less and if he did, by chance, happen across an american who did harbour a secret love for the sport, he'd claim the entire incident — that is, his participation in a match — the result of misplaced and misguided patriotism thanks to the lions' tour of australia.) ]
You're on time. [ it's uttered mildly and with a total lack of surprise. given the amount of care haruka evidently takes in her presentation (appearance would be doing it a disservice, he thinks, it speaks of a shallowness where haruka seems aware, entirely, of how one's appearance impacts upon perceptions and is willing to alter hers in return for what it is she wants. that much had been evident from her first network post), he'd have been surprised if she hadn't been.
still: he holds the door open for her, waiting for her to enter the building before shutting it and leading the way. he lives on the third floor and whilst he could take the lift, he has a preference for taking the stairs and he does so now. before they reach his apartment, though, he half glances at her, taking careful note of the effort she's gone to to ensure she's covered, to make sure there's little sign of events at the mine, and he comments: ] How are you feeling?
[ it's not out of any degree of care, per se, but a loose interest and curiosity and he can't quite put a name to. ]
no subject
She simply nods and smiles (an implied 'but of course' in curl of the corners of her lips), as she steps inside and walks after him.]
Better than I could be. [Her tone is as such that there's almost a chipperness to it; all feigned, of course. There's something about being struck by careless "friendly" fire that can leave a person bitter(er).
But it makes her conscious of what should be there, and she deliberately moves her right hand to the chain of her purse so that she doesn't reach for her left shoulder instead. She won't admit it, but she's afraid that the... magic will wear off, and she'll be left with a mess of a painful wound.
It's not until they're safely behind closed doors that she adds softly:]
Not even a scar.
[There's a pause, before she continues in her normal voice:]
And yourself?
[She tries to disguise how real the concern in her voice is with a breezy overtone, the sound of someone moving the conversation along. That could come later, maybe, at a time where it seemed less out of place. Less... fussy.]
no subject
at length, then, he murmurs a vague noise of acknowledgement, his distraction entirely albeit momentarily evident. (he can't explain away his own experiences in the mine with rationality, and he knows it takes far more than simple want to make something reality.) nevertheless, he adds: ] I'm glad. [ and it's not untrue. for as much as he can't claim to care much one way or the other about the vast number of individuals that have made themselves known on the network, for the few he has come to know and tolerate and, in a few cases, even come to like, he certainly wouldn't wish them grievously hurt.
(and from a purely selfish perspective, to do as much and to be noticed doing as much would be impractical, given the number of changes most were experiencing. the ability to heal was—
—impressive. useful. something more than that he detests not having an immediate word for.)
haruka, though, despite how she might act and how clever she might be, is still a child and even he, though not especially kind at the best of times (whilst appearances might indicate otherwise), wouldn't wish for her to be injured.
it's nothing he vocalises beyond those two words, however, his thoughts more on the big picture (bigger picture; they've no clue of the pieces beyond the few small ones they've been given, after all, and that's why haruka's here, isn't it?), though he eventually adds a: ] I'm fine. [ he wouldn't elaborate, even if he wasn't, and: ] Tea, coffee?
[ as he asks, he gestures loosely towards the dining table (glass; round; four chairs a mixture of black and silver; modern). it was posited once, he recalls, that what one drank said much of a person, though he's never bought into it, but it doesn't stop idle curiosity; "milk, sugar?" are left unsaid. it — the question in its entirety, vocalised and unvocalised — is a habit long since ingrained from a lifetime of it essentially being a greeting. ]
no subject
Thank you.
[It was odd, maybe, to express gratitude over something as simple as that, but general concern for Haruka's well-being was something that her life was sorely lacking. Smile soft, she echoes:]
I'm glad.
[There's something about the way she says it (an emphasis on the 'I'm'?) that it's clear she means it utterly.]
Coffee, please. [She moves towards the table before adding, almost mildly:] Black. [A stark contrast from the last time they'd had coffee together, after the art gallery. She still enjoyed the association of sweetness (of 'girliness') but now, when it was just Luke behind closed doors, with a matter as serious as theirs to be discussed, she would drop the pretense.
(Somehow, it thrilled her a little, to be able to show him another piece of her.)
The bitter taste kept her sharper - less complacent - anyhow.]
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.
no subject
The wait gives her the opportunity to properly survey his apartment, and she likes what she sees. A child living out of a suitcase for too long, 'personal' was no comfort. Minimalist was. Almost imperceptibly, her shoulders lose some of their familiar tension.
(Her opinion of the Sage's speech remained unchanged: a theory, not yet proven or disproven, metaphorical pin stuck in it until she can begin picking at it/piecing it back together. (One of the reasons) why she was here.)
A muttered 'thank you' is given at the arrival of the coffee, a disenchanted smile at the comment.]
It does makes one wonder what the criteria is. Surely not competence... or heroism.
[Because no heroes sit at this table.]
no subject
(he doesn't particularly care for that, either. he doubts that whatever will come of this in the end will be as black and white as is being painted at present, and he's freely amused by the idea that they've all been painted as heroes. as the good guys. he imagines it's because it's easier than imagining that one has been forced towards a position that sits poorly alongside so-called morals, but morals themselves are often loose and changeable.) ]
There doesn't appear to be a criteria. [ the coffee is partway to his lips before he speaks and afterwards, he blows softly onto the drink in an undoubtedly vain attempt to cool it (some people add a dash of cold water, but he's always found the idea unpalatable and, regardless, prefers to drink his coffee hot) before taking a sip. ] When one lacks honesty and accountability, the hero is the victor, and for as much as it's easy for us to say that our [ a beat and his lips quirk slightly; the term has always struck him as overly dramatic. ] enemies are committing wrongs, we don't know why. I imagine they believe that everything they've done has been necessary, that everything they'll do will also be necessary; heroism calls for actions that others wouldn't take, does it not?
[ another pause and a loose, light shrug. he's not bothered about clinging desperately to the idea of them being right, of morality versus immorality — he's aware he's selfish and ultimately self-serving, and he doesn't shy away from that but in appearance and action when it's necessary, and any claims as to a deep-seated desire to do good would, perhaps ironically, feel distasteful. ]
Though I do feel as if the network could do with a little less navel gazing. What one has [ received; found; been given; woken up with— ] matters less than what one does with it. And if yesterday is anything to go by. [ he doesn't so much trail off as simply not bother to add the obvious: it ought to be obvious, implicitly understood that regardless of whether the sage had been telling the truth about anything else, he had been right when he'd said they were under- and unprepared. ]
no subject
Well, you know. Some people need to believe themselves to be good, for whatever reason.
[She doesn't, of course; she never has. A virtue of a her birthright, of seeing just how deeply the 'bad guys' were integrated in society, of realizing how things would topple if the rotten parts of the world just magically disappeared one day.
She is nothing but in it for her own survival.]
Even in the face of evidence that they're anything but.
[Disgusting, Haruka thinks, and struggles to keep the sneer off her face.
-If yesterday was anything to go by, they were done.
It was a shame, truly. With some molding, training, and learned self-discipline, some of them might have amounted to something given the various displays of potential and self-sacrifice yesterday.
...Might still amount to something. She takes her first sip of coffee (delicious) and begins to word out her forming idea.]
...There's certainly potential though. Properly guided- [another sip.] -we might see some of the rabble ascend to knighthood.
They'd like that, don't you think? 'Happening upon' a way. Being made to feel noble. [Because she could do that, and the happiest workers did work the hardest.] Especially given how terribly lost they feel right now.