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[she looks over her shoulder to see this, feeling a little blip of pride mixed in with pity. looking back to the oven in some effort to give him privacy:] Then write that. Sometimes...even that's a start, and you discover that the words and shapes that follow happen beyond your own waking thought. Like...like the spirit of you moving ahead of your hands and eyes.

[he frowns -- he doesn't really get it, but starts writing after a few moments in neocybex instead of english. or... whatever language they're speaking now. it likely just looks like a lot of odd lines and symbols on the paper to cecelia, but if her translator lets her read it-- all he's done is note down what he wanted to show to pipes in the lost light.]

[gods forbid! Cecelia knows journaling is private and practically sacred...to her, anyway. she extends that reverence to him, too, who is so plainly messed up about his lost friends. and why wouldn't he? she won't blame him a bit.

instead, she keeps any musings on the curious shapes appearing on his page and pointedly averts her eyes when bringing over the fresh cup.]

I put two dollops of honey in there. Give it a taste, let me know if you need more.

[he just takes a huge mouthful.]

It's nice. Thanks. [the saddest thank you ever.] I don't even know why I told you all that. Four million years of losing people and I should be used to it. My second memory is literally watching a team mate being blown up!

I'm...not sure anyone ought to be used to it, no matter how long? But. I mean--you're the zillion-year old one; I'm just seventeen. [she shrugs, mouth tugging on one side.]

But. Don't worry? At least, in the telling-me regard, since...I'm not going to go around blabbing your business. That's rude.

[he sighs, smiling a little.]

I know you wouldn't.

[eh? really?

Cecelia feels a beat of surprise...and. delight? pride? it's weird, but...nice to be trusted. weird, though; she's not sure she's proven herself??]

Well...well good. [she goes back to the stove to get her own mug of tea.]

If you find you enjoy that stream-of-consciousness type of writing to vent, perhaps we'll find you a proper journal.

It's-- I mean, it's something.

[he leans back, frowning. unaware of the Big Teen Feels he just caused.]

What do you do, exactly? What do you write?

Anything I feel like, really. [she leans against the counter, mug in-hand.] My day, expectations, observations, snippets of ideas for stories... I can't even begin to guess how many hours I've spent writing stories for myself, borrowing legendary adventures and giving myself a glorious destiny an-- [she bites down hard with a grimace, shooting a wide-eyed look Riptide's way.

after a beat, clipped:] ...Don't remember that part. Please.

The least I could do is repay the privacy you're giving me, Cece.

[he shakes his head with a sigh, though smiles.]

I've not really read much fiction, you know...

[he says that, but silly fanfictions of one's self aren't exactly on the same level as war trauma...

so she remains dubious, but obliges his remark anyway, because it's blabbermouth time.]

There's a plethora to try and enjoy. At least, from what I've seen. Not that I can vouch for the quality in this world, but all the same, it seems to be a similar case that humans here are just as keen on the stuff as back where I'm from. Even moreso, perhaps, because of mass production? There are more than I could ever read in my lifetime in one store alone.

Yeah, I-- don't really like going into bookstores. I feel like people know, y'know?

[he exhales.]

Why do you like grand adventure so much? I feel like I'd rather just read about some people having a nice time hanging out.

[her eyes wince. ah. right. the...reading, writing thing...she gets it.

shrugging, looking off to the side:] People having a nice time out doesn't really get a girl's heat racing, you know? I read fiction for entertainment, and sometimes you need a bit of drama for a thrill. It's fun to imagine the struggle, makes the happy end even more satisfying...

[he thinks for this for a moment, then nods.]

I get it. Happy ending where the girl gets to finally go home, right?

Or just finds meaning? A place to call home? [she pauses to take a sip.]

I mean, if home is what truly satisfies the heart in the end, then...yes. But I think, reading on, learning about the kind of person entangled in the tale...it's exciting to discover what drives them, what they seek and, ultimately...that may be different than what both you and that character craved at the start.

You don't get that working in a stupid hobby shop day-to-day, you know? It's...it's so special and unique and intimate to you and this imaginary person. Nothing compares.

[she exhales heavily, red-faced.]

I hate this. I sound like I have no life, when I definitely have one. It's just. Not...ideal.

Oh, don't worry. I was almost literally made to have no life, so my bar before I start judging you is a lot higher than you'd think.

[he looks over at her, vaguely concerned.]

Why don't you find a different job?

Because I'm scared to try and I hate looking stupid? [she grimaces.] That's--that's blunter than I'd normally put it, but. Yes, that. A-and anyway, it's not like the work really taxes me, and I've time to read up on other things here and figure that out, and...and I might just be idling for time in hopes something changes for me? Instead of doing it myself? [wince.] That's too blunt, too.

[riptide's eyebrows raise.]

Just keeps coming out, doesn't it?

It does and it's awful! Gods, if I thought you'd start making fun of me for all of this, I'd likely have just jumped out a window by now. In my own residence!

[she rubs at her forehead.]

There must be some kind of...hex? Something? Going around? This isn't the first instance of my mouth just...running like this today.

Maybe it's just stuff we really needed to get off our chests...

I mean, maybe, but...Like, I don't know. Your stuff was...is, is way more intense than mine? So it's hard to compare like...at all. [her hand drags down the side of her face as she frowns.] But I guess it's not like whatever this is cares of the depth? I don't know. This is weird. I hope it's not permanent, or I'm going to have to never leave my room.

I don't really like to think of it like that anymore. Maybe they're not on the same level, but they both make us feel pretty shitty, right? It's not a competition or anything to see who has the most trauma.

[enghrnghr.] Well. Well sure, but still. You gotta admit, the degrees of...of depth here? It's leagues apart. And I frankly don't want to stand here complaining about my social nonexistence like that's even a thing to be complaining about to you or--or anyone? Gods. Even Darin, I swear. Any time I get riled up about something, he'll level it out with some...some real true tragedy or, or facet of his life that makes mine just. Just cake by comparison.

[she unhappily slurps more tea.]

I just. Don't like being shown how spoiled I am. I already know. Spoiled and green and stupid. Like, why even bother talking to me beyond learning to write cursive? Honestly. I beg my mouth to stop now, please.

Ugh. [riptide's nose wrinkles with distaste.] Of course Darin tries to one up you by making it about him and how sad and woeful his life is.

[riptide doesn't like him. that might not be obvious.]

Look, solid gold bars are still bars, alright? If I didn't want to bother with asking you to teach me this stuff, I wouldn't have asked! What does it say that you're one of the first people in almost four million years that I feel pretty alright with asking about it?

[red-faced, looking down at her tea:] I-I mean...it's...rather significant, if you ask me. A little intimidating? Like, of all people...

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knaval - 2019-02-10 22:07 (UTC) - Expand

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adamantlyardent - 2019-02-11 01:04 (UTC) - Expand