foundationmods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
foundationmods) wrote2020-04-29 02:16 pm
foundationmods) wrote2020-04-29 02:16 pm
Entry tags:
R5: ghost hangout
[What's this? The fog of the miasma has pulled back, revealing a path down to the basement. None of the living seem to notice it though, only those who are dead are aware of it.
Down in the basement is a large furnished room. It doesn't seem as dusty as the rest of the house, and it actually seems lived in? Or...un-lived in, technically. But the lighting here works and there's plenty to do. Even if the ghosts might not need it, there's several beanbag chairs (brought in by one of the many groups of teenagers who have disappeared into the house), a large couch, and even a jacuzzi. Because even if you're in eternal pain, you can relax a bit, right?
If the ghosts look up, they'll see that the ceiling appears to be made of spider-patterned stained glass. Which is weird, considering that it should be floorboards and such. But the stained glass allows them to look up into all parts of the house and easily spy on the living. What they hear can be hit or miss, especially if the living are whispering, but seeing what they're up to should be easy enough.
Well. Might as well make the most of this space, right?]
Down in the basement is a large furnished room. It doesn't seem as dusty as the rest of the house, and it actually seems lived in? Or...un-lived in, technically. But the lighting here works and there's plenty to do. Even if the ghosts might not need it, there's several beanbag chairs (brought in by one of the many groups of teenagers who have disappeared into the house), a large couch, and even a jacuzzi. Because even if you're in eternal pain, you can relax a bit, right?
If the ghosts look up, they'll see that the ceiling appears to be made of spider-patterned stained glass. Which is weird, considering that it should be floorboards and such. But the stained glass allows them to look up into all parts of the house and easily spy on the living. What they hear can be hit or miss, especially if the living are whispering, but seeing what they're up to should be easy enough.
Well. Might as well make the most of this space, right?]
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It likely says something about all of thisโข that swirls and torrents of miasma can lend to moments of lucidity, but that's not something Hikage will spend any real thought on. Much the same goes for his reply too, because under the right conditions he can be terribly impulsive, so he really doesn't need the extra push here but the house provides anyway. ]
Isn't that the purpose of them? But I know, I've never forgotten that.
no subject
[It's a mystery as to what they're arguing anymore, but while Subete doesn't manage to scare up a laugh there's something of the cadence of it in his words anyway -- the memory of water is a satisfying one, reflecting on the ridiculous ways it's allowed him to slip under the radar, splash rings around Hikage and still others, and at some point, even those from the future.
But that's not the most important thing right now, in the cloudy aftermath of storms and the continued poisonous low light, the clarity of dusk before a long night.]
What, to be absolutes or easy roadsigns? Is that what you think? [there's something like a brief huff, but he goes on, not quite playful but somehow like a challenge] I am in the business of making numbers do what I want, though. Consider it a part of the job description.
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He shrugs it off, focusing on his steps which have finally found their center. The miasma will catch up to him in a second, but for now- ]
Neither and both, they're an easy way to define value. But I'll just repeat myself: you'll have to show me what you want then, that and fireworks. [ The words roll off his tongue easily, this is a challenge now. ]
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But something about it still gets his blood up, always has, or maybe it's just something in the miasma still agitating all his layers bleeding into each other and into everyone else's; he doesn't need a spur but he doesn't need a brake either, so forward he goes.]
The fireworks have always been a part of it -- you should know that by now.
[Spoken softly but without reserve, spreading his hands theatrically because that's apparently the mood now and into the sunset.]
Ah, but who am I to refuse a show? This house is the wrong stage entirely, but all that's left is to change that.
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What isn't left are questions even if he should have some, but forward, forward, forward, with his wings spread. ]
It's too small for you, for me, for the both of us. But destroying it shouldn't be all that hard now that we're backstage.
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It probably doesn't matter at this point, with all the wings and things and the way he's plain thrown off reservations along with life, the universe, and possibly everything. This really is a completely new perspective, so there's no sense in bothering to look at it from the ground, is there?]
Much too small, when all the world's a stage.
[It's quiet but there's a sheen to it, like a flicker of iridescence on the edge of a feather, his lip curling up in response. His fingers curl in, curl out, drawing small patterns in the air that don't quite resolve into words just yet.]
It would be easy, it should be easy, all that's needed is the key. We -- have a piece of it. That should be enough, from this side.
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This close even with everything that's happened in the past 24 hours and then some, it makes him bristle; the curve on his own lips almost a crescent moon, half of his vision red instead of an even purple. ]
Oh? I prefer the spotlight to the background but I guess I can settle for that until we break this venue wide open. [ He doesn't need to say it again, Hikage really hates sharing and he really hates sharing with what turns out to be a literal babe still fussing and teething. (Perhaps this talk is edging into sharing itself but he either doesn't grasp it or doesn't want to). ]
no subject
At its core, the hivemind is simply a slow-motion gathering of all the most destructive elements in the house; so it's really no wonder that that they've found themselves and each other here.]
That's the price we pay for backstage access. But you won't have to wait for long, or at all. After all, waiting is a state of mind.
[Maybe this is a challenge in return. Or just wordplay again, because that's apparently what he does even in the deepest grips of miasma.]
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...time is just what you make of it. And there's other things to play with too. [ But he wouldn't be himself (even as he exists now) if he didn't pushback in some way, because while he's no stranger to waiting and patience, he also spent nearly a century waiting for the keys (shards) to his freedom to even exist in the first place. Luckily in this case, the board has already been set. ]
no subject
[It's, perhaps interestingly, not a denial -- nor is it truly of the miasma, this stinging slice of his own brand of cynicism despite where they are and all the ghosts they've contended with and continue to contend with between the two of them. There's a faint flatness to it, perhaps because he's been here longer, maybe because some part of him was always here.
Not waiting, not bound by this house, but bound by something else entirely and walking towards it with eyes wide open.]
But as you said, time -- is what we've traded for. [what they've traded themselves for, unspoken, but he also doesn't shy away from it] Ah, in some ways... I didn't think I'd be back here so soon.
no subject
I traded that away a long time ago, but this place deserves secondhand quality. [ Part a dig at himself but also the truth. He reaches out, not to summon a butterfly but to play with some strands of miasma. ]
Hm. There's no real music to speak of here, either. [ If his inference is correct, but all the more pity anyway that he's not in the mood for that serenade regardless. ]