![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
[ OPEN ] want to be free
WHO: Kim Kitsuragi (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
aceslow) & YOU
WHAT: Various July activities -- both for the event (happy to receive items/memories too!) and for every day activities.
WHERE: Throughout the City; bank, shopping centres, parks, etc.
WHEN: Through til the end of July.
WARNINGS: Probable discussions regarding racism, loss, and the diaspora.
[ EVENT ] a. in the vault.
[ The deserted bank is an eerie place as it is. On a Lieutenant's salary, Kim barely has enough money to put in the bank as it is, let alone frequent one as extravagantly wealthy as this one; the minute he steps foot in it with his grubby boots and worn - though well-maintained - jacket, he feels immediately out of place, a sense of unease dogging his steps. His footsteps are loud in the echo chamber that is the grand hall. Eventually, he makes his way back to where the keys are, name after name etched on the side of the keychain. It's a trap if he's ever seen one. He hesitates, hand hovering just over the keys, brow furrowed. ]
This is almost certainly a trap.
[ Then, decisively, he yanks it off the wall, then glances behind him towards whoever his companion may be. ]
But it's the best lead we've got. You coming?
[ OOC NOTE: The item I've chosen concerns racism & the diaspora, please only respond to this prompt if those are subjects you're comfortable with! ]
[ EVENT ] b. out and about.
[ After the whole messy incident with the vault, Kim's taken to keeping the toy plane with him, burning a hole in his pocket. In all honesty, it's not something that brings him any solace, any comfort; if anything he feels desperately uncomfortable about it. But after everything, it feels almost sacriligious to leave it in the apartment he's hunkered down in, unguarded, unprotected, the sole personal possession next to the rest of the nondescript apartment. It feels equally as wrong to leave it in the bank where he had found it, as though abandoning it again means --
God, he doesn't know. He's not one for analyzing his own thoughts and feelings. Straight ahead, down his narrow, narrow path. That's how he's always been, how he'll always be. So he puts it firmly out of mind for the time being as he goes along his daily business, pacing about the city, investigating every nook and cranny with a fine tooth comb, and largely trying to keep himself busy, whether that's in the park, in a store, or even roaming once more through City Hall. Whatever public place you can think of, he's there. ]
[ OOC NOTE: We can wrap the event into any of the other prompts as well, but this one is intended for sharing of objects/memories! Please feel free to have your character share theirs first (or have only them share it, without that reciprocation) if you like; I never mind a backstory dump. :) ]
c. daily life (shopping / exercising / a midnight smoke).
[ With little else at his disposal other than the grim dawning realization that if he truly has to start making a functional life for himself here, Kim can be seen during daily life in the City taking what he needs.
Perhaps you find him in the supermarket or convenience store, the handle of his shopping basket nestled in the crook of his shoulder as he stares at the shelves with a light frown on his face, combing the shelves for this and that: salt, cabbage, meat and onions rank chiefly among his purchases, but it looks like he's working his way towards a very bland meal -- that, and he seems to be pretty concerned about getting really badly injured, if the amount of painkillers, bandages, and other first-aid goods are of any indication.
Or perhaps you find him in the park, jogging around its perimeter again, and again, and again, and again... he'll periodically stop, huffing and puffing more than he'd care to fess up to. There's nothing better to do around here, after all, and he feels a certain compulsion to remain in shape (though all embarassing stretches take place in the privacy of his own bedroom; an old man he may be to some here, but he's not old enough to start congregating in the park with the other seniors) to face whatever dangers he's convinced have yet to come. If you catch his eye, he'll nod in greeting with a small smile, wiping the sweat off his brow, suddenly self-conscious. ] Afternoon. Pity there's no gym in this place.
[ Or maybe you're another night owl, coming across Kim leaning against a wall, silhouetted by the street lamps above, staring contemplatively off into the distance as he lights a cigarette. Before he takes a single drag, he takes a deep breath, as though even contemplating his cigarette brings some measure of serenity to his soul. He takes that first drag like an addict does; savouring it, hoping it never comes to an end. But as he blows out a large plume of smoke, he'll look your way, nodding in greeting. If you're clearly of age and look interested, he'll extend the cigarette carton in your direction, asking, ] Want one?
d. weapon creation.
[ It's been long enough that Kim has gathered the fact that all of their weapons have been forcibly taken from them, right down to the blade attachment in his poor multi-tool. With just one glimpse of Kim, it's easy to see that he's not a man who's used to getting into physical altercations all-too often, preferring to rely on the security of his firearm, but it's not as though he can make a gun.
Besides, this isn't purely for self defense. Rather, it's an experiment: if weapons are so highly prohibited, then is the creation of them also prohibited? Will he wake cuffed like that fellow on the network behind him? It's a small punishment, as punishments go, so Kim decides to risk it, heading to park as the sun begins to wane, long shadows cast over the entire area. After gathering some of the natural resources around the park, as well as a few helpful items lifted from shops here and there, he sits cross-legged on the grass and gets to work, beginning by taking some kitchen utensils and industriously hacking away at a particularly sturdy branch to attempt to make a fine point.
From his grumbling, it's not going particularly well. He could really use a hand. ]
Ugh. I could really use my damn knife right about now.
e. wildcard!
[ Wildcard! Feel free to make up your own prompt - Kim can be found out and about the City at large - and I'm happy to roll with it! Feel free to brainstorm with me on my plotting post or hit me up on plurk! I'd be happy to write custom starters as well. ]
aceslow) & YOUWHAT: Various July activities -- both for the event (happy to receive items/memories too!) and for every day activities.
WHERE: Throughout the City; bank, shopping centres, parks, etc.
WHEN: Through til the end of July.
WARNINGS: Probable discussions regarding racism, loss, and the diaspora.
[ EVENT ] a. in the vault.
[ The deserted bank is an eerie place as it is. On a Lieutenant's salary, Kim barely has enough money to put in the bank as it is, let alone frequent one as extravagantly wealthy as this one; the minute he steps foot in it with his grubby boots and worn - though well-maintained - jacket, he feels immediately out of place, a sense of unease dogging his steps. His footsteps are loud in the echo chamber that is the grand hall. Eventually, he makes his way back to where the keys are, name after name etched on the side of the keychain. It's a trap if he's ever seen one. He hesitates, hand hovering just over the keys, brow furrowed. ]
This is almost certainly a trap.
[ Then, decisively, he yanks it off the wall, then glances behind him towards whoever his companion may be. ]
But it's the best lead we've got. You coming?
[ OOC NOTE: The item I've chosen concerns racism & the diaspora, please only respond to this prompt if those are subjects you're comfortable with! ]
[ EVENT ] b. out and about.
[ After the whole messy incident with the vault, Kim's taken to keeping the toy plane with him, burning a hole in his pocket. In all honesty, it's not something that brings him any solace, any comfort; if anything he feels desperately uncomfortable about it. But after everything, it feels almost sacriligious to leave it in the apartment he's hunkered down in, unguarded, unprotected, the sole personal possession next to the rest of the nondescript apartment. It feels equally as wrong to leave it in the bank where he had found it, as though abandoning it again means --
God, he doesn't know. He's not one for analyzing his own thoughts and feelings. Straight ahead, down his narrow, narrow path. That's how he's always been, how he'll always be. So he puts it firmly out of mind for the time being as he goes along his daily business, pacing about the city, investigating every nook and cranny with a fine tooth comb, and largely trying to keep himself busy, whether that's in the park, in a store, or even roaming once more through City Hall. Whatever public place you can think of, he's there. ]
[ OOC NOTE: We can wrap the event into any of the other prompts as well, but this one is intended for sharing of objects/memories! Please feel free to have your character share theirs first (or have only them share it, without that reciprocation) if you like; I never mind a backstory dump. :) ]
c. daily life (shopping / exercising / a midnight smoke).
[ With little else at his disposal other than the grim dawning realization that if he truly has to start making a functional life for himself here, Kim can be seen during daily life in the City taking what he needs.
Perhaps you find him in the supermarket or convenience store, the handle of his shopping basket nestled in the crook of his shoulder as he stares at the shelves with a light frown on his face, combing the shelves for this and that: salt, cabbage, meat and onions rank chiefly among his purchases, but it looks like he's working his way towards a very bland meal -- that, and he seems to be pretty concerned about getting really badly injured, if the amount of painkillers, bandages, and other first-aid goods are of any indication.
Or perhaps you find him in the park, jogging around its perimeter again, and again, and again, and again... he'll periodically stop, huffing and puffing more than he'd care to fess up to. There's nothing better to do around here, after all, and he feels a certain compulsion to remain in shape (though all embarassing stretches take place in the privacy of his own bedroom; an old man he may be to some here, but he's not old enough to start congregating in the park with the other seniors) to face whatever dangers he's convinced have yet to come. If you catch his eye, he'll nod in greeting with a small smile, wiping the sweat off his brow, suddenly self-conscious. ] Afternoon. Pity there's no gym in this place.
[ Or maybe you're another night owl, coming across Kim leaning against a wall, silhouetted by the street lamps above, staring contemplatively off into the distance as he lights a cigarette. Before he takes a single drag, he takes a deep breath, as though even contemplating his cigarette brings some measure of serenity to his soul. He takes that first drag like an addict does; savouring it, hoping it never comes to an end. But as he blows out a large plume of smoke, he'll look your way, nodding in greeting. If you're clearly of age and look interested, he'll extend the cigarette carton in your direction, asking, ] Want one?
d. weapon creation.
[ It's been long enough that Kim has gathered the fact that all of their weapons have been forcibly taken from them, right down to the blade attachment in his poor multi-tool. With just one glimpse of Kim, it's easy to see that he's not a man who's used to getting into physical altercations all-too often, preferring to rely on the security of his firearm, but it's not as though he can make a gun.
Besides, this isn't purely for self defense. Rather, it's an experiment: if weapons are so highly prohibited, then is the creation of them also prohibited? Will he wake cuffed like that fellow on the network behind him? It's a small punishment, as punishments go, so Kim decides to risk it, heading to park as the sun begins to wane, long shadows cast over the entire area. After gathering some of the natural resources around the park, as well as a few helpful items lifted from shops here and there, he sits cross-legged on the grass and gets to work, beginning by taking some kitchen utensils and industriously hacking away at a particularly sturdy branch to attempt to make a fine point.
From his grumbling, it's not going particularly well. He could really use a hand. ]
Ugh. I could really use my damn knife right about now.
e. wildcard!
[ Wildcard! Feel free to make up your own prompt - Kim can be found out and about the City at large - and I'm happy to roll with it! Feel free to brainstorm with me on my plotting post or hit me up on plurk! I'd be happy to write custom starters as well. ]
no problem, take your time 👍
He sighs, then turns his attention to the small toy in Mr. Kitsuragi's hand, peering at it. He understands the explanation on its face, certainly, but he inspects the small object, peering this way and that, like he's never seen anything like it before. ]
... I don't know what this is. Is it some sort of model vehicle from your world? I see wings, but... Are these outriggers for a watercraft? Or does this fly, like a drone?
[ Every kid has a toy plane, sure... In worlds where airplanes exist. Midnight has no conception of flight at a commercial level, and his fascination with the small craft is simple and sincere. ]
no subject
[ Case in point: his failure to check the network with any regularity. God, he really hates using radiocomputers and all associated devices. But vehicles? With parts he can see, tinker with, understand? That's the sort of thing he enjoys. ]
It's a flying aircraft, yes. [ He pinches it between his fingers so that Midnight can get a better look at it. ] This one is a recreation of Seolite warplane. Generally, it fits one, maybe two people inside it max. It's used for warfare, so... dropping bombs, or shooting down enemy planes. My world has larger aerostatics for passengers as well, carrying them across to different isolas, but I've never had the opportunity to ride one.
[ He looks down at the little toy plane with a bit of fondness. ]
In hindsight, it's an odd thing to give to a child. A weapon of war. And one from a hostile isola, at that. But childrens toys rarely make much sense.
no subject
Toys are aspirational things. That's why children are allowed the freedom of creativity while the interests of the adults tend to be more mundane, broadly acceptable. Fewer excuses to be made.
[ There are no excuses to be made for a lack of logic when the recipient in question has no conception of it. All good stories have good guys and bad guys. One can't just pretend a good guy toy is a bad guy toy... The signs and symbols mean something in a world where very little makes sense.
Midnight touches a finger to the little propeller to see if it will turn, if it's even a propeller at all. ]
A world with flight available to all... How fast that must be. Even the lightest Messenger caravans take weeks to travel between Yan-Lungmen to Victoria over land. Air travel must be much simpler.
no subject
[ His parents must have known that when they had gifted him the silly little thing. That they were selling him an impossible dream. A dream of reading Seolite, a dream of a place where just owning this toy didn't condemn you, a dream of a free Revachol, a dream of a world where he could one day take to the skies.
It isn't the case. He was born in Revachol, and he'll die in Revachol. If they don't die here, that is. ]
To be perfectly honest, that's why I was so surprised to find this toy here. I threw it out. Decades ago.
no subject
A toy representing an opposing nation... Is that what the word you used means? "Isola"? [ He says it with confidence, even if he's not exactly sure if he's remembered it right. (He has. He's just cautious at heart.) ] That is a bit unusual to bring back, yes. Why not choose the hero's mount? Unless you held onto that one out of all the others.
[ "A post-war ruling from the victors". Meaning Mr. Kitsuragi is from an empire. Occupation. ] Or if you're not the type to have illusions of yourself, I suppose. Then this makes perfect sense.
[ ... Midnight's not opposed to making broad guesses. He's also not terribly afraid of the consequences of guessing correctly. ]
no subject
[ Midnight isn't here for a history lecture, though; Kim stops himself before he can continue, biting his tongue. He's aware of his propensity for lecture, especially on topics that fascinate few other people, and is aware of when to stop. ]
I'm sure they gave me this toy due to lingering fondness for their roots, despite the fact that they almost certanly left for a reason -- my grandparents were immigrants from the isola of Seol. [ His lip quirks. ] I suppose they felt that this was my heritage. [ Perish the thought; if he could erase the traces of his heritage from himself, he's certain that he would in a heartbeat. ] I myself am unattached to Seol. So I threw it out. There was no need for me to hold onto something that only served to differentiate myself from the others. [ He rolls his shoulders in a shrug, having cast off his own reluctance to share in favour of an attempt to appear wholly unafffected. ]
So no, I wouldn't say I have any illusions about myself. I'm a Revacholiere through and through. This? Has very little to do with me.
[ It has everything to do with him. But he'd made a decision when he threw it out all those years ago, and he hadn't looked back since. ]
no subject
Language shifts when it's necessary, as far as Midnight knows. He may not be a linguist, but a consummate host must understand words better than most. (And for decades, he was the best.) Perhaps isolas shifted with the times. Perhaps they're still isolated, but in a different sense. ]
It's difficult to leave one's heritage behind. Were that it was as easy as throwing away a toy.
[ Midnight says this quietly, still looking at the little plane. He's thinking through a few threads, picking out words and leaving others on the cutting room floor. Finally, he breaks focus and looks at Mr. Kitsuragi, solemn. ]
Did it work? Were you loved for the Revacholiere you are?
[ If Midnight understands how harsh this question is, how personal it is, how pointed it might sound, he's doing very well at taking that energy and smoothing it down. He's curious. He's asking. He's hoping that it did work, and that the solution for Mr. Kitsuragi was always that easy. He simply doesn't know if that's possible. ]
no subject
So instead of taking offense, he just sighs quietly and gets on with it. ]
I suppose that's what it's going to take, isn't it? Fine. No, of course it didn't. It was a foolish notion. [ His lip quirks upwards. ] In my defense, I was nine at the time.
[ He slips the trinket back in his pocket, wondering briefly if Midnight is speaking from experience. ]
It doesn't matter how you act, or how you were raised. The only thing that matters is how you look. My countrymen will "welcome to Revachol" me until the day I die. [ He shrugs. ] I've made my peace with that, whatever this place may have to say about it.
[ They chose it because it would hurt, but Kim isn't nine anymore, he thinks to himself, stubborn as ever. They're going to have to try harder than this. ]
no subject
He's just here for the door in spirit, anyway. What he does is look gently at Mr. Kitsuragi, and think: Kitsuragi is the name of a man who lives in Higashi, if not in Seol. Strange. ]
I'm sorry that you had to tell me such things under these circumstances. [ ... ] I ran away from home when I was a boy. Twice. The first time didn't stick.
[ Midnight looks to the door, then turns back to Mr. Kitsuragi, hops off the table, and grins, a lopsided thing. ]
There's quite a bit more to the story, but perhaps we should try the door first. I just didn't want you airing yours alone.
[ He stretches, saunters to the door. It's enough sharing, Midnight thinks, to warrant an exchange, even if the city doesn't think much of it. (Midnight thinks much of it, as he always does.) ]
no subject
But Midnight has shown him nothing but kindness in return, so it's not worth dwelling on. A nice enough man, Kim thinks, underneath different circumstances. ]
You don't have to tell me. If you don't want to. Though... I agree that it's a little unfair that they only saw fit to make me share, [ he says, some of the iciness melting away to a small smile, blink-and-you'll-miss-it quick. He turns soon after that, testing out the door. There is a click! and it glides open. Kim lets out a long exhale of relief, not having realized how worried he was he'd have to get further into it for them to be afforded their freedom. ]
You're right. That did it. About time, too.
no subject
Midnight pats his pocket, making sure both the eye and the jar of sugar are still inside, then laughs. ]
Glad that leg of this adventure is over. I think this calls for a drink.
[ He turns to Mr. Kitsuragi, slowly meandering his way back out to the lobby, walking backward. ]
Join me. I'll continue my little story, mm? For your time and trouble, I'd say... you should stop me if you get bored, and we can talk about something else. Take your mind off of all this, mm?
[ Midnight grins. Either he has an incredibly good sense of humor about the uncomfortable parts of his own past, or he also finds his own stories boring. ]
no subject
I'm a better listener than I am a speaker. I can assure you I won't get bored, [ he says, holding the door open for him. He hasn't hit up any of the bars yet - are there even bars here? - so instead he holds one arm open wide, invitingly, ] Lead the way, Midnight.
no subject
[ Midnight obliges, seeing as how he's a frequent drinker and made a point to figure out where his favorite drinking haunts are within days of his arrival. He begins the walk to the nearest one he knows of, hands in his pockets as he thinks about how to begin. ]
There were several things I understood about myself, conceptually, when I was young, that only really proved to have consequences later. Like... perhaps my love for books made me a bit more hesitant to take risks in reality, but that only really reared its head when I was expected to do so as an adult. Things like that.
I knew that I was a Sarkaz growing up — that there were only a handful of Sarkaz families in Southern Higashi, where I grew up, that my family, for whatever reason, was acquainted with every other Sarkaz we ever encountered — but it was only when I ran from home that it became apparent that the Sarkaz were... rather different from a native of Higashi.
[ Midnight pauses for a moment, though his feet keep walking. ]
Mr. Kitsuragi... Did you ever have difficulties finding a job in your Revachol?
no subject
[ Did him being Seolite have anything to do with it? Maybe, maybe not. It's something that he had entertained, scrubbing floors and begging to be allowed some sort of apprenticeship at the garage, ringing in groceries, pinching every reál and cetim he could. But it's just as likely that every other poor kid in Revachol had as much trouble, so he didn't feel it benefitted him to make assumptions one way or the other.
Still, he knows a leading question when he hears one, his gaze upon Midnight level but curious. ]
You had trouble yourself, I take it? Because of your heritage?
[ Not just his heritage, it seems. Or, rather, it may not be necessarily racial. To be tied to a specific family is more specific, more insidious than your garden variety racist, Kim would assume. ]
no subject
[ Midnight keeps walking. Because of his heritage... huh. ]
It didn't amount to much, though. Yes, I had trouble. Or, to be more precise, my choices were very simple, but the pickings were rather slim.
I was... sixteen? Seventeen? When I decided to run from home. Here...
[ He pushes the door open for both of them and begins to walk down the sidewalk. He checks for street signs, but mostly walks unperturbed. He spent most of his first month getting familiar with the streets in the first district. Instinct. ]
Once I was out on the street, I was faced with a certain choice. You see, twenty years ago, Higashi was in around the fifth year of a civil war. The Mitsumoto and the Kougon clans, the diarchy, could never leave well enough alone... Well, it was none of my business. Businesses who dared keep their doors open were few and far in between, and due to the nature of my escape, I really had nothing to my name. No connections, nothing to leverage.
[ Midnight laughs again. ]
Really... It was inevitable. I got my first offer to run errands for the men who enforced petty loans. Some Ægir walked up to me, said they needed a lookout while certain parties settled a debt with a recalcitrant street vendor. A week later, I spent several hours hiding from a certain set of gentlemen who swore that they saw a real Sarkaz. Young, healthy, surely looking to prove himself through classic Sarkaz mercenary work. And, of course... The Mitsumoto clan was always looking for fresh infantry.
It was all like that. Not a single offer to deliver papers, to run errands, to sweep doorways. Not because those weren't beyond my ability. No... I was special.
[ The smile on his face is sharp. ]
All I needed to do was prove myself, and I would have gotten very far.
You see... There was another war before the Kougon-Mitsumoto conflicts. The Bloodpeak Campaign, they called it. Ursus invading the borders of Higashi. That was the first time many, many Higashinese had ever seen a Sarkaz, the rank and file mercenaries of the Ursus forces. Because what a Sarkaz is is a soldier. A sword for hire. Diseased, doomed for death. Nationless.
[ When Midnight says that word, it's with some contempt, some bitterness. Vicious irony. ]
no subject
It becomes evident, too, why Midnight had been so matter-of-fact about Kim's own plight. His own is far more dramatic, a distinct bloodline known throughout the nation, a stigma far more severe than what was laid upon Kim's shoulders, but similar nonetheless; nationless, even in their own nation. His lips thin as he registers that, though the gentleness in his eyes does not waver. ]
I'm beginning to understand what you're getting at. It was all decided for you long before you were born.
[ He has more questions -- about the nature of Sarkaz, how they could even tell, but he'd like to see Midnight's tale to fruition first. ]
I'm getting the impression that you didn't become a mercenary. Am I right?
cw: underage sex work mention
No. There is one other industry that war touches last, one that takes anyone, although I had to go seek it out for myself.
[ He scratches the back of his head. They've been walking for a while now. Midnight couldn't say whether it feels too long or too short; it just feels like the time doesn't fit in the space it should take up. ]
I went to the redlight district, and an escorting establishment took me in.
[ ... Midnight laughs again. ]
I wasn't any good at it, you know. I liked reading books. I was terribly shy, never spoke up for myself. When strangers would come up to me, I would freeze. Nothing would come to mind. Or, rather, I could think of everything to say, but lacked the courage to say it. Never mind the intimacy the job requires...
[ ... He shrugs. ]
I grew past that, eventually. I was very interested in surviving, you see, and these things are very learnable skills. It simply took some time.
cw mention of racial fetishistic behaviour
Most escorting establishments would cast out anyone frail enough to freeze up like that; there's only a certain kind of man who enjoys that response, and it's not the sort of man that any reputable establishment wants to make their consumer base. But it's different for Midnight, isn't it? He was no ordinary boy. He was exotic. ]
That sounds about right, [ he says thoughtfully. ] In wartime, it's one or the other, isn't it? Fight, or...
[ Fuck. He's not so crass as to voice it aloud, though he doubts Midnight will take offense. Nor does he express his sympathy, not precisely; as sympathetic as his plight is, he doubts that the man wants anyone's pity. ]
Well, we do what we must. And is that where you remained? Even after you gained some semblance of stability? I imagine you were quite popular, once you got used to it. [ Realizing the implication, he hastens to add: ] If people can tell what you are just by looking at you, I know men of certain tastes consider the idea of bedding a minority to be a novelty -- a trophy.
cw: fantasy racism (slurs)
He turns to Mr. Kitsuragi, not exactly smiling, but far from disapproving. Disappointment, but in the sense that, even across worlds, these things are far easier to divine than they ever should be. That humans are humans, and there's no escaping it. ]
It's the eyes, see. The color is very specific to my species.
[ "Pink-eyed", a memory of a word hurled at him by a drunken soldier. His companions had shuttled him off very quickly, apologized for his mouth. Assured the staff that he was harmless, really, that the drink got the better of him. ]
That was the advertising from the start. Once I got my legs under me, once I realized how to use the image... I was the Fiend. Demon King of the Eastern Night. "Ma-ou". The Devil.
[ "Devil" has the same tone as "Pink-eyed". Neither bad, individually. Not without context. Simple slips of the tongue, really.
Midnight pauses then. ]
Never once wanted to harm another person in my life. It was sort of overwhelming, really, how many people expected me to be... wilder than I am, I suppose. I still like books. I spend a lot of time alone.
[ ... Midnight shrugs. ]
I made money. More than enough. I was fortunate enough to be in a position to help others, eventually. Repay my clients' kindness, pay off debts. My parents' retirement.
[ Because he did that too, despite running from his father. A Higashinese never abandons their parents, no matter the circumstances. The culture runs deep.
They approach the bar Midnight had been steering toward. He opens the door, lets Mr. Kitsuragi in. ]
no subject
[ How they could tell, that was. How strange, to have a genes so powerful that something as specific as an eye colour can be passed down from generation to generation, despite people from other races presumably being thrown into the mix. Of course, Kim's one to talk; he is only half Seolite himself, but to any observer, he's no different from any full-blooded Seolite.
He listens patiently, nodding along. A sorry fate to be doomed to; a pacifist, expected to be everything but. Few people have to labour underneath a fate of endless violence without choosing it, at least in part, pressured by their family but rarely by every soul that they meet. Even worse, to have others expect the same wildness in bed. ]
It's the way things go, isn't it? If the world works against your favour, then you have to find a way to spin it so that it benefits you instead.
[ Even if it's killing you, a death by a thousand cuts. He nods his thanks at Midnight, entering in front of him and slipping behind the bar to rifle through the offerings. ]
Sounds like you made enough to retire yourself. You could spend the rest of your days in solitude, with your books. [ He runs a thumb past the line of brightly coloured bottles. ] What would you like?
no subject
[ Midnight doesn't think about these things in terms of what made sense, what was good, what was bad. If anything, he thinks about it in terms of what he survived. Because that's all that matters. You survive, you get to the next day, and the next day has a chance of being better, or worse, but at least it's there. Some people aren't as lucky.
Mostly, though, he doesn't think about it at all. ]
I could. Had a bit of a break, though. Started a new stage of my life. The money isn't nearly as good, but the library on the landship is quite nice.
[ He's spoken about his past with a bit of distance, but this part is quite warm. Cheerful, even. ]
no subject
[ He picks a bottle up anyway, the sort of drink he usually goes for -- something dark and brown and strong. One could say it's his favourite, but that's not accurate. The real truth of the matter is that he had been young and insecure and had decided that his signature drink would be one as masculine as possible, as though to prove himself. After that, he had just gotten used to it.
And Kim is nothing if not a man of habit. In short order, he slides two glasses onto the bar, dropping an ice cube in each one, and filling them with two fingers of scotch. ]
Santé. [ Cheers. ]
Good for you. [ It could sound like a platitude - it is a platitude - but Kim sounds genuinely pleased for him, that he was able to move on. ] A landship -- what is that, exactly? A vessel that has been permanently beached?
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[ Midnight raises his glass in return, a toast of his own, and drinks, feeling his throat numbing as it goes down. Perhaps he enjoys alcohol now, but he started with his own inadequacies about liquor. Perhaps not in the same way, but in the same spirit. Trying to live up to an expectation. Survival.
He sets his glass down, sighing. Numb. It's a wonder he's kept himself mostly from alcoholism. Too much to do. (In its own way, the work has always been its own kind of numb.) ]
Mm? Oh no. [ Midnight waves his hand, grinning easily. This is a much lighter topic, one that he's still getting used to having to explain, but is far more enjoyable. ] A landship travels across land, much as a regular sort of ship sails the coast. Treads instead of a sail and rudder, like a gigantic tank. My company's landship is rather sizable, given that it's a vessel funded by the corporation, but it's really nothing compared to the nomadic cities.
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His expression brightens with earnest curiosity as Midnight continues to explain. Kim has long since been a lover of anything mechanical. His specialty is in automobiles, of course (it's the only thing he can get his hands on), but he's been known to stop and gawk at the cranes he walks past on the docks on a regular basis, his eyes lighting up every time they alight on a new mechanical monstrosity. The idea of a massive tank is as exciting as it is outlandish. ]
A gigantic tank? And nomadic cities? I've never heard of such a thing before. For what purpose? [ He shakes his head. ] I've never even seen an ordinary tank in person before.
[ If he did, it would mean war had come to Revachol.
He'd still like to see one, though. ]
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[ Midnight shrugs, turning his glass slightly, watching the light glint off the ice. ]
They move because they must. I'm assuming that the cities of your isola are permanent settlements, then? With no great natural disasters once every few years that necessitate the relocation of a metropolitan area within a month or so. No Catastrophes, as it were.
[ The idea that permanent cities exist is just as odd to Midnight, although he can see, historically, how those things came to be. Pre-Catastrophe era, he's perfectly aware that there were civilizations that built without fear of the threat of Originium hanging over their heads. It's just not the current reality in Terra, and he's had to get used to the fact that he can look up at a sky that looks so dramatically different from his own and know that this, for some, is normal. ]
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