(Tsurumaru has enjoyed tea for almost a long as he can remember but he's never seen tea like this. It's different from the smaller and more intimate tea ceremonies he's used to observing and taking part in. This looks like it's more for a party.
It isn't in his character to stick strange food into his mouth but suddenly, there's a feeling in his mind. It's like an electric signal urging him to try a cup and objectively, he realizes how careless that is, even for him. The impulse is too strong to fight off even if he knows better and he pours himself a cup. Even when he brings the tea cup to his lips, he keeps thinking this is a bad idea but he can't seem to stop himself.
Black tea is more bitter and stronger than the green teas he's more accustomed to drinking but he doesn't dislike it. He thinks something like this would go well with something sweet and rich. When he sets his cup down on the saucer, there's a delicate clink…
… and a small chip of something falls onto the table.
Maybe it's the sound that makes Tsurumaru flinch and bring a hand up to his face. His fingers trace something on his cheek and his first instinct is that he's some how been cut but then he feels that tiny, little piece that is missing. It's so small, it's barely noticeable but he knows what's wrong. He isn't cut. His skin is cracked and has begun to shatter just slightly.
On the table, the chip flashes in the light— a piece of not flesh but metal.)
Unaesthetic Repair (cw: body horror)
(After the tea party but before finding the antidote, Tsurumaru can be found in the city proper. He's going through the shelves of a convenience store or a pharmacy until he finds a packet of bandages. When he tries to open it, he drops the package onto the floor and looks at his hand.
It looks like his hands are covered in scratches but the cuts are too straight. A closer look reveals the cuts are shatter lines. Some of them are shallow but others look quite deep but there's no blood. In fact, it's almost like it isn't really skin but something more inorganic— like ceramic, perhaps? It's minor but one of his nails just broke trying to undo the seal. Maybe it's because he has to use his hands so much… the shattering is much worse on his fingers than it is on his face which still remains shallow.
He picks up the package very gently and looks over to you,)
Could you help me open these? (And he smiles naturally, totally light and perfectly relaxed, the cracks on his face obvious for anyone to see,) I can't use my hands well.
Wildcard
Also happy to play around with other effects or deal with other people's suffering. Come at me!!!
[Shinjiro Aragaki is having a terrible day. That's nothing new of course; he's rarely had particularly good days in general for the last couple years, let alone at this time of year or this day specifically, but his attempts to find a quiet place to sit with his thoughts have thus far led him past a creepy tea party and gossipy flowers, and he rather preferred it when this place leaves them to their own devices in all its abandoned glory.
He may or may not have punched an ill-advised wall at one point after the flowers incident, though, so he's in said convenience store looking for ice himself when Tsuru approaches him, and -- sorry, the eyebrows are going up, disappearing into his beanie.]
(Oh it's the guy he indirectly attacked with a ping pong ball.)
Yo.
(He can still be polite. He can still great him casually like he isn't chipping and cracking in places.)
Are you surprised? I was, too.
(He's fine. He can act normal... which means acting as whimsical as ever but there's definitely something off. No one can really be fine when they're like this, right?)
Maybe it's stress.
(And that's why he's cracking. This is a joke. Maybe.)
[If this were happening to him he'd find the nearest hole to crawl into and die rather than act normal about it, so ... excuse the visible and teenage eyeroll at the joke, Tsuru.]
What, this town not all it's cracked up to be? Tch.
[His own hand could be in better shape but he'll deal with that later. It's not bad enough that he can't open a cardboard box. He huffs, loudly, and stomps forward to close the distance between them before .... taking the box very gently, actually, so as not to hurt him worse. Don't tell anyone he gives a fuck, Tsuru, that'd be rude.
The box is instead the one viciously savaged like a wild animal--which is to say he missed peeling one of those little bits of tape in one corner and just ripped the thing in frustration instead when it refused to open but it's fine, not like he was going to put it back anyway.]
(He will not ignore it because he definitely sees it. In fact, if it didn't worry him so much to move his face too much, he'd smile more at it. Shinjiro may the edges of his mouth raise a little more but he raises one cracked hand to his face to hold it in place.
Grateful, he holds his out hand out to him without causing more trouble. And almost like he's embarrassed, he looks away and down. He doesn't want anyone to see him like this but here he is, out in the open,)
For now.
(There's something almost... resigned in the way he replies,)
Unless you can repair me... the best I can do is keep things together.
[There's something weird about that wording, "repair me" when most people would refer to healing or treating an injury or illness, but only half-registers in the back of his mind, because the sentiment itself rubs him the wrong way and he's irrationally annoyed about it.]
Bullshit. If that were true, you wouldn't risk makin' it worse comin' out here tryin' to do this by yourself. You're hiding it.
[Which--if Tsuru wants to do that, it's none of his business. He's hardly about to meddle in this guy's relationships. But the resignation in his tone bugs him. Like he's just going to let this happen to him even if he doesn't want it to. Shinjiro had chosen his own self-destruction, had walked into it willingly; the idea of someone just suffering in silence for no reason save wanting to avoid worrying others feels infuriating.]
(His tone might be cutting but Tsurumaru is used to being cut. He doesn't flinch. He doesn't even really seem to react much at all. Instead, he keeps his same, cool composure, )
Of course, I don't want to be seen like this. It's ugly.
(In more than just an aesthetic sense,)
And ugly things are scary. Especially to sensitive spirits.
[Alhaitham sits in a chair pulled slightly away from the table, pen to the journal in his lap and watching as Tsurumaru approaches and regards the tea laid out. Alhaitham hasn't drank it--he's felt the urge, of course, and then compressed it deep down with the realization that if he's being tempted it is a manipulation into something he would not want.
He can't stop anyone else from giving it a try, though. Or won't. It's all the same result, which is him watching to record the consequences of other people's actions.
So he watches with intent as Tsurumaru picks up the cup, as he drinks front it, and as the light glints strangely and there's the subtle tink of metal on wood.
Alhaitham sits up and leans forward to see what's wrong.]
(He knows he isn't alone. He may not have the best vision at times but he isn't totally blind. He'd simply paid no mind to Alhaitham. In fact, he'd completely forgotten him when he'd been in whatever trance earlier. He becomes aware of the other man once more but he's more pre-occupied with other things.
With his finger, he presses down on the shard but instead of bending easily, he feels his whole hand go rigid and stiff. The joints of his fingers crack lightly and he freezes, studying it carefully. )
...
(It doesn't make sense, he thinks. If his true form isn't here then he shouldn't be able to break like this. That is, of course, unless something has happened to his true form. It's hard to feel when his sense is so dull in this city but seeing the cracks, feeling the way parts of his body feel a little more delicate... he feels his heart drop into his stomach but he has to stay cool.
He has to keep himself together.
He isn't the only one here. Nansen is depending on him. He's responsible for him, too. He can't break here. He has duties to uphold.
Remembering Alhaithm once more, he speaks plainly,)
If you want to surprise me, you should say you're a divine sage.
(Not a regular sage but a divine one. A priest or priestess with sacred powers.)
(Of course, he holds it well. He's had centuries to perfect his act.)
How boring!
(He sounds like he's whining and he lets out a loud and dramatic sigh. That's right. There's no point in despairing or crying right now so he holds his head up high, keeps his chest out, and turns to Alhaitham. On pale, white skin, the crack is a thin dark line, the missing spot like a freckle,
Though small, he wraps his fist around the chip, )
It's the least you can do after sitting back and watching.
(The last time they had met had been under similar, hadn't it? He'd been studying away, observing something in the city,)
Unfortunately for you, I can't develop such a skill in seconds. [He shrugs, feeling utterly blameless after he just sat and watched.]
I saw you drink the black tea. [And he starts to write as he talks, gaze drifting to the page.] Once you set your cup down, a small fragment of your face flaked off. Based upon the reflection of the light, it's a piece of metal. Since your fingers have also begun an abnormal creaking sound, it seems that the tea has caused some sort of alteration to your body changing it into another material.
(He doesn't know. He's never heard of humans learning to divine and sense spirits but he supposes it isn't beyond the realm of belief.)
Is that what you saw? (It isn't wrong. Not completely. In fact, it's quite accurate. In response, he holds out his fist to Alhaitham and opens it, revealing the piece of pale steel in his palm.) Would you like to feel it?
That's how it is for humans, isn't it? It isn't enough to just see things. It has to be experienced with your other senses or else it's just a curiosity; something not really understood.
(He's used to being talked about. From the moment he first became alive and gained awareness, he was aware of his beauty because it had always been a topic of discussion; one of the most beautiful swords in Japan, beautiful enough to rival Mikazuki Munechika, a perfect example of craftsmanship, a highly desirable treasure.
So at first, he pays no attention to the flowers that whisper and gossip as he makes his way through. Even if it's bad attention, it's still attention, he rationalizes, and attention from insignificant things mean nothing to him.)
"— What a beautiful sword but being beautiful is all he's good for." "— Yes, that's right. How many masters has he failed?" "— The only thing he brings is grief and misery. "— Isn't he supposed to be like a crane? He can't even live up to his name." "— Perhaps that's why he—"
(The narcissus never has a chance to finish as Tsurumaru buries it under his heel, grinding it into the dirt until there's nothing but a yellow paste in the dirt. To those who know him, the way he looks down at the ground in uncharacteristically dark and unimpressed. His gold eyes seem dark and there's a sharp air around him, like if anyone got close to him, they might get hurt.
The flowers go quiet and pull back for just a moment. They whisper to themselves, their voices too low to really make out what they're saying anymore.
When Tsurumaru notices that he isn't alone, he looks over. For just a brief second, he looks different— older, more tired, and more miserable— but in an instant, he smiles perfectly, his eyes bright and friendly. It's like a different Tsurumaru and he waves,)
Haha! I've heard flowers have a language but I've never heard a flower really speak! I'm surprised...
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Also down to have Tsuru fight with some flowers or overhear gossip about your characters instead!
I wouldn't know much about the language of flowers, but I'm fairly certain that these fellows wouldn't have much worth speaking about, no matter which language they chose.
[ Midnight grins in return, though. There are some things that go unsaid with a shift like that. Best to move on for now. ]
I'm much better company though. Perhaps we should spend some time together instead, mm?
[ Demon king tries to play the hero, a flower murmurs nearby. You can't change what you are, you know. This will never be enough.
Midnight ignores it. He's asking someone out on a date. Much more important. ]
(He's an old spirit. He's seen flowers used for all sorts of secret and not-so-secret exchanges but for now, he'd rather focus on his new and much more welcomed distraction.
A demon king? Well, this isn't his first demon nor his first king.)
"I love you." "I hate you." "I wish you would die." "I miss you." "I'm thinking of you."
(And he's practically skipping over towards Midnight now. All the while, the flowers continue to whisper. There he goes. Looking for attention. Acting out. He doesn't know what he wants. Closing the distance so he can stand in front of Midnight, he holds out his hand,)
I could teach you. Unless, you have something more interesting to share.
Ah... hanakotoba? I know nothing about it. I've been meaning to learn about flower language, but I haven't found the right teacher. How very serendipitous. Teach me.
[ Midnight laughs, takes his new friend's hand. If his new friend wants attention, he'll give it. He's the same way, after all. He understands what it's like. ]
Forgive me for a bit of selfishness. I am actually a fascinating person, with hundreds of interesting thoughts and stories to share, but I much prefer learning to talking. I promise I'll offer up something else in return.
[ He tilts his head, starts tugging his friend along.
Careful. Don't let him see too much. No weaknesses for Ma-ou. ]
(Long, delicate fingers wrap around Midnight's hands but he keeps his grip light, as if he could slip away at any moment.)
How eager.
(And here he thought most people were bored of the old ways in thsi new city.)
Service for service, then? (The thought of learning something new is exciting when you're an old spirit like him. Of course, he wouldn't mind a story, either.) If you could offer something new, I would be surprised.
(He's bored. He's so bored he could die. Is that what he wants? He doesn't know what he wants.)
That's right, that's right!
(And the flowers whisper and they gossip and he can only laugh it all off,)
I'm so bored! I could really go for a surprise right now!
Midnight suddenly stops, letting the stranger bump into him, then turns, catches him under the chin, and tilts his face up. He gets in close, looking intently into golden eyes.
The devil sells cheap, fake happiness.
Then grins, pecks that forehead, and lets go. ]
I'll let you have a real surprise when you're ready, love. Let's be off.
[ The kind of happiness that dries out and dies. ]
Anyhow, I still don't know what I'll give you... Do you like music?
[ Unfortunately for Tsurumaru, Chesed's heard enough to realize there are plenty of woes riding on the sword's shoulders. But everyone carries a skeleton or two in their closets, so he merely offers the other a small smile. ]
Indeed, there are plenty of peculiarities about this city.
[ Behind him, the flowers begin to whisper: "Coward." "A shameless traitor." "He couldn't even save a single person." "Maybe if he tried hard enough, no one would have had to die."
Chesed, however, doesn't appear to mind. They speak the truth; he has nothing to say for himself, no words to refute any of their claims. ]
Hm. I've seen a sentient flower or two in my time, but these ones are certainly much chattier.
(That moment when Tsurumaru can't tell if the flowers are talking about him or the other person. It makes his mood feel more rotten but in front of someone else, he does the same thing he always has: keep it together.)
It sounds like you're from a curious place!
(He's never seen a sentient flower.)
Which do you prefer? The ones you know or these?
(He's just looking for a distraction. This sounds familiar. Remember how they sang before they died? Remember how he led them all?)
(He looks down at his heel, at the crushed flowers beneath his foot and at the flowers around him that now seem to go silent as if sensing his thoughts. He's considering it.)
If we plucked them, they would die slowly. (Withering up bit by bit each day until they die pitiful and ugly. And would they keep talking after being plucked?) It would be boring.
[ He's not really opposed to grinding any flowers under his foot. It does, however, seem like an unnecessarily extreme manner to dispose of them. ]
Hmm, no, I don't think there's anyone for me to offer one of these flowers.
[ Chesed moves to join the other man near the flower bed. He crouches down by one, scrutinizing all of the plant's features. One by one, the flowers begin to whisper amongst themselves again.
"He threw away all the comforts of his life and has nothing to show for it."
"His family was right for rejecting his decision."
"You were in charge of employee welfare, but you let everyone die."
Chesed can only shrug in response. None of it is wrong. ]
Then, what would be more exciting compared to plucking them one by one?
[ He doesn't mind providing a distraction at all. ]
[She laughs softly, talking flowers? That's a first, especially for a place that seemed so very quiet. And to be making what appeared to be pointed jabs at someone... well, it seemed there was still ever so much more for this city to offer!]
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open: tea party (cw: body horror)
It isn't in his character to stick strange food into his mouth but suddenly, there's a feeling in his mind. It's like an electric signal urging him to try a cup and objectively, he realizes how careless that is, even for him. The impulse is too strong to fight off even if he knows better and he pours himself a cup. Even when he brings the tea cup to his lips, he keeps thinking this is a bad idea but he can't seem to stop himself.
Black tea is more bitter and stronger than the green teas he's more accustomed to drinking but he doesn't dislike it. He thinks something like this would go well with something sweet and rich. When he sets his cup down on the saucer, there's a delicate clink…
… and a small chip of something falls onto the table.
Maybe it's the sound that makes Tsurumaru flinch and bring a hand up to his face. His fingers trace something on his cheek and his first instinct is that he's some how been cut but then he feels that tiny, little piece that is missing. It's so small, it's barely noticeable but he knows what's wrong. He isn't cut. His skin is cracked and has begun to shatter just slightly.
On the table, the chip flashes in the light— a piece of not flesh but metal.)
Unaesthetic Repair (cw: body horror)
It looks like his hands are covered in scratches but the cuts are too straight. A closer look reveals the cuts are shatter lines. Some of them are shallow but others look quite deep but there's no blood. In fact, it's almost like it isn't really skin but something more inorganic— like ceramic, perhaps? It's minor but one of his nails just broke trying to undo the seal. Maybe it's because he has to use his hands so much… the shattering is much worse on his fingers than it is on his face which still remains shallow.
He picks up the package very gently and looks over to you,)
Could you help me open these? (And he smiles naturally, totally light and perfectly relaxed, the cracks on his face obvious for anyone to see,) I can't use my hands well.
Wildcard
unaesthetic repair
He may or may not have punched an ill-advised wall at one point after the flowers incident, though, so he's in said convenience store looking for ice himself when Tsuru approaches him, and -- sorry, the eyebrows are going up, disappearing into his beanie.]
Shit. The hell happened to you?
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Yo.
(He can still be polite. He can still great him casually like he isn't chipping and cracking in places.)
Are you surprised? I was, too.
(He's fine. He can act normal... which means acting as whimsical as ever but there's definitely something off. No one can really be fine when they're like this, right?)
Maybe it's stress.
(And that's why he's cracking. This is a joke. Maybe.)
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What, this town not all it's cracked up to be? Tch.
[His own hand could be in better shape but he'll deal with that later. It's not bad enough that he can't open a cardboard box. He huffs, loudly, and stomps forward to close the distance between them before .... taking the box very gently, actually, so as not to hurt him worse. Don't tell anyone he gives a fuck, Tsuru, that'd be rude.
The box is instead the one viciously savaged like a wild animal--which is to say he missed peeling one of those little bits of tape in one corner and just ripped the thing in frustration instead when it refused to open but it's fine, not like he was going to put it back anyway.]
You just gonna cover that shit up?
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Grateful, he holds his out hand out to him without causing more trouble. And almost like he's embarrassed, he looks away and down. He doesn't want anyone to see him like this but here he is, out in the open,)
For now.
(There's something almost... resigned in the way he replies,)
Unless you can repair me... the best I can do is keep things together.
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Bullshit. If that were true, you wouldn't risk makin' it worse comin' out here tryin' to do this by yourself. You're hiding it.
[Which--if Tsuru wants to do that, it's none of his business. He's hardly about to meddle in this guy's relationships. But the resignation in his tone bugs him. Like he's just going to let this happen to him even if he doesn't want it to. Shinjiro had chosen his own self-destruction, had walked into it willingly; the idea of someone just suffering in silence for no reason save wanting to avoid worrying others feels infuriating.]
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Of course, I don't want to be seen like this. It's ugly.
(In more than just an aesthetic sense,)
And ugly things are scary. Especially to sensitive spirits.
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cw reference to depression/death wish/attempted murder
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Tea Break
He can't stop anyone else from giving it a try, though. Or won't. It's all the same result, which is him watching to record the consequences of other people's actions.
So he watches with intent as Tsurumaru picks up the cup, as he drinks front it, and as the light glints strangely and there's the subtle tink of metal on wood.
Alhaitham sits up and leans forward to see what's wrong.]
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With his finger, he presses down on the shard but instead of bending easily, he feels his whole hand go rigid and stiff. The joints of his fingers crack lightly and he freezes, studying it carefully. )
...
(It doesn't make sense, he thinks. If his true form isn't here then he shouldn't be able to break like this. That is, of course, unless something has happened to his true form. It's hard to feel when his sense is so dull in this city but seeing the cracks, feeling the way parts of his body feel a little more delicate... he feels his heart drop into his stomach but he has to stay cool.
He has to keep himself together.
He isn't the only one here. Nansen is depending on him. He's responsible for him, too. He can't break here. He has duties to uphold.
Remembering Alhaithm once more, he speaks plainly,)
If you want to surprise me, you should say you're a divine sage.
(Not a regular sage but a divine one. A priest or priestess with sacred powers.)
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Alhaitham watches.] Then I'm not going to surprise you.
[He was an Acting Grand Sage, though? That counts for nothing.]
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How boring!
(He sounds like he's whining and he lets out a loud and dramatic sigh. That's right. There's no point in despairing or crying right now so he holds his head up high, keeps his chest out, and turns to Alhaitham. On pale, white skin, the crack is a thin dark line, the missing spot like a freckle,
Though small, he wraps his fist around the chip, )
It's the least you can do after sitting back and watching.
(The last time they had met had been under similar, hadn't it? He'd been studying away, observing something in the city,)
What did you see with those eyes?
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I saw you drink the black tea. [And he starts to write as he talks, gaze drifting to the page.] Once you set your cup down, a small fragment of your face flaked off. Based upon the reflection of the light, it's a piece of metal. Since your fingers have also begun an abnormal creaking sound, it seems that the tea has caused some sort of alteration to your body changing it into another material.
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(He doesn't know. He's never heard of humans learning to divine and sense spirits but he supposes it isn't beyond the realm of belief.)
Is that what you saw? (It isn't wrong. Not completely. In fact, it's quite accurate. In response, he holds out his fist to Alhaitham and opens it, revealing the piece of pale steel in his palm.) Would you like to feel it?
That's how it is for humans, isn't it? It isn't enough to just see things. It has to be experienced with your other senses or else it's just a curiosity; something not really understood.
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open: poison garden
So at first, he pays no attention to the flowers that whisper and gossip as he makes his way through. Even if it's bad attention, it's still attention, he rationalizes, and attention from insignificant things mean nothing to him.)
"— What a beautiful sword but being beautiful is all he's good for."
"— Yes, that's right. How many masters has he failed?"
"— The only thing he brings is grief and misery.
"— Isn't he supposed to be like a crane? He can't even live up to his name."
"— Perhaps that's why he—"
(The narcissus never has a chance to finish as Tsurumaru buries it under his heel, grinding it into the dirt until there's nothing but a yellow paste in the dirt. To those who know him, the way he looks down at the ground in uncharacteristically dark and unimpressed. His gold eyes seem dark and there's a sharp air around him, like if anyone got close to him, they might get hurt.
The flowers go quiet and pull back for just a moment. They whisper to themselves, their voices too low to really make out what they're saying anymore.
When Tsurumaru notices that he isn't alone, he looks over. For just a brief second, he looks different— older, more tired, and more miserable— but in an instant, he smiles perfectly, his eyes bright and friendly. It's like a different Tsurumaru and he waves,)
Haha! I've heard flowers have a language but I've never heard a flower really speak! I'm surprised...
Wildcard
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[ Midnight grins in return, though. There are some things that go unsaid with a shift like that. Best to move on for now. ]
I'm much better company though. Perhaps we should spend some time together instead, mm?
[ Demon king tries to play the hero, a flower murmurs nearby. You can't change what you are, you know. This will never be enough.
Midnight ignores it. He's asking someone out on a date. Much more important. ]
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(He's an old spirit. He's seen flowers used for all sorts of secret and not-so-secret exchanges but for now, he'd rather focus on his new and much more welcomed distraction.
A demon king? Well, this isn't his first demon nor his first king.)
"I love you." "I hate you." "I wish you would die." "I miss you." "I'm thinking of you."
(And he's practically skipping over towards Midnight now. All the while, the flowers continue to whisper. There he goes. Looking for attention. Acting out. He doesn't know what he wants. Closing the distance so he can stand in front of Midnight, he holds out his hand,)
I could teach you. Unless, you have something more interesting to share.
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[ Midnight laughs, takes his new friend's hand. If his new friend wants attention, he'll give it. He's the same way, after all. He understands what it's like. ]
Forgive me for a bit of selfishness. I am actually a fascinating person, with hundreds of interesting thoughts and stories to share, but I much prefer learning to talking. I promise I'll offer up something else in return.
[ He tilts his head, starts tugging his friend along.
Careful. Don't let him see too much. No weaknesses for Ma-ou. ]
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How eager.
(And here he thought most people were bored of the old ways in thsi new city.)
Service for service, then? (The thought of learning something new is exciting when you're an old spirit like him. Of course, he wouldn't mind a story, either.) If you could offer something new, I would be surprised.
(He's bored. He's so bored he could die. Is that what he wants? He doesn't know what he wants.)
That's right, that's right!
(And the flowers whisper and they gossip and he can only laugh it all off,)
I'm so bored! I could really go for a surprise right now!
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Midnight suddenly stops, letting the stranger bump into him, then turns, catches him under the chin, and tilts his face up. He gets in close, looking intently into golden eyes.
The devil sells cheap, fake happiness.
Then grins, pecks that forehead, and lets go. ]
I'll let you have a real surprise when you're ready, love. Let's be off.
[ The kind of happiness that dries out and dies. ]
Anyhow, I still don't know what I'll give you... Do you like music?
1/2
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Indeed, there are plenty of peculiarities about this city.
[ Behind him, the flowers begin to whisper: "Coward." "A shameless traitor." "He couldn't even save a single person." "Maybe if he tried hard enough, no one would have had to die."
Chesed, however, doesn't appear to mind. They speak the truth; he has nothing to say for himself, no words to refute any of their claims. ]
Hm. I've seen a sentient flower or two in my time, but these ones are certainly much chattier.
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It sounds like you're from a curious place!
(He's never seen a sentient flower.)
Which do you prefer? The ones you know or these?
(He's just looking for a distraction. This sounds familiar. Remember how they sang before they died? Remember how he led them all?)
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Oh, I prefer these ones by far. The ones I'd known in the past had a penchant for making people's heads explode.
[ It's much, much cleaner to deal with these flowers in comparison.
Chesed's gaze strays to whispering flowers; there must be a heavy burden weighing upon his company's shoulders. ]
I wouldn't mind assisting you in plucking a few unruly flowers if that would put you at ease.
[ Sorry, Tsurumaru. He totally saw you crushing some talking flowers under your heel. ]
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(He looks down at his heel, at the crushed flowers beneath his foot and at the flowers around him that now seem to go silent as if sensing his thoughts. He's considering it.)
If we plucked them, they would die slowly. (Withering up bit by bit each day until they die pitiful and ugly. And would they keep talking after being plucked?) It would be boring.
Unless you have someone you want to gift.
(That would be exciting.)
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Hmm, no, I don't think there's anyone for me to offer one of these flowers.
[ Chesed moves to join the other man near the flower bed. He crouches down by one, scrutinizing all of the plant's features. One by one, the flowers begin to whisper amongst themselves again.
"He threw away all the comforts of his life and has nothing to show for it."
"His family was right for rejecting his decision."
"You were in charge of employee welfare, but you let everyone die."
Chesed can only shrug in response. None of it is wrong. ]
Then, what would be more exciting compared to plucking them one by one?
[ He doesn't mind providing a distraction at all. ]
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[She laughs softly, talking flowers? That's a first, especially for a place that seemed so very quiet. And to be making what appeared to be pointed jabs at someone... well, it seemed there was still ever so much more for this city to offer!]
They seem to be quite rude as well.