citylogs | november catch-all [open]

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november catch-all [open]

WHO: (

reflexio) & you!!
WHAT: November catch-all and obligatory "where tf am I" log
WHERE: Everywhere (Welcome Diner, ~~your~~ an apartment, city park, etc.)
WHEN: Early November
WARNINGS: adjusted as needed

a. diner.

[ Wandering about proves to be fruitless. Instead, Yi Sang retraces his steps to the station.

Only then does he notice the flyers with their bold headlines. "LOST? NEW?" Yes, those two adjectives certainly describe him. He glances at the message posted on the flyer, memorizes the directions printed on it, and follows them to --

He inspects the building before him. Definitely a diner, though he's not sure what he'd expected given the flyer's notation of "The Welcome Diner."

It's difficult to tell whether anyone's inside, but the restaurant gives off a warm vibe. It's just enough of a nudge to encourage him into pushing the door open. After all, a lead is a lead.

...something warm to eat would be nice too. ]

Excuse me. Is this The Welcome Diner?

[ The flyers said it would be The Welcome Diner. The sign outside also reads "THE WELCOME DINER." Ergo, this must be The Welcome Diner, but one can never be too cautious given the bizarre city. ]

b. ~~your~~ an apartment.

[ The first door he'd opened revealed an empty living room. Its white walls and freshly-vacuumed floor are welcoming, but there's something terribly unsettling about the empty room too.

Yi Sang shuts the door to avoid thinking about it too hard.

He leaves the building and tries the one next to it. Just like the previous apartment complex, there's no trace of a soul in the lobby. He wanders to one of its doors, slowly turning the door knob and it's... unlocked?

Perhaps there has been no need to install locks on these apartment doors.

He steps into the living room and, immediately, it's apparent someone lives here, or at the very least, someone had lived here. Should he have knocked? Well, too late for that. He spies a picture frame on the coffee table, lifting it into his hands. There's... nothing in it. Odd.

Something shifts behind him. The sudden noise catches Yi Sang off guard, picture frame slipping through his fingers and shattering on the hardwood floor. ]

...my apologies. The door was unlocked.

[ Which isn't really a proper excuse, but it's the truth. ]

... Do you live here?

c. city park.

[ The expanse of lush green feels a bit out of place compared to all the buildings Yi Sang passed on his way here. And despite all the life contained within the flora, the lack of birds chirping is troubling.

Nevertheless, he's developed an affinity for the park over the past few days. It's peaceful for the most part, allowing him to recount what he's discovered so far: City Hall's record rooms? Empty. Tourist Center? Nothing of note. Greenhouse at the poison garden? Bad. Stuffed full of carnivorous plants.

A bound notebook lies open in his lap, a pen resting in its spine to mark his spot. Yi Sang uses one of his hands to keep the notebook flat. The other one, bandaged a bit haphazardly, rests in his lap.

Perhaps if one were to yell, he would lift his head to see who is calling for him. Otherwise, he appears deep in thought, a pensive frown on his face. ]

d. wildcard.

[ if none of these work, feel free to hmu for something more tailored! A PM is good or you can lmk here o7 ]

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[ yi sang's pulse continues to thrum. hong lu smiles. he holds his wrist gently as he considers what's on offer. ]

It's true, I suppose. There's more to do with two people than just one. Do you have any ideas?

[ the door is closed, hong lu thinks. there is the scent of blood, here. it makes his hand itch for something edged. but that's the only thing of value here, the fact that yi sang has made it up. hong lu's world is still so small.

he considers this. ]

Should we play a game?

[ Yi Sang doesn't think the book will be very interesting. On the other hand, it is said that each person is their own worst critic. If Hong Lu wishes to read the notebook once it's full, who is he to deny him of that desire? ]

I shall inform you once it is complete. Yet, I cannot predict whether this single notebook will be sufficient. ...I may find there is more that I wish to take note of, and thus, continuing my observations in a second book.

[ Perhaps it would be a never-ending book. Even if Yi Sang is inclined to finish the tasks that he sets out to accomplish, he doesn't think it would be such a bad thing. How nice it would be, he thinks, to spend one's life continuously coming across interesting things.

But Hong Lu has a point, he thinks to himself as he also drops some more broken glass on the page. He should probably be tearing pages out of the book more sparingly. ]

I would request your assistance in filling one of these pages. ...you may recall Miss Faust's comment that Limbus Company does not maintain any lists of people's favorite items. Thus, I would dedicate a page for recording your own.

[ For starters, dialogue requires more than one person. A conversation is one that may be held between a person and their own meandering thoughts, but the act of dialoguing is a conversation between two people.

Yi Sang wracks his brain. In truth, he hadn't thought that far ahead, hadn't considered what he should do after making it to the top of Hong Lu's tower. Fortunately, Hong Lu rescues him, by suggesting they play a game. ]

There are several games we may choose to play. There is Twenty Questions, in which one of us shall try to guess within twenty questions what the other is thinking of. Alternatively, there is Two Truths And a Lie, in which we offer each other three statements about ourselves. Two of them shall be facts. One shall be an untruth.

[ Yi Sang nods, satisfied with his suggestions. By now, the pulse in his wrist has slowed to a more normal tempo. ]

Unless there is something else you may wish to play, Hong Lu?

[ hong lu brightens. ]

I've never played games like these before. Does everyone know how to play them? Or did you make them up? [ hm, both seem like fun, though. twenty questions to get to the truth, or a game where hong lu can make up a lie? when does an untruth become a truth? and how would they know each other is lying or telling the truth?

hong lu suddenly wants to find out. ]

Let's play 'Two Truths and a Lie'. I've never heard you lie to me before, Yi Sang. I'd like to know what that sounds like.

[ how exciting, hong lu thinks. he still has yet to let go of yi sang's wrist. ]

Can we tell a truth about anything we like? Can we lie about anything we like?

[ a second notebook... there's an idea. hong lu wonders what it would take to get a notebook in this world. yi sang's notebook seems rather plain. hong lu remembers the notebooks back at the compound, with their tortoiseshell covers, or rolled up in little cylinders. hong lu hadn't been allowed to touch those, because they were made from the skin of rare animals or plants, and had text on there that hong lu wasn't good enough to read.

but yi sang likes his notebook. perhaps hong lu will have to find him one that looks similar to it. he considers this. ]

A page for my favourite items? [ the thought is an intriguing one. hong lu peers at the torn page. it's a rather long page. hm. ] I don't know if there are enough things that I like to fill a page that long. Do you?

[ and how does one come up with enough things to like? hong lu supposes he can list the mundane - he likes the sun, the rain, he likes being outside and doing his own things. but do those count enough to put on a page? ]

[ Maybe not everyone, but they're not particularly uncommon games. ]

These are not my games. They are simply games known to me and known to others.

[ Yi Sang has yet to reclaim his wrist from Hong Lu's grasp. It's fine like this and he doesn't really mind it at all. ]

I do not believe there are specific rules, so long as the statements are about yourself.

[ So, yes, Hong Lu could certainly tell truths and lies about the things he likes.

Yi Sang slowly lowers himself onto the floor, as much as he can with Hong Lu's fingers around his wrist. He may as well get comfortable in this stone tower's room, just in case the script demandeth that they play a handful of rounds for Two Truths and a Lie. ]

Would you like to go first? Or, shall I?

[ it must be nice, then, hong lu thinks, to know these games. he wonders if this is something that you learn in childhood. it's nice that he gets to learn all of this now. yi sang has taught him quite a bit already, and he hopes to learn much more. the world is a vast place, and hong lu wants to fill in the gaps before that world is gone.

so the statements must be about himself, he thinks. that does make it harder. it's easier to say 'potatoes grow on trees' than something about himself.

hong lu's head tilts. yi sang lowers himself to the floor, and hong lu joins him, flopping down on a pile of his own hair. his hair is warm, much in the way of a cat. he smiles. ]

You can go first. I want to see how it's done. Will you lie to me, Yi Sang?

[ Yi Sang's notebook is nothing like the ones from the compound. It does not have a tortoiseshell cover, nor does he keep it rolled up in a little cylinder. Its leather bound covers are worn, and its pages are no longer crisp. The spine is creased from how frequently the book has been opened and closed.

Save for the fact that it's clearly not a new notebook though, it's in reasonably good condition. It's plain and not flashy at all. ]

There is no need to fill the entire page immediately.

[ He glances down at the piece of paper lying on the floor. Almost all the glass is collected on its surface. Those shards weigh it down, pinioning it against the ground. ]

I do not believe I could list enough items to fill the page, but... I think I would like to reach that point someday. It would be helpful to have a list, in case I should forget.

[ After all, Hong Lu knows there had been a time when he could not think of anything good for himself. Hong Lu knows about that hole in his chest, one that he's managed to mend for now. But should it be torn open again, it may be wise to have a list of all the things he could use to fill it again. ]

[ hong lu thinks - eventually, everyone forgets. a human's body is nothing but a void. you can throw all kinds of things in there, and it will fill up, but with time, everything falls through like a sieve. in the end, each person is alone, and bound. no person is truly free - not from the void, not from time, not from themselves.

this, hong lu doesn't say, because he would like to see yi sang's page full. he promised to be an anchor, after all. are anchors not supposed to remember the last place where a ship has been moored? even if yi sang forgets, hong lu will remember. he has very little to remember, after all, so there's plenty of space in his memories for such things.

this, hong lu doesn't say. instead: ]

Hmm... since neither of us has enough to fill a page, shall we share a page for now? That way, you won't have to use up twice as many pages. We can always fill up one page together, and then fill up the second one.

[ It's not an unexpected response. Hong Lu can learn how to play by example, so Yi Sang nods as his companion flops down next to him.

He goes quiet as he considers the different things he could tell Hong Lu. Eventually, he settles on some ideas and lifts his free hand, holding up his index finger. ]

I enjoy fireworks.

[ He holds two fingers up now. ]

I can fold paper into a variety of animals.

[ He holds up three fingers now. He hesitates. He breaks eye contact. His pulse thrums yet again against Hong Lu's palm. ]

I am not fond of cats.

[ Had he made this round too simple? Should the untruth have been the second statement, obscuring it between two true statements?

Yi Sang has never been a particularly good liar. ]

[ oh, hong lu thinks. yi sang lies the way a small bird lies. his eyes fall to the ground. his pulse thrums. it's much in the way of a small animal, beating as if desperate to stay alive. to stay aloft. he wonders what the heart of a butterfly must feel like. the smaller the animal, the quicker the heart - then the heart of a butterfly must be like the vibration of a guqin's strings.

he likes it, hong lu realises, the sensation of yi sang's pulse. so this is what he is like when he is lying.

it's charming. hong lu smiles. ]

You lied on the third one, Yi Sang. So you must like cats a lot?

[ Oh. He hadn't thought of that. Yi Sang intended to leave an entire page to each person he acquainted himself with, even leaving the entire backs of those pages for that same purpose.

Sharing a page though -- that does sound nice. If they fill up one page and then a second one together, it would result in the same amount of space as though they'd each had their own page. Yi Sang nods, satisfied with that suggestion. ]

We may, for now. Perhaps we might even require a third page.

[ Would that be too greedy? Would that be too selfish?

He scoops up the final remnants of glass off the floor, setting them upon the sheet of paper. Time has flown with the aid of conversation. The only sign of the earlier mess is a little pile of what was once the empty picture frame. ]

[ a third page. or a fourth. perhaps they can fill a book? but hong lu is not the optimist in this conversation. perhaps they will fill two pages, and the void will take the rest. nobody is free from their nature, after all. but nobody says that such things much make it onto the page. even if hong lu is the only one who remembers, it will be enough.

the glass tumbles onto the little pile. hong lu looks. the frame hadn't been a particularly large one, but seeing how little it looks as mere glass shards makes you think that the state of things truly change how these things look and feel. hong lu leans down and prods at the little pile of glass. he hums. ]

I'd like that. [ he laughs. ] Starting with this page, then. It's already been filled, but it's been filled by the glass.

[ still, if they're going to frame it... hong lu looks. he walks to the all, and removes another one of the photos. the photo comes out; it's left on the table as hong lu meanders back to yi sang. he holds out the new frame. ]

Here. So you can put the glass pieces in here.

[ Ah. Perhaps he should have tried to cloak his lie better after all. Or, was it simply too obvious that he's actually quite fond of cats? ]

...you are correct. The third one was the lie.

[ He is completely oblivious to the fact that Hong Lu can tell when he is lying based on his heart rate. But even without that extra information, Hong Lu would surely be able to discern the lie from the rest of his body language.

Even if Yi Sang's words are untrue, his subconscious movements betray him. ]

I do like cats. ...they are gentle animals, but firm in what they like or dislike.

[ And still, his wrist remains in Hong Lu's grasp. ]

Has this illuminated the rules of the game to you?

[ is that what cats are like? hong lu thinks about what cats mean to him. they are creatures outside the window. they seem to like to do whatever they like to do. they take themselves out for walks, and they come back by dusk to huddle by the fireplaces. hong lu has never gotten close to a cat before; they let choose whoever they let close, or they simply leave. they disappear into the shadows, and they never look back.

cats are free, based on their nature. their very natures seem free. hong lu has always been envious, but has there ever been an animal less free than he is?

he nods, earnestly. ]

It has. [ hong lu thinks, so that's how yi sang sees a cat. he likes that better than the way he has seen cats. hong lu will remember. gentle, and firm with their likes and dislikes. perhaps hong lu will also learn to like cats. ] Then, is it my turn? I should come up with something fun.

[ hmmm... something about himself. hong lu reaches inside of him. there's nothing there, as usual. it's disappointing, but that's how it has always been. ]

I was good at opera. I like going on a long journey. And I don't mind getting wet in the rain.

[ hong lu beams. ] Which one is the lie?

[ it is, in fact, the first one. all of his vaunted tutors are now, simultaneously, rolling in their metaphorical graves. some of them aren't even dead. ]

[ Yi Sang accepts the empty frame into his hands. It's much larger than the ones arranged on the coffee table. It should fit the pieces of glass well. He turns it over, opening the back and setting it on the floor next to the sheet of paper. Yi Sang clutches the paper carefully on either side, slowly sliding the broken glass into the frame. The larger pieces tumble into it first, then the smaller ones, until the fine pieces of glass dust he'd collected join the rest of the pile.

He glances down at the empty sheet of paper. It may not be a piece of glass, but it feels like it's become a part of the shattered picture frame. Yi Sang sets it on top of the scattered glass before setting the frame's backing on again. It creates a white backdrop, a plain scenery for the glass to enjoy.

Once sealed, Yi Sang gingerly flips the frame over. It is no longer a photo frame; now, it is a glass frame.

He holds it back out to Hong Lu. Here is their first adornment for their shared grave. ]

[ yi sang fills the frame with shattered glass. hong lu looks. it must be, hong lu thinks, how a god once made the world. they must have done so in pieces, filling up nothing with something until all that was left was something. it must have been beautiful to behold. hong lu would have liked to see it.

it's then with some surprise that yi sang holds out the glass frame to him. hong lu's head tilts. he takes the frame into his hands. a decoration for their shared grave, hong lu thinks. this is the very first.

he feels warm. it's a new sensation. it's lovely. ]

Where should we hang it, Yi Sang?

[ hong lu holds it up. he peers at the far wall. ] Perhaps over there? There's sunlight striking the wall, so wouldn't it be nice if the glass shards got to bathe in sunlight every day? Perhaps they will wake up, and change shape.

[ Based on their nature, cats are free. Perhaps that's why Yi Sang's always been fond of birds too.

He listens carefully to each of Hong Lu's statements. He studies Hong Lu's expression. It does not shift at all as he speaks. Nor does he have Hong Lu's wrist clutched in his hand in order to measure his heart rate.

But even if he could feel Hong Lu's pulse, perhaps Yi Sang would find that Hong Lu's heart rate without a single flutter.

This is rather challenging. ]

Given my observations of you on Mephistopheles, the second statement must be a truth. You seem to enjoy our journey to receive the Golden Boughs.

[ Then, the lie -- is it the opera? Is it the getting wet in the rain? Yi Sang's head tilts a bit to the side as he deliberates. ]

In truth, getting wet in the rain seems as though it would be inconsequential to you. I do not believe a bit of rain would trouble you.

[ Hong Lu seems the sort who would be fascinated by the feel of rain. Even now, Yi Sang doesn't know much about Hong Lu, but he's aware that Hong Lu hadn't been permitted to roam about outdoors as he pleased. It seems unlikely he would have been allowed to stand in the rain. ]

And thus, based on the process of elimination, your first statement would be the lie. Is that correct?

[ Where body language fails, maybe logical reasoning won't let him down. ]

[ hong lu beams. he has always liked hearing yi sang's thought process. there is so little in the world that he truly knows, and he hardly knows how anyone knows about anything. the other sinners are not as patient with their explanations, and vergilius is likely to kill him if he no longer wants to speak. he doesn't mind it, in truth. death at vergilius' hands must be interesting as well. but hong lu hardly learns when he is dead. yi sang lays out his thought process, and hong lu enjoys it, listening to another person's thoughts as they come.

thought after thought. yi sang is not wrong. of course he wouldn't be. yi sang is one fo the smartest people he knows. hong lu thinks - yi sang might be smarter than the elders at the estate, even though they know so much more than hong lu does. but he wouldn't like for them to meet yi sang. they would take him the way they take butterflies, to pin them to the board and keep them there. nothing that enters that estate comes back out alive. hong lu would know.

and so hong lu says: ]

Correct~ Yi Sang, you know me really well. I only know a little Bian Lian, and a little bit of opera. My tutors never liked my progress. [ hong lu smiles. ] But I like the rain, and I like the journey. Don't you like being on the bus with everyone else? You never know what's going to happen every day.

Hey, Yi Sang, have you ever danced in the rain before?

[ Yi Sang considers Hong Lu's question with utmost importance. Yi Sang always considers Hong Lu's questions seriously. He surveys the humble expanse of the apartment's walls, imagining what the frame would look like in each spot.

Hong Lu holds the frame up. Yi Sang pictures it in his head, thinking about what the shards might look like bathed in sunlight. Perhaps they would appreciate it, being given the opportunity to soak up all that warmth.

He nods in response. ]

Indeed, we should offer them the chance to observe the rising sun.

[ He wanders over to the far wall, searching for a spare nail. It seems they're in luck; there's a nail sticking out of that wall without anything to perch upon it. Maybe the previous resident of this apartment had a similar idea, to hang something up in a place where it could wake with the sun. Yi Sang raises a hand and points at the nail. ]

Over here. This should suffice.

[ A little Bian Lian and a little bit of opera is far more than Yi Sang knows. It may be a paltry amount of musical expertise, but it's enough to impress Yi Sang.

Hong Lu smiles. Yi Sang smiles a bit too. ]

The faint sound of rain against a windowpane: it is a sound I am rather fond of.

[ The rhythmic pitter patter was always a welcome noise while he tinkered in that little sepia workshop. It was for that reason he'd claimed the work bench situated at one of the building's windows.

It had been raining, too, the day those bus headlights illuminated the darkness.

He holds a different sort of fondness for the journey on Mephistopheles. Some might not consider it great by any means, given the way the journey is wrought with danger. But those headlights in the rain had been so welcoming. He could never dislike that bus and everything associated with it. ]

I have not. I have not danced in the rain before.

[ A beat. ]

In truth, I have not danced before.

[ These are pertinent questions to ask. While the green tea can be made for anyone then and there, soup requires some time to prepare, but the different options are presumably kept at the ready, in the event that someone requests them. Anything left over at the end of the day is easily distributed between other interested parties, if need be.

Yesod steps away to investigate the current status of the diner's menu, not only in writing, disappearing behind the counter. Several minutes pass.

Eventually, he reemerges with a tray carefully balanced between both hands, bearing a bowl and a cup upon it. Steam rises from both vessels as Yesod crosses the diner's floor to return to Yi Sang's side, where he holds out the tray within the other man's reach. As requested, the bowl is filled with a serving of minestrone soup, while the cup contains green tea. A serviette and cutlery sit beside the bowl.

The diner's usual staff would undoubtedly present Yi Sang with his order and an accompanying smile, but Yesod lets the items arranged on the tray answer the earlier questions. After all, it's unnecessary to state what is clearly visible in front of their eyes. ]

As the flyers mention, this city has no currency. All menu options are provided free of charge.

[ Which would be the case regardless, in keeping with the diner's aims, Yesod imagines. ]

[ Yesod returns with his requested items arranged neatly on a tray. Given the oddities of the City, there's a part of him that's a little surprised to see the diner did, in fact, have the soup and tea available. He takes a moment to inspect the food and drink with a cursory glance, as though checking to ensure his eyes were not deceiving him. Eventually, he accepts the tray with both hands before wandering over to an empty table. He sets the tray down on it before returning his attention to Yesod. ]

A world without currency. That is... quite unusual.

[ It's absolutely unheard of to someone from a place where capitalism was alive and well.

Yi Sang takes a seat and lifts the hot tea into his hands. He allows it to warm his palms for a bit before taking a sip. The tea tastes fine -- good, even. He takes a few more sips, draining it of a third of its contents. He returns it to the table with a thoughtful look. ]

This city -- does it lack a name?

[ "Home" was The City, but it seems here, too, was The City. Which City is which? ]

[ it's a sound that yi sang is fond of, yi sang says. hong lu thinks - it must be that it had been the only sound that yi sang could hear, all those years outside of his window, before capitalism and then depression swept away the rest of his world. hong lu could relate. on most days, it was the murmur of the window and the shifting of gossip. but on good days, it was just hong lu and the rain, and the knowledge that the rain that falls upon his side of the world is the same rain that everyone else must be experiencing. if hong lu couldn't go to the world, the world could at least come to him one little droplet at a time.

it had been raining, too, the day those bus headlights illuminated the darkness.

yi sang has not danced in the rain. hong lu smiles. ]

I've never danced in the rain before, but I have danced. Does that make me your upperclassman when it comes to dancing? But I've never danced with someone else before.

[ hong lu looks. ] We should dance. In the rain, I think, would be fun. It'll be like wearing a second skin. As it soaks into our clothes, our clothes will feel different. It will feel changed. I think the world might look a little different by then, wouldn't it?

[ yi sang raises a finger. hong lu's gaze traces it. and then, gently, he goes to hang the photo. hong lu's never hung anything before. he feels clumsy, trying to get the photo frame on the nail, but it's a good kind of clumsy, the kind that reminds hong lu a little of a baby chick climbing out of its egg. he's smiling as he stands back to observe his handiwork. a little crooked, so he adjusts it to the right. ah, but it's crooked again, so he adjusts it the other way. the little splinters of glass clink inside, dancing from one side of the frame to the next.

oh, the weight of them is tilting it, hong lu thinks. he laughs. ]

It's tilting no matter what I do with it. Yi Sang, should we keep it this way, or should we find a way to balance it? I wouldn't know how to do it, though. I've always been a little crooked, I think.

[ just a little off-kilter, just a little off-balanced. hong lu has, after all, only one blue eye. hong lu has, after all, only one brown eye. just one of each, and he never quite knows which way he will lilt. ]

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november catch-all [open]

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