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 ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Hong Lu's hand closes around his -- and then he's falling, gathered fragments that settled in his other palm scattering onto the floor all over again.

Yi Sang blinks, taking a moment to recover and reassemble his thoughts.

Ah. The pieces of the empty picture frame are back on the ground. He frowns and rolls onto his side to face Hong Lu, dark irises meeting mismatched ones. He'll have to start picking everything up from the start once his hand is freed from the other's grasp. ]

Hong Lu, what was the purpose behind this?

[ He's not upset; he's simply perplexed. Yi Sang thinks there's a reason for everything, even when it comes to Hong Lu.

Based on the grip around his hand, it doesn't seem like Hong Lu will be letting go soon. Resigned to his new fate, Yi Sang shifts to get more comfortable on the floor. ]

[ the piece of shattered glass scatter across the floor like distant stars. hong lu laughs. yi sang falls, and his state of being translates into motion. it's nice that it's a good kind of fall, without any of them turning into goo or losing a limb in between, though hong lu wouldn't complain even if that were the case. he can hear yi sang thinking. yi sang things quietly, in the way of a humming machine in the background - but sometimes, the foray of his thoughts leave echoes of footfalls that hong lu can hear across the room, as if yi sang were pacing in the very small room that is the confines of his mind.

hong lu can understand how that feels. he lets yi sang think it through, lets him figure out which question he needs to ask to understand the situation he is now in. and then, because he is hong lu, the answer comes with a cheerful, sing-song lilt: ]

Come look at the ceiling with me. [ hong lu holds yi sang's hand. his other lifts to point up at the popcorn ceiling above. ] Could you focus on just one spot if you closed one eye?

[ Look at the ceiling? In that case, he's settled in the wrong position. Yi Sang moves onto his back, gaze moving from Hong Lu's face to the direction he's pointing in. He looks straight ahead, staring at the popcorn ceiling.

The dots stare back at him, like the hidden stars of District 20, twinkling in the sky but obscured by the thickets of factory smog.

He closes his left eye, examining the ceiling without half his sight. The ceiling stays still. It doesn't move about, but Yi Sang's run into a different problem. ]

...there are several spots I could choose. I am... unsure which one I should focus on.

[ Others might consider this activity a waste of time, but increasingly, Yi Sang's found he always has time for Hong Lu's idle musings. ]

[ yi sang settles next to hong lu. hong lu gently shifts aside to make room. the sound of broken glass scrapes across the floor as hong lu displaces the broken stars on the floor in favour of the intact stars embedded into the ceiling. he wonders for a moment - if two people were laying in the same spot, looking up at the same thing, will they see the same thing? will the thing that both of them see be the 'truth'?

much to think about, and possibly by someone who isn't hong lu. he considers the question. multiple spots to focus on... huh. ]

Follow my finger. [ hong lu draws his finger in an arc across the ceiling. and then, at random, he points at a spot that looks suitable. it looks like popcorn ceiling patch #8932742, but for hong lu, that feels like the brightest patch in this 'night sky'. ] How about there? That spot has more dots to look at. If I look at it long enough, it forms pictures.

Do the dots move for you?

[ Yi Sang tracks the movement of Hong Lu's finger, which guides his gaze to sweep across the ceiling. He stares, unblinking, searing the placement of the dots into his retinas. They do not swim aimlessly in his field of view, but instead, assemble into a single image.

He stares, contemplating the constellations. ]

I see -- I see a cliff with an unseen flower in full bloom. Invisible to my eyes, but I know it is there due to its fragrance. There, I see a grave too, dug by my bare hands where I can smell that flower. Perhaps I shall enter it. Perhaps I shall lie in it. Perhaps then, I shall forget about my inability to see that flower in these ceiling dots.

[ He stares, and now the dots do begin to swim. Yi Sang closes his eyes. In the darkness, it isn't difficult to imagine himself lying within the ceiling's grave.

But here he is, lying outside of that grave at the foot of the cliff. ]

[ yi sang paints a picture with his words. hong lu looks. and then, because he is hong lu, he closes his eyes so that he can better see. a cliff with an unseen flower in full bloom, a grave, the scent of that flower cloying like a funeral shroud. in truth, hong lu doesn't at all know what yi sang means. he has never seen an unseen flower in bloom, has never smelled its scent. has only ever seen the petals of the spicebush as it descended.

hong lu has never dug a grave. the soil must be cool to the touch. it must be large enough for a single person. perhaps it can be large enough for two. ]

Do you want me to bury you in a grave, Yi Sang?

To be buried by your hands -- it would not be such a terrible thing.

[ The other Sinners might describe Hong Lu as frivolous or easily distracted, but Yi Sang thinks out of all of them, Hong Lu would know his ideal length and depth for that hole. Hong Lu would know that Yi Sang's choice of wood for his coffin is that of a plum tree, but if it would cause others too much trouble, he wouldn't mind having his body lowered into the grave even without a shroud. Hong Lu would know the kinds of items he might wish to be buried with, and he would not necessarily be gentle about heaping the earth over him, but he would do it with care.

He doesn't mind having Hong Lu's magnifying glass hovering over him, even if its lens concentrated a sunbeam onto his clothes and caused them to burst aflame.

There had been a time when he'd wished to be lowered into hollowed-out earth, but now is not the time. ]

...there are, however, tasks I would like to accomplish prior to that.

[ Yi Sang turns his head to gaze at his company. His own eyes are inquisitive as he poses a question, one that is simply intended to invoke thought. ]

Would you prefer to bury me, or would you prefer to be buried with me?

[ to be buried by your hands, it would not be such a terrible thing - yi sang says this like it's a deliberated truth. all of yi sang's truths are like this. this is why hong lu likes listening to them so much - because every single truth that yi sang has ever come up with has been hard-won. there had been nine members of that little group once upon a time. hong lu doesn't know how it feels to lose those that you love and care about. but he understands how yi sang felt to lose those that you love and care about. yi sang loved that little group in such a way that it made hong lu fall in love a little too, to want a piece of it, just a bite of it, what it must be like to hold something so dear that you tore your wings to shreds in the aftermath. hong lu would like wings. he would like to tear out his own feathers, he would like to make a bed of it and and then show yi sang, and see what he makes of it.

it is, in fact, the first time that anyone has attributed anything positive to hong lu's hands. his hand, currently held around yi sang's, slowly shifts. the gesture is that of faint wonder, of a kind of faithless worship - hong lu believes in nothing, but if yi sang belives in it, then hong lu will believe in yi sang's belief. yi sang turns to him, and hong lu mirrors the motion. another new thought, hong lu thinks. another one that he has never considered, amongst so many thoughts never considered: that there had ever been an option for hong lu to join him.

hong lu smiles. there's a glimmer there along the cyan of his eye. the glimmer most native to a human eye is a tear. ]

It'll have to be a grave large enough for two. And I'm a little taller than you, too. [ hong lu considers this. ] I'd rather bury you first. Then, I can dig you up when I have a question, or I have something I need to tell you, or if there's something you need to do. I'll wake you up, and when you need to go back into the grave, I'll bury you again.

And when I've seen everything that there is to see and I've grown bored, I'll slip in next to you in the grave and bury myself there. I won't tell anyone where our grave is. I don't want anyone to disturb us. It'll be nice. [ hong lu says, and laughs. ] What do you think, Yi Sang? Would it be fun, to be buried with me?

[ Yi Sang stares at his own reflection in Hong Lu's mismatched eyes. He listens to his companion's rationales. It all sounds very reasonable to him. He does not think he'd mind being dug up in order to respond to any of Hong Lu's questions. He does not think he'd mind being roused from his sleep to bend his ear to Hong Lu's words.

It's nice to know that Hong Lu would offer him the quiet of an unmarked grave.

Yi Sang would gladly share that space with him. ]

It could.

[ It's easy to imagine what it might be like while lying here next to Hong Lu. Yi Sang feels the other's hand curl more securely around his own. It doesn't feel like Hong Lu will let him go anytime soon, and he finds he doesn't mind that at all. ]

I do not believe either of us have met their demise just yet, but perhaps we may call this room our shared grave.

[ If the living room is about the size of one of Hong Lu's closets, then surely it is plenty of space for a coffin they might call their new home.

He pauses for a moment, gaze drifting away from Hong Lu's as it falters with some uncertainty. Even after the picture Hong Lu painted with his words, Yi Sang would not wish to impose himself on the other Sinner. ]

...only if you might allow it, of course.

[ another new thought: that anyone would ask hong lu for permission for anything. hong lu, who has never been asked if something could be done to him, looks. for a moment, he doesn't know what to say. what is it like, being able to accept or deny something at your own choosing. there had been many things that hong lu hadn't wanted to do throughout his life. he had always wondered what it would be like to say 'no', and have that thing stop. what a marvelous feeling it must be, to be able to experience such a thing.

it's tempting to do so right now. hong lu would like to know what it feels like to say no, and have it listened to. perhaps even considered. what fun that would be. but hong lu considers the premise, that it's a shared coffin. he looks about. the room does seem small enough for a coffin. hong lu has ever shared a coffin with someone before.

but more than anything, it's yi sang asking, and yi sang, too, never asked for anything. what happens, hong lu thinks, if someone who never asks for something asks something of someone who has never had anyone ask anything of them? what happens then? the thing about someone who's never been able to say 'no' is that they have also never been able to say 'yes'. that, too, will be something new. hong lu realises that he wants to find out, the shape of this thing that's taking place. hong lu wants to try saying 'yes', and see what yi sang will make of it. ]

Why would I say no? [ is hong lu's laughing answer, ] So my answer is 'yes'. This will be our shared grave, then. Hm, it's a bit small for a closet, but maybe it's roomy for a grave? I've never been buried before, so I wouldn't know. But it's large enough for two people, and that's all that we need.

What should we do? Should we decorate it? A grave has flowers, right?

[ It's true. Had Hong Lu told him no, he did not wish to make this place a shared grave, Yi Sang would have bowed his head in deference and accepted that response. Yi Sang makes his request wholeheartedly and earnestly because he would take Hong Lu's answer seriously. It is for that exact reason why Yi Sang's eyes widen, returning to meet Hong Lu's. Why would he say no? Perhaps he did not feel this apartment was large enough, given it wasn't even the size of one of Hong Lu's closets. ]

I... cannot provide an answer as to why I considered that might be your decision. Perhaps I feared that none would desire this taxidermied form.

[ Now that he has an answer, it's Yi Sang's turn to curl his fingers more securely around Hong Lu's hand. Perhaps it didn't matter that he'd been stuffed with others' wishes and desires, that he hadn't quite relearned what it meant to hold his own wants within his own skin.

Perhaps he is not lifeless, not taxidermied at all. If desire is the prerequisite for declaring that one is truly alive, then maybe he was never a stuffed genius at all.

If one wished to bury them separately, they would have to pry Hong Lu from Yi Sang's grasp.

His smile is not particularly wide, but his eyes glow, clearly relieved to hear he's been granted permission to stay. He is far too pleased by the response to feel embarrassed by the fact that he'd ever considered that the answer might be "no." ]

Flowers -- yes, perhaps a sprig of plum blossom if we are able to locate one. And... other items as well, so that those who may discover us in the future can discern what sort of paths we walked.

[ It would be ideal, he thinks, to call this place both a grave and a home. ]

[ it turns out, hong lu thinks, yi sang is as surprised as he is. what a funny thing, the two of them laying there in the living room the size of a small closet, looking back at each other in mirrored surprise. it feels nice, to know that hong lu isn't the only one who's finding out new things all the time. yi sang considers hong lu's question, and hong lu considers his response in turn.

a taxidermied form, hong lu thinks. ]

My grandmother would often taxidermy things so that she can keep it around. She likes to look at the things she keeps. [ hong lu muses. her collection rooms are sacred places, but she does like to look through them often. it had made sense to hong lu. things died very quickly, and they didn't often look presentable when they died. but when you taxidermied something, you take a snapshot of time. they were like that for the rest of their existence. but to hong lu, that had always seemed very boring. ] If you are taxidermied, it means that someone wanted to keep you the way you were, and that you are something I can look at for a long time, right? That's not a bad thing. Ah, but I like it better when you're moving, and can talk to me. Grandmother's collection is a very quiet one.

[ much like how hong lu's rooms were very quiet. they had been large, and filled with silence. this one, in contrast, is small, but filled with life and noise. hong lu likes it.

a sprig of plum blossom, huh... ]

Will we need a bus in this room, then...? [ hong lu looks around again. ] It's too small for Mephistopheles, though.

[ after all, the bus was part of the path they walked? but then again, they didn't exactly walk, since it's a bus. ]

[ Wings clipped and shuffled from cage to cage, Yi Sang understood there were those who wished to keep others unchanging. Hong Lu offers him questions and hypotheticals that allow him to think, to explore, to relearn how to work his pectoralis and supracoracoideus. ]

I do not believe a bus would fit here.

[ Which may be stating the obvious, but Hong Lu had asked. ]

...I suppose we may obtain a smaller one instead. A scale model of a bus, perhaps.

[ What else, what else? The gears within his mind begin to churn. ]

And -- other items that may be of interest to you as well. There is no need to procure them all at once, as it seems we shall have ample time to do so.

[ After all, no one seemed to know when they would ultimately return to their own City.

He recalls the glass scattered across the floor. They shall have to clear it away lest someone accidentally step on it and slice their foot open. On the other hand, it would be a shame to sweep it all up and toss out an item commemorating this moment. Hong Lu might prefer watching Yi Sang midflight, but Yi Sang has always been fond of moments captured in time. ]

Shall I clear the glass from the floor? Or... I suppose we could frame it. Shards of glass displayed within glass -- would that be odd?

[ a scale model, hong lu thinks. how marvelous. he wouldn't have been able to come up with a thought about that on his own. hong lu recalls the little models of mountains and sceneries that lined the hallways and the meditation rooms at the estate. he was never allowed to touch them. he wonders if he'll be allowed to touch the model of the bus - that might be fun.

still, it's a good question. as if for the first time, hong lu looks about and considers the strewn glass around them. it'd be nice if they could stay on the floor. they look like shattered stars, which are much more interesting than the stars that were so faraway in the night sky. the ones that you couldn't touch. these ones, you could. they could cut you open. they could leave a scar. you could be reminded that they existed, once. framed, glass, then... ]

Why would it be odd? [ asks hong lu, ] It's more interesting to look at than a framed Abnormality. [ finally, hong lu gives yi sang's hand a squeeze. he looks to him. ] I'll help you clear the glass. Do you just want them collected in the palm of your hand?

[ One did not typically frame glass within glass. On the other hand, Yi Sang supposes he should have known Hong Lu would find no issues with the suggestion. ]

Yes, I believe that should work.

[ Collecting them within the palm of his hand would mean letting go of Hong Lu's. It is only temporary, he supposes as he squeezes Hong Lu's hand back before sliding it out of the others' grasp. They have plenty of time to learn the shape of one another's hands, to count the calluses nestled upon each of their palms. So he nods and pushes himself up to sit on the floor before reaching into his coat's pocket. There, Yi Sang withdraws a leather bound notebook. He opens it in his lap, flips to the back of the notebook, then tears out a sheaf of paper. Yi Sang sets that on the floor as well in between the two of them. ]

Once we have gathered the shards, I will set them on this paper to ensure we do not lose them.

[ Each sheet of paper must be put to good use, but Yi Sang doesn't seem to have any qualms with handing them away. Though the notebook is precious to him, filled with lists of things he holds dear, he readily repurposes those sheets when he comes across a proper purpose for them. On the other hand, he's never hesitated in giving pieces of himself away.

Yi Sang sets to work, picking each piece of glass off the floor all over again and dropping them into his palm. ]

[ yi sang removes his hand from hong lu's grasp. hong lu feels its loss like an inexorable loss in a chain. how funny, hong lu thinks. he doesn't remember ever thinking of loss this way, that it was something to feel, and notice, and take in. hong lu doesn't think he much likes it, the idea of it. but yi sang's hands are nearby. hong lu can take them into his again later.

so hong lu gets up from his place on the floor. yi sang tears a page from his notebook. it's that notebook, hong lu thinks - the letters, the half-drawn wishes. the cry for help. the torn page is like a photo removed from its frame. hong lu smiles.

he reaches for a piece of glass. he sets it on the page. between the two of them, they collect the shattered pieces of a fallen star. ]

Your notebook is a book, right? Yi Sang, does your book have a title?

[ Yi Sang places another piece of glass in his palm. It hits the surface of another fragment, bouncing off of it but ultimately landing in his hand. He repeats the motion, plucking another piece off the floor. This time, he places it down within the small pile gathering within his palm.

Only when Hong Lu speaks again does he raise his head. ]

A title...?

[ The notebook in his lap does not contain any defining features. Its covers are a plain dark brown, and its pages are marked with black lines. Sometimes, Yi Sang does not write with his letters sitting on those lines, and instead, allows his letters to fall all over the page. Others do not even contain words, but they hold little scribbles and sketches of the things he has seen, of the people he knows.

A book that contains so many different things -- how could he distill its contents down to a single title? He shakes his head in response. ]

It does not. Perhaps an appropriate title will spring to mind someday. Once its pages are full, I may be able to summarize its contents in an appropriate epitaph.

[ hong lu considers this. a book without a title until the book is finished. then how, hong lu wonders, would anyone know what the book is about without reading it? what if the book is never finished. but it's yi sang - yi sang will always finish what he has started to write. he wrote those letters after all, the letters that were very much like a cry for help. anyone with the courage to write those, no matter how subconsciously, has the courage to finish their story.

hong lu thinks, suddenly, that he would like to see it. the title of that finished book. ]

I look forward to it. I want to read it when it's done.

[ hong lu smiles, and drops another handful of broken glass shards upon yi sang's page. ] So don't rip out too many pages. Otherwise, there's less space for you to write everything you want to, right? And there'll be less for me to read.

[ 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.

[ 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? ]

[ 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.

[ 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.

[ 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. ]

november catch-all [open]

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