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

[ A familiar face peers out from the tower's window. He recognizes this princess' words. "Please come and save me," is, in fact, correct. Yet Hong Lu's following questions give Yi Sang pause. He studies the tower, noting there is not an entrance to be seen. Nor does it seem like anything hostile could climb all the way up to the single window. The building's walls are smooth, save for the occasional stone jutting out, but it's not nearly enough for anything to scale the surface. ]

...presumably, you are to be rescued from the tower itself.

[ If there were stairs or any other means for this princess to leave the tower, surely he would have done so by now?

And... as for what he killed on the way, how did he -- ]

Ah.

[ Yi Sang glances down, quickly surveying his blood-soaked clothes. They no longer appear princely at all, but he supposes nothing can be done. His physical appearance will not affect the script. After all, it's the characters who are confined to the parameters of the story. They have no means of impacting its outcome.

He shakes his head apologetically. ]

There were some Abnormalities nearby. I have ensured they will not cause you any trouble, though... it does not appear they could reach you at the top of your tower. And I hope that you may accept my apologies, as I failed to consider whether you might wish to slay some too.

[ This princess must be terribly, terribly bored if his idea of fun is going Abnormality hunting. ]

Perhaps if you join me, we may be able to seek out additional entertainment for you.

[ Something nags at the back of Yi Sang's head. No, that's not correct. The princess in the tower shouldn't be joining him down here. He's the one who should be going up there, even if he's not really sure what that would accomplish. Would that not result in both of them being stuck there? The realization weighs heavily on him, already feeling weary while imagining what it will be like trying to clamber up the tower.

If he doesn't, they will be stuck here forevermore. Yi Sang sighs, tilting his head up again to meet the hopeful princess' big, round eyes. ]

I believe you must lower your hair, forming a means for me to reach you.

[ A pause. That's not quite right, something whispers in Yi Sang's ear. That's not romantic at all. They need to do this properly.

The princess' name finally takes shape upon his tongue. ]

Hong Lu, Hong Lu, let down your hair.

[ A pause. ]

...please.

[ yi sang looks up. hong lu looks down. abnormalities, hong lu thinks, as very real envy paints itself over his countenance. yi sang had been downstairs fighting abnormalities, while hong lu had been sitting up here with nothing but the sky and a lit candle to keep him company. how unfair. then, hong lu thinks - that's when it clicks. that hong lu has been in this scenario before. every story must be a reflection of somebody's life. this story has been hong lu's life. there had been a window overlooking the seven vistas of an unchanging courtyard, the passing of seasons like the swapping of a coloured palette in full profuse bloom. there had been an unchanging young man sitting at the window watching the world go by. once, a little bird had alighted on the windowsill.

yi sang is bloodied. his cape is sodden. he is a bird, hong lu knows. it's in the way he wears his jacket, the way he picks at his food and the way he is as light as air when picked up. it's in the way he cocks his head when he observes the world, as if first seeing it from one perspective and then another, those delicate little shifts in countenance fun to observe and to predict. it has always occurred to hong lu that yi sang is most interesting when he is in motion, a dark streak of a dagger coming down in an deadly arc toward his opponent. after all, birds only look like birds when they're in flight.

then, outside of hong lu's window is a bird. yi sang is that bird. it all seems very understandable when put this way. hong lu smiles. ]

This story is strange, isn't it? If you climb up here, then won't you also be stuck with me? How can you rescue me from the tower if you're also stuck in the tower?

[ but, hong lu - thinks, he's never been rescued before. how fun. he turns. the long, wending heft of his hair is unwieldy, but at some point in his boredom, hong lu found its end. he takes it and drags it to the window. mismatched eyes peer down as he waves. ]

But alright - I'm throwing down my hair. Catch!

[ and then something like an entire magic hellboat's weight in hair comes flinging out of the tower in an unceasing waterfall.

anyway, good luck. ]

[ They can find out later, Yi Sang thinks, because he agrees with Hong Lu's assessment of the situation. What exactly would climbing to the top of the tower accomplish? There is only one way to find out.

Theoretically, Yi Sang should have known the sheer amount of hair from Hong Lu would result in quite the weight being dropped out the window. But seeing things with one's own eyes is very different from simply knowing things.

The thick strands come careening down. Yi Sang hadn't been afraid when faced with those Abnormalities. Face-to-face with this endless stream of hair, however, does strike fear within his heart. He doesn't have enough time to get out of the way after underestimating the sheer volume of hair, leaving him caught in its midst. It dumps itself over his head, leaving him struggling to free himself from it all. He manages to crawl out from under it and shakes his ankle free.

Yi Sang straightens, surveying Hong Lu's hair. It looks... smooth. Well-kept. Difficult to climb. He frowns and gives it a careful tug, looking up at the window yet again. ]

Is there nothing within your room that might assist me in climbing? ...will it not injure you, supporting my weight with your hair?

[ No offense, but he's really not built for this task, and trying to support an entire human's weight by the strands of one's hair seems like a bad idea... ]

[ yi sang disappears beneath the onslaught. for a moment, hong lu wonders if he's killed him. if he has, would yi sang come back, or would he die simply because the manager isn't here? but people are supposed to come back in this world? but this is now a new world, and sometimes, in the stories that hong lu's nannies told him, people die for real in stories.

eventually, however, hong lu sees movement. it's odd, to see movement rather than feel it. after all, it is his hair, and it's connected to him, but it's so long that he supposes if someone set it on fire, he wouldn't feel it until it burnt all the way to his scalp. yi sang drags himself free of the unending waterfall. he looks up. hong lu looks down.

hm... hong lu considers this. ]

There's nothing here, though. [ there's never anything here. after all, it's only ever been hong lu and the scenery outside his window. hong lu and the bird at his windowsill. hong lu smiles. ] Oh, I know~ Hold on to the hair. I'll pull you up.

[ That would certainly work. Hong Lu could pull him up, as one might do to cast an anchor aweigh. Would that count as obeying the script though?

Yi Sang supposes there is only one way to find out. He grabs onto Hong Lu's hair, fingers sinking into the mass of black. The window is quite high up. Should he accidentally lose his grip, he would likely not survive the fall.

At the bottom of the tower, he would leave a stain the same color that dyes his clothes.

Hong Lu looks down. Yi Sang looks up. ]

I am ready.

[ Or at least, as ready as one can be before being airlifted several stories into the air with someone's unrealistically long hair. He hopes this works. He hopes he does not have to actually climb up the tower. ]

[ hong lu grins. he waves his hand. ]

Okay! [ says he, in that sing-song tone of his. ] Hold on tight! If you fall, you'll die!

[ and then hong lu will have to find a place to bury him. there don't seem to be any plum blossoms here, however, which is a shame. and this world isn't very interesting, so if hong lu is stuck here for the rest of eternity, he'll need to bury himself with yi sang sooner than expected. all in all, hong lu thinks, all of a sudden, that isn't a terrible outcome.

still, he begins to reel in his hair. it's not difficult work. yi sang doesn't weigh a whole lot, and in truth, hong lu thinks that his hair weighs more than yi sang ever could. hong lu, whose used to pulling and lifting things far heavier, makes deft work of the process. the hair goes up. yi sang goes up.

at the lip of the window, hong lu holds out his hand. ]

Phew. [ hong lu says, not at all winded. ] Was it fun being pulled up by my hair? Yi Sang.

[ ... and he can say it, yi sang's name. hong lu beams. ]

[ If he died here, would he come back? Would his body return intact, just as it might with Dante's abilities?

Yi Sang is not quite as adventurous as Hong Lu. His tolerance for experimentation only goes so far. Perhaps death would force them to repeat this cycle. It may entail him having to battle his way through those Abnormalities again, and that would be rather troublesome.

So he clings onto Hong Lu's hair for dear life, and only when he spots a hand does Yi Sang let go with one of his own. He grabs onto that familiar hand. It pulls him securely over the edge of the window. This princess has quite impressive arm strength, he thinks to himself. This does not seem like a princess who needed rescuing at all.

Yi Sang straightens his clothing out, racing pulse recovering from the fraught experience of being hoisted several stories into the air. ]

It was... certainly an experiencing, Hong Lu.

[ He takes a moment to inspect Hong Lu before glancing at the sea of his hair. And then, his gaze lands on the rest of the empty room. There's not an exit to be found. How on earth did Hong Lu manage to get up here?

It must be terribly dull sitting up here day in and day out.

Yi Sang wanders back to the window and peers over the edge. A fall from this height would certainly be fatal. He glances over his shoulder, frowning despite Hong Lu's radiant smile. ]

...I believe we are both trapped here now. Does this count as a rescue?

[ Is... this the true direction of their script? ]

[ hong lu considers this. yi sang stands there, resplendent in blood. hong lu sits there by the windowsill, in red and gold. he is wearing the robes of a young, unmarried woman from the qing dynasty. the red is supposed to symbolise purity. hong lu thinks, the red dyeing yi sang's clothing is far more interesting. ]

Well, didn't you just rescue me from boredom? I didn't like being all alone up here; there wasn't anything to do. [ his mismatched gaze rests on yi sang. he looks a little flushed, he thinks. was the way up really that exciting? the first thing hong lu does is reach out with a hand. he clasps his hand around yi sang's wrist so that he can feel for his pulse. it's racing, hong lu thinks. rabbit-quick. hong lu has never seen a rabbit before, not a real one, but it must be a little like this.

hong lu brightens. ] Now that you're here, maybe I can go to the bottom, and you can pull me up by the hair. It looked like fun.

[ and if he gets dropped, will he die? lots to think about. ]

[ "Exciting" is certainly one way to put it. Yi Sang's pulse in his wrist continues to thrum, speeding in tempo as Hong Lu closes his hand around it. Or, perhaps it's Hong Lu's following suggestion that has it racing, not because he's eager to find out what would happen, but instead exasperated. ]

I... believe there may be better means of keeping you rescued from boredom.

[ Namely, means that didn't risk Hong Lu becoming a splatter of red at the base of the tower. ]

Now that we are both up here, it surely expands the variety of potential activities for you.

[ Rescuing Hong Lu from boredom doesn't seem so bad. It's much better than having to climb up the side of a tower. Yi Sang's gaze returns to Hong Lu, clad in crimson. By now, the blood staining his own have faded to a darker brown, dull in color compared to his current companion's robes. ]

[ 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?

[ 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?

[ 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?

[ 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?

[ 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. ]

[ 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?

[ 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.

[ 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?

[ Certainly, the fact that Hong Lu possesses more experience in the realm of dance would make him Yi Sang's upperclassman in that activity. ]

Dancing alone as opposed to dancing with another -- surely, there must be some overlap between the two? Experience with one may serve to facilitate in learning how to perform the other.

[ Hong Lu may be looking at him, but Yi Sang's gaze is not on his current company. Instead, his attention is directed outside of the tower's single window. He gazes skyward and studies the clear skies, estimating what the weather might be like later. ]

It does not seem as though it will rain soon. If we wish to dance in the rain, we may need to wait awhile. ...or, perhaps, we may find it is raining after we depart from this tower.

[ yi sang looks out the window. hong lu looks as well. the sky is an overcast gray. it is neither rain nor shine, just the kind of weather that begets nothing. it's humid, hong lu thinks. his hair normally would frizz up a little in weather like this, though he supposes his hair is very long and very magical right now, and so it doesn't follow the usual rules.

hong lu hopes it will rain soon. that might be fun. ]

Or perhaps we can chase the rain. After all, there has to be raining somewhere in this world, right? [ says hong lu, very reasonably. ] Do you want to leave this tower with me? See what we can find. I don't mind sitting here longer with you, though, so it's up to you. Ever since you came up the tower, I haven't felt bored at all.

[ hong lu says this, and knows it to be the truth. how odd, yi sang is, a man who is able to take his boredom away so easily. ]

[ The world is much, much larger than the little frame offered by the tower's window. It must certainly be raining somewhere in that vast place.

Yi Sang tears his attention away from the view to study the interior of Hong Lu's room. There doesn't appear to be any doors, nor does it look like there are any stairs leading down into the heart of the tower. It begs the question -- how did Hong Lu even get here? Perhaps it was simply a fact of this particular realm, that the grass is green, that the sky is an overcast gray, that Hong Lu must sit alone at the top of this tower until the end of time.

Eventually, he rises from the floor and wanders over to the window, peering out over its ledge. ]

How will we leave this tower together? I believe it may be possible for me to climb back down with the assistance of your hair, but that does not allow you to exit as well.

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