THE THINGS I GAVE YOU.
» THE BANK — INTRODUCTORY NOTES
District 2 is open, bringing with it access to new and interesting locations—including the city's main bank branch. The bank is a large building with a stone exterior, wrought iron grating on the windows, and large, heavy metal doors that take surprisingly little effort to open, their hinges silent and well-oiled.
Early in the day on July 19, characters in the vicinity of the bank will hear first a low, metallic creaking sound from inside the building, like metal straining against metal. This is followed by the sharper noise of locks disengaging, and then the large, heavy doors on the front of the building swing open slightly, enough to let a person through.
Directly inside the doors is the bank lobby, and beyond that is the main banking floor, with elegant marble flooring and dimly lit chandeliers. It would appear that this was once the main commercial bank of the city, although it is now completely empty, with no tellers behind the counters and no cash in any of the drawers.
You may rifle through the tills and filing cabinets to your heart's content, but similar to the files in City Hall, there is no useful information to be found—all the papers are blank, or are empty forms without any personally identifying information. There are no monetary devices to be found either; this is, after all, not a city that operates on a cash system, so there are no coins or paper bills in any of the tills or, indeed, anywhere within the bank.
What you might be able to find, though, is a rack of delicate, burnished brass keys on a wall toward the back of the main banking hall. Each of these keys is attached to a stamped metal keychain bearing a name on one side and a number on the other. Some of these may be names you recognize, and some of them may not, but they are all names belonging to current residents of the city, and each key corresponds to a safety deposit box within the vault at the back of the building. Can you remember what you stored in that box for safekeeping? Maybe you had better go find out.
At the back of the main banking hall is a vault secured with a large circular metal door. The door is currently unlocked and propped open; it can be closed, but cannot be locked (intentionally, anyway) from either the inside or the outside. The vault contains row upon row of safety deposit boxes, each locked. Participating characters who are in possession of a key can open their own safety deposit box, but it is not currently possible to force open any safety deposit box that does not belong to them. After August 1, players will be able to use their safety deposit boxes to store their own belongings, and break-ins will become possible with prior player permission and appropriate consequences.
Below sections detail the safety deposit boxes for both choose-your-own-adventure players and randomized players! Please see the randomized matches for this event HERE.
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IT'S TRUE, PEOPLE TAKE THINGS BUT RARELY.
» SAFETY DEPOSIT BOXES — A SELF-GUIDED TOUR
For some of you, getting into your safety deposit box is quite straightforward.
You take your key from the rack behind the teller's counter and make your way back through the building and into the vault. It's cool inside, the temperature well-regulated and the air dry. On the walls are rows upon rows of safety deposit boxes, and it may take you a moment to find the one that corresponds to the number stamped on your key. Does that number mean anything to you? It may, or it may not.
When you find your box, it takes very little effort to open it. A slide of your key, a quick turn, and the safety deposit box's door springs open to reveal the metal container within. You remove the metal box from the wall and bring it over to the table in the center of the room, clearly placed there for this express purpose. Maybe there are others around, or maybe you're alone. Do you remember yet, what it was you put in here? Well, there's no time like the present to check.
You open the safety deposit box to find—something that shouldn't be there. It's yours, that much you're sure of, but you didn't bring it with you to the city. You reach into the box to pick it up, and the surge of memory is immediate, sending your mind back to your strongest memory associated with the item in your hand.
Then the vault door swings shut, trapping you inside with whoever else has the misfortune of sharing the vault with you right now. No matter what force you try, the door won't open again. There doesn't appear to even be a mechanism that unlocks the door from the inside, and from within several feet of metal and stone, no one on the outside will be able to hear you shout. It seems hopeless—how long can anyone last, trapped in a place like this?
Should you turn back to the open safety deposit box, you might notice a slip of paper resting on the bottom. The paper looks aged, like it's been in the box for quite some time, and in printed text it reads: "Nothing is yours. It is to use. It is to share. If you will not share it, you cannot use it."
Maybe it means you should let another hold the item you've retrieved from the box… or maybe it means you should share the weight of memory. Try to interpret the meaning in whatever way you can. But should you decide to unburden yourself, and share with someone else the weight of the item you're holding in your hands, you may find that there's a means of escape after all.
Once you free yourself from the vault, for the next several days you find yourself feeling rather honest, like you may not be able to stop yourself from confessing the truth about the item you now carry…
Characters who wish to participate in the event, but who do not wish to randomize the contents of their safety deposit boxes, can open their safety deposit boxes to find an emotionally significant item belonging to the character—player's choice as to what the item is. The only guidelines are that it should be small enough to fit reasonably in a pocket and may not have any magical or weapon properties. Similarly, players are able to choose the memories associated with the items in the safety deposit boxes. The vault door will remain closed until the characters in the vault explain to each other the significance of their items and the memory associated with them, at which point it the vault mechanisms will disengage and the door will swing open as if it had never closed to begin with. However, for the four days following the event, characters who carry their safety deposit box item on their person will feel oddly compelled to tell other characters about its significance and meaning.
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A CRASH-SITE IS SACRED, WE'RE FAITHFUL.
» SAFETY DEPOSIT BOXES — A JOINT VENTURE
For others of you, the contents of the safety deposit box may be considerably more disconcerting.
You also take your safety deposit box key from the rack behind the bank teller's counter and make your way back through the building and into the vault. It's cool inside, the temperature well-regulated and the air dry. On the walls are rows upon rows of safety deposit boxes, and it may take you a moment to find the one that corresponds to the number stamped on your key. Does that number mean anything to you? It may, or it may not.
When you find your box, it takes very little effort to open it. A slide of your key, a quick turn, and the safety deposit box's door springs open to reveal the metal container within. You remove the metal box from the wall and bring it over to the table in the center of the room, clearly placed there for this express purpose. Maybe there are others around, or maybe you're alone. Do you remember yet, what it was you put in here? Well, there's no time like the present to check.
You open the safety deposit box to find—wait, what is that? It certainly doesn't belong to you. Tucked inside the safety deposit box alongside the item is a slip of paper with another name on it, as well as a cryptic message: "Nothing is yours. It is to use. It is to share. If you will not share it, you cannot use it." The item isn't yours, but it does appear to belong to another resident of the city. Maybe your safety deposit boxes somehow got mixed up? It seems like it would be a good idea to find this person and return their property to them.
Whether you encounter the owner of the item in the vault or elsewhere in the city, when it comes time to hand the item over, two things happen. One—the doors are locked tight, refusing to allow either you or the item's owner out until you both understand what the item is and what it means to the other. To unburden your heart is the only way to free yourself.
And two—as the owner of the item explains its significance, you find yourself oddly captivated, resonating strongly with whatever emotion the item's owner most closely associates with it. You may not be able to see the memory that the other person describes, but you can certainly feel the emotions they felt—after all, the easiest way to unburden oneself is to share the load with another. Isn't that right?
Once you free yourself from your enthralled state, and once you have your own belongings returned to you, for the next several days you find yourself feeling rather honest, like you may not be able to stop yourself from confessing the truth about the item you now carry…
Characters who opted to randomize the contents of their safety deposit box during the plotting post, or who plotted a joint experience with another character, will open their safety deposit boxes to find a small, non-magical but emotionally significant item belonging to another player character in the city. They will need to find the owner of that item and return it to them—this can either be inside the bank vault or in another location within the city. Regardless of where the meeting takes place, the character holding the item will find themselves unable to leave until the character who owns the item explains its significance; as they do, the holder of the item will find themselves swept up in the emotional highs and lows of the memories associated with that item, allowing them to share all of the feelings, regrets, joys, griefs, and rages that the owner experiences in the telling. Additionally, for the four days following the event, characters who carry their safety deposit box item on their person will feel oddly compelled to tell other characters about its significance and meaning.
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WILDCARD.
The city is by no means small, and there are plenty of things for you to see. There's no rush in exploring, so feel free to take your time looking around and peering into various nooks and crannies and alleyways—and don't worry, you're not very likely to find anything peering back.
If none of the above prompts appeal, feel free to check out the Locations and Maps pages and write your own freestyle prompt using one or many of the available locations.
This month's event headers come from "The Things" and "The Gatherer," two poems by Brendan Constantine. The text of the paper slip comes from Ursula K. LeGuin's The Dispossessed.
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citylogs2023-07-19 08:45 pm
break the fruit into quarters.
but here he is, because the building's gone and unlocked himself, and the group of people that had forayed into its depths already didn't seem to need kaveh's intervention or help. so, operating on the notion that being able to see things at his own pace would work out just as well for a building of this size, he's chosen instead to linger along its counters to study the thin quality of the glass dividing empty spaces from each other and to see if he can observe flaws. glass-making has always been finicky business. it's a marvel that they've managed to get the glass so thin, at such congruent sizes, and with no visible blemishes that kaveh's trained eye can perceive. kaveh's followed the line of glass all the way to its foregone conclusion, where at the end of things, a white-haired young man sits at a terminal.
he looks, kaveh thinks, much like the word 'hunger' might coalesce into human shape. no - hunger is a gentle word, it implies a passivity that the thin lines of the young man's face doesn't quite capture. the man is sharp; he is built much the way a knife is poised to cut. 'starvation' might be a better word for it, but that attributes a kind of personality to a man that kaveh doesn't know, in a way that makes kaveh uncomfortable for having thought it. there's a look of intense concentration that's camped there on his expression in a way that automatically makes kaveh curious as to what he's looking at. so kaveh rounds the terminal, tilting just so so's to glimpse the rounded edge of the screen.
he looks. ]
Oh. It says you've lost.
the way this made me cackle out loud thank you
and that means that from the corner of his eye he's been watching this guy canvas what seems to be every single corner of this entire building. it's funny, because it doesn't look like he's figuring out escape routes or natural cover in case of a fight, the way heine had—it's more like he's… trying to figure out the building itself. leaning in to look at the walls, touching the thin glass that separates the teller desks from the counters. curiosity, not paranoia, which is a fascinating difference in itself.
—and he's so colorful. ]
What? [ briefly distracted by the shameless way the guy had leaned around to see what heine was doing, he's missed a move and lost the game. ] Oh, shit.
[ not that there was much of a chance of winning anyway, with the blocks stacked up as high as they were, but still. damn. heine cuts glance between his computer screen and the guy's face, then sits back. ]
I should make you play, since you made me lose.
[ he's not really annoyed, there's no heat in his voice at all. it's just an opener for the real question he wants to ask, which is: ]
Find anything interesting?
im glad... also sorry for the slow! work busy's over, so i am back. cracks knuckles.
the laissez-faire flicker of the man's attention is light, and airy, like a feathery bait tossed to a cat. no, the earlier words didn't quite work. 'cool', kaveh thinks, is the word to describe him. the red of heine's eyes meet that of kaveh's, whose own flickers from screen to man and back. ]
You. And your manner of loss. [ is kaveh's immediate rejoinder. but he hadn't missed the way the other man had shifted his body just so. it reminded him a little of cyno when he's on the job, the kind of watchfulness that begets the careful documentation of motion, even if the observer is choosing not to act with any kind of immediacy. kaveh's rolls his wrist in the way of punctuation as he slips over to heine's side, attention already falling upon the keyboard and the monitor before him. ] Actually, the only interesting thing here is that the general building design is similar to that of the underground stations. Whoever designed the one below is either the same as the one who designed this building, or they have lunch a little too often. I'm appalled by the stunning lack of mosaics; the building could've used some. Do you see the thin, rectangular windows up there?
[ kaveh points. ] I would have put something in fragments of green and blue to soften the light. As it stands, the pale white tiles look off-colour because the light is entirely unfiltered, and it makes this building less pleasant to be in. Which is silly, because a building meant to keep your money should make you feel like you want your money to stay in it.
[ and then, because he's kaveh, he lets the weight of his considerable attention fall to heine. ] So? How do you play this game? And is this a game you played often wherever you come from?
is okay i also got eaten alive by work so ur timing is perfection
not a day in his life has heine ever paid close attention to the architecture of spaces around him, except insofar as it lets him make a clean exit when he needs to. not that there's much architecture to look at where he's from, the city being the semi-brutalist ode to depressingly functional concrete structures that it is. he can't help but follow the flow of kaveh's attention, along the walls (no mosaics, a travesty!) and up to the indicated windows before he looks back down to the whitish tiles of the floor. kaveh is right—not that heine would ever have concluded such on his own. it makes him wonder what the hell this guy did back home, to render him so equally concerned with the aesthetics of a space as he is with its function.
but because he's heine, what he actually says is a thoughtful, ] Huh. [ as he files the rest of it away to be mulled over later.
tetris feels comparably easier to explain, although heine is far from an expert. ] Blocks come from the top. You rotate them and make them fit together. When you fill up the row, it disappears. If you let the blocks stack to the top, you lose. [ which was exactly what heine had done to lose his last round, thank you very much.
he scoots his chair to the side a little, making room. that's as close to an invitation to play as kaveh is going to get. ] Never played it before but it has instructions.
You must like buildings.
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instead: a new puzzle. blocks from the top, rotating blocks, filling up a row and it disappears. intuitive, but the best games usually are. kaveh looks over the keyboard. he skims the instructions with a hum. without missing a beat: ]
I'm an architect. I think it goes beyond just liking. What's the saying? When you've a hammer, every problem looks like a nail. So wherever I go, the way things are designed and built catch my attention. I maintain that you can tell a lot about the builder or designer just from what they've done alone, and right now, all we have in this world are what's built - how else are we supposed to find out what's behind it without looking at their creations?
[ the keys are responsive under kaveh's hand, though the click of them is a little too tactile. kaveh realises that he doesn't like it. the sound echoes unpleasantly against the pristine white of the walls to the left and right. but the long space bar gets the game going. he begins to flip the blocks around. ]
So? What's your hammer, and what nail has caught your attention?
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but—"all we have in this world is what's built." well, the guy's not wrong. heine has drawn some conclusions from the structures present in the city too, just not... exactly the same way that kaveh has.
is tetris a good game for architects to play? ]
Can't say I have one. [ he understands what kaveh is asking. it's just that heine hasn't really had a purpose outside of bitter revenge in years. he's focused, but not so focused that everything looks like angelika einstürzen. ] I just do whatever for whoever will pay me.
[ and if kaveh thinks that sounds like a job without much room for aesthetic considerations, he would be right. ]
Adaptable, though. I guess that makes me good for a place like this.
[ without any shame about it, heine watches kaveh figure out how to play the game. it's not an antagonistic gaze, more an evaluating one. at least in theory, they're all working towards the same goal here, and to the extent that heine is able to fill in his own blind spots with other people, he should try not to be opposed. ]
Heine, by the way.
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[ it's a very specific kind of 'you'. it's a 'you' with the kind of lilt that suggests less like it's a 'you' that belongs on a wanted poster somewhere, and more like it's a 'you' where there's a 24-volume manga backstory implied in the gaps between the letters. kaveh's fingers, which had been doing just fine rhythmically translating his natural affinity for pattern recognition and gestalt composition, suddenly jams down the down button and ruins an entire three rows. the expletive that follows is northern sumeran. but the sanguine glance that kaveh had thrown heine's way in the interim had been thoughtful, if startled.
the glance had revealed that heine didn't look as bruised as alhaitham looked. the assumption that alhaitham had his backside handed back to him, kaveh thinks, is looking more and more compelling. ]
I'm Kaveh. We're actually acquainted - or, sort of. In the kind of acquaintance that has some annoying middle person sandwiched between us. Alhaitham looked like someone tossed him down a set of stairs when he came back from having a mock bout with you. I suspect he's still sleeping it off right now. [ and, genuinely, scared the ever living shit out of kaveh, though if pressed, his defense is that he'd been on four days of no sleep, and alhaitham knows his own measure well enough to never get into bouts he doesn't directly benefit from. the bruises, then, would've been a tradeoff for something more valuable.
kaveh considers this. ] So? [ with the edge of expectant curiosity: ] Who did win?
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hearing that it's actually a six-degrees type situation makes more sense, and when kaveh finally says the name, alhaitham, heine gets it. ]
Ah, magic plant man. The tall one, not the scientist. [ he hadn't asked alhaitham for an in-depth lesson on how the visions work and what exactly dendro is, but tighnari had planted (ha, ha) a seed (hardy har!) in his mind about getting in fights with plants, so heine is likely forevermore going to just think of dendro as "plant magic." alas. ]
I did. We went first to the ground. [ heine had an unfair advantage in being a much faster healer than almost anyone else he knows, but alhaitham had put up a good fight. ] He wasn't bad, though.
[ coming from heine, that's high praise. ]
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the surprised laugh that comes is like finding an unexpected well hidden in the desert, the kind that, at night, would reflect the silver of faraway starlight. ]
Magic plant man! [ ah, fuck, there goes two more blocks. kaveh's delight, however, is immeasurable. ] Oh, there's a proper name for him. They used to call him the Lunatic of the Akademiya for a title, and never to his face or in proper company, but this one's much better and I'm going to be using it for some time.
[ magic!! plant!! man!! ] Well? Are you the type to mollify everyone you spar with with faint praise, or was he really not bad?
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Lunatic of the Akademiya? [ in the course of their fistfight alhaitham hadn't had reason to mention the akademiya, but heine thinks he can guess by its name what sort of place it might be—an institute of learning, he assumes, for plant magic and everything else besides. it just has that capital-a Akademiya sound that makes it seem fancy. ] For what?
[ although their interaction had been brief, alhaitham hadn't seemed that much like a lunatic. (granted, heine's frame of reference is... well, himself, so maybe a little skewed in one direction.) ]
He wasn't bad. But it also wasn't exactly a fair fight, I heal fast. [ much faster than any human does, that's for sure. that was probably the part more interesting to alhaitham than the sparring itself, which seemed to be more an exercise in understanding whether he could hold his own without weaponry or powers. ] You friends, then? Roommates? There's a bunch of you, huh.
[ people from where kaveh's from, he means—heine's now on number three. ]
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the mirth slowly fades however at the puzzling question of identity. it isn't bad, per se. but it also isn't something kaveh knows how to quantify at this moment in time, and that makes conversations about it complicated. ]
No, we're... well, we're not friends, and we're not roommates either. [ what did gregor say about it? not-buddy, not-roomie. something like that. kaveh's free hand scratches at his chin in an awkward lull, and then, because he is kaveh, he lets his lips curl into something wry. ] It's complicated. It's not a bad kind of complicated - it just is. The easier question to answer is the one about him being a lunatic, but in all honesty I'd rather let you find out yourself. Tell me in a month if he is or isn't a lunatic, and I'll tell you about the time he toppled a government because he wanted a little more reading time for himself.
[ a thoughtful hum. ]
Don't worry about the fight being fair or not, though; Alhaitham wouldn't have picked it if he thought it wasn't reasonable. What do you mean by healing fast? Is it something you were born with, or something you were granted?
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Sure, I'll give you the verdict. [ assuming he and alhaitham ever have cause to speak again. then again, if heine recalls correctly (which he might not), alhaitham might have said something about sparring more regularly... is that lunatic behavior, in and of itself? ] But I respect the level of insane you have to be to topple a government in the name of your hobbies.
[ there are a couple of things heine would topple governments for, but definitely not reading. sorry to y'all academics out there.
the line of questioning is funny, because it's exactly what alhaitham had done when heine mentioned it after their fight, but given kaveh's complicated feelings on the subject of their friendship heine feels that maybe pointing out the similarities might not be prudent. ] Not born with it, but "granted" is a pretty gentle word for it. It was given to me.
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kaveh is no haravatat. the kshahrewar deal with technology and mechanical operations, they deal in lumber and stone and clay, and kaveh in particular excels at taking with both hands ideas that reside solely in the realm of dreams and wresting them kicking and screaming into the realm of reality. the haravatat, in contrast, split words and semantics, argue etymons and phonology, and draw from the spoken and written word what kaveh bleeds from lumber and stone. kaveh is no haravatat graduate with twenty languages under their belt, but he hears the careful choice of wording in heine's explanation, and something of his heart drops down to the soles of his feet. ]
Given, but not a gift. And if someone had given it to you, then they would have tested it. [ kaveh says, and the emotion that he wears on his sleeve falters, because any academic would know the rest: to test self-healing - well. so it goes.
kaveh shakes his head. in case the topic is an unpleasant one, he adds: ] I used the word 'granted' because anything outside of human capacity is typically granted by the divine through Visions. [ he taps the little colourless bauble that hangs at his hip, still, clear as glass as about as colourful as a bleached christmas ornament, ] This would have been green when it has connection to its power source, and if it had been, I would have been compelled to tell you that I also belong in the 'magic plant man' category. [ with a bit of rue: ] As it stands now, it hasn't got any use safe for looking pretty, but I'd feel odd not carrying it around.
Ah - but please only call Alhaitham 'magic plant man'. I rather think he deserves it more than I do.
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Yeah. [ tested it good, too. his speed, his agility, his strength, his healing—his killing intent, once he was big enough for that. not that kaveh needs to know that part.
his gaze drops briefly to the ornament hanging from kaveh's clothes. it looks similar to the one alhaitham was wearing at his shoulder. (presumably tighnari had one, too—heine hadn't noticed.) the vision, the source? focus? of the elemental power that so many people from this world seem to use. alhaitham had said it felt strange, not having access to it the way he's used to, but heine is once again just thankful that such a thing doesn't exist in his world—he can only imagine the ways in which it would immediately be abused. ]
Not too much divinity where I'm from, [ is what heine says instead. ] But no plants, either, so it'd be lost on me. Assuming it only works on plants. [ and not other types of elemental energy, that is. heine has, somehow, managed to only meet dendro users so far during his stay in the city.
he leans back in his chair, legs stretched out in front of him and hands tucked behind his head, and gives kaveh a considering look. ] Want me to come up with something else for you?
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but it makes sense. kaveh, who has only known divinity to be tangible individuals sharing that same walk of life as those with mortal bounds, thinks that if there were divinity, what already sounds like a fairly complex situation must've been further complicated. it's the lack of plants that has kaveh startle, considering, as he tilts his head towards this new and unusual tidbit. sumeru had been as green as it comes. they say it was a land that is constituted by three seas: the great sand sea, the great sea of the rainforest, and the saltspray of the sea that leads to fontaine across the dunes. ]
You're going to give me a nickname. [ this is bad idea, if alhaitham's impression on the man is 'magic plant man', but kaveh suddenly finds himself charmed, if a little cautiously so. this is definitely worth hearing out. ] Now I have to hear this. My only ask is that 'plant' isn't a part of it, given that it's already being used, and to be entirely honest there's someone else who's a better fit for that sort of thing.
[ kaveh grins. ] So? What do you have for me, Heine?
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more importantly: a nickname. heine narrows his eyes a little, regarding kaveh, and then shakes his head slightly. ] Nah, it's no good if I force it. Has to come naturally.
[ probably he'll need to get to know kaveh a little better in order to decide what a good nickname for him would be. re-using the topic of plants wouldn't do, either, because then it just seems uncreative. there's already the impression of kaveh's character floating around heine's mind—his attention to detail, artistry, something bordering on shamelessness (complimentary) in the way he approaches other people—but a good nickname requires thouught!
really, super serious, there's a science to it and it's not just heine stalling because he's suddenly been put on the spot. ]
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I'll give you that time to make your judgment, then, so long as you don't forget what you are meant to do. You're the man who bested Alhaitham in single-combat, you've earned the time.
[ it's that laissez-faire attitude, kaveh thinks. a little like a man who knows his own measure well enough to also know when to pick his battles. kaveh rises with a tilt of his heel. his hand stretch above him; the joints of his elbows crack, once each, and then the popcorn crackle of his knuckles like miniature fireworks. kaveh winces. ]
Anyway, I'm going to go and take a look further inside. The majority of the larger group seems to have moved on, so it ought not to be as busy. What will you do? Watch over the exit?
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[ heine still maintains it wasn't exactly a fair fight, given his biology and alhaitham's lack of experience with close-quarters, weaponless combat... but he's not going to belabor the point.
an eyebrow quirks at the series of joint pops, and heine can't help but say, ] Damn. [ either a game of tetris is enough to have kaveh this stiff, in which case he almost definitely needs to stretch more, or the man carries more tension than he lets on. in heine's estimation, it's probably the latter. ]
Most likely. [ heine's gaze slides briefly around the bank—it certainly sounds quieter than it had before—before coming back to rest on kaveh. ] I'm waiting for someone. Let me know if you find anything interesting, though.
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he doesn't even have the grace to look embarrassed by being a walking popcorn bag - instead, the considerable weight of kaveh's curiosity falls. ]
A friend?
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[ complicated like badou is probably the only sure thing heine has ever known; complicated like he's afraid to care in case that's the death knell that brings his sicko mother calling. complicated like heine still has blood on his hands from the last friends he made and he doesn't want badou's added to the mess. (heine doesn't know yet what the next couple of days hold for them.)
but one thing's for certain: ] He's no lunatic, though. Badou's probably the most normal person I know. [ heine says it with a flat affect like he can't decide whether it's a compliment or an insult, which is how he often delivers his commentary to or about badou. ]
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badou. kaveh will remember that name. kaveh's lips quirk at the flat affect which heine delivers his line - very good friends, then, he thinks. though he's not certain if he believes in the normalcy of it - this is, after all, from someone who had probably not seen normal in some time, not with the revelation regarding potential experimentations. ]
I hope he comes around soon, then. [ kaveh says, earnestly. ] He's really made you wait, and that's given some architect leave to bother you this entire time. You ought to complain about that. It'd be your right.
[ kaveh raises a hand. ] I'll see you around, then, Badou's Friend.