One of ours. Throwing their tea in the harbor was not enough. Retribution won't be had until I look one dead in the eye while I boil the water for the tea in a microwave.
〈 your face is unnecessary gets typed out, then deleted without submitting in the interest of peace. and tea.
the spiders give warning of her arrival before her knock does. when the door opens, she extends a small tin as if paying a toll for entry. 〉
It's diānhóng gōngfū.
〈 out loud, 〉 I'm not going to butcher that. Important thing to know, 〈 she swings her legs across the sill, 〉is that that is my very own Nie Huaisang given tea identity.
（ his tone is wry, suffused with some species of quiet humour. he sets the box of tea down on the slim countertop adjacent to the bed, and pulls out a small electric kettle. not his favourite method, but certainly the simplest here — he fills it rather mundanely with water, and sets it to boil. ）
Yep. Produced a few cinema classics. Wei Wuxian and I have a movie night going on the station. Just us. 〈 aka not newt's. much love to the weird little guy, but— 〉
You should come by next time. I asked Viveca for a projector so we can turn an entire wall into the screen.
I do not think that movies are necessarily to my taste.
（ it's not quite a no, but it's certainly not a yes, either. while he cares for them deeply, that does not mean that his social tendency towards spending the majority of his time alone is so easily set aside. one person he can handle, in small doses in close situations — two is another matter entirely, and not one he expects he is terribly well equipped to endure for any length of time.
the kettle starts to chatter, and so he measures out the tea leaves, thus arming the pot before he fills it. ）
I find I do not connect with most of the commonly accepted forms of entertainment the crew of the Ximilia tend to prefer.
（ the music was too loud. the play too chaotic (or maybe the actors were just — not of a calibre he's accustomed to) and movies too... frankly, ridiculous. ）
（ it does not sound like a revelation, surely — there is no sudden shock, no strange looks. but it is, in its own way. living is growth. learning new things — and, yes, broadening one's horizons.
for so long, his survival had been narrowed to the point of a blade. it was a thing done for nothing more than the singular purpose — he had been living to die. he had hoped then, that it would bring sasuke some modicum of peace, some closure on the deaths he has come to see as less and less necessary the longer he has been here.
the uchiha were seditious. that sedition could have easily lead to war. but danzō wanted them dead, and that is, ah — the root of it all. he saw the uchiha in the worst of all possible lights, but ultimately what drove him was a jealous lust for their power.
what a weak man. but fear still kneads at his gut when he thinks of him, of the hollow spark of shisui's chakra in his right eye. perhaps he will always be afraid, but fear would not have stayed his hand.
there are things he has considered here, realized here, experienced here, that his world could never have given him. at times he does not know if it is a good or bad thing — but he has grown. changed, and he hears that word in the echo of blue's deep, wavering voice. ）
Perhaps I will come. An evening. But I would request something in Japanese.
（ what does he know, of entertainment that is not a matter of war? every book he has ever read, every play ever watched runs along that common theme. people, families, lovers torn apart by conflict, or killed by the very same.
there are nearly no happy endings, in the stories of his homeland. not without cause. people write what they know, have seen, have endured. tragedy is the beating heart of konoha. but hope — he thinks of naruto, and of the future he hoped the boy would go on to build, and exhales. ）
I will leave it to you. Surely you are somewhat informed of my preferences by now.
〈 she arches an eyebrow. 〉 Oh, so this is the only way I get a hug from you?
〈 despite her teasing, she takes his hand, rising with an innate (and entirely spider-bite granted) grace. she tips her head to the side in clear now what? gesture. her recently grown-out hair grazes her shoulder. 〉
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Fabulous. Carved pumpkins, saw nightmares, threw a guy in a dumpster for being offensively British.
WBY
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British — one of ours, or is there an equivalent region here?
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〈 her vengeance will be cruel and appalling. 〉
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Possibly something floral.
（ he's offended by whoever is calling hibiscus soup tea, it's a fucking infusion, you animals. ）
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〈 god. she's really become a tea head. all that's missing is the cozy cardigan and a cat. 〉
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（ look he was also recently bonding with the man over tea, his curiosity is valid. ）
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When and where?
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〈 clarification necessary because she actually can bring a microwave along. 〉
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A kettle is unnecessary.
（ as if he's not already kitted out, smh. ）
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the spiders give warning of her arrival before her knock does. when the door opens, she extends a small tin as if paying a toll for entry. 〉
It's diānhóng gōngfū.
〈 out loud, 〉 I'm not going to butcher that. Important thing to know, 〈 she swings her legs across the sill, 〉is that that is my very own Nie Huaisang given tea identity.
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Black tea. I see — that does suit you. It's often sweeter.
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〈 the spiders collapse again into their normal state; venom winds around her neck like a caress. she smiles at it fondly. 〉 But you’re not bitter.
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（ his tone is wry, suffused with some species of quiet humour. he sets the box of tea down on the slim countertop adjacent to the bed, and pulls out a small electric kettle. not his favourite method, but certainly the simplest here — he fills it rather mundanely with water, and sets it to boil. ）
How have you found the town so far?
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〈 taking a seat on the bed (no shoes on the cover because she's not an animal), she shrugs. 〉
Like I get why 80s small-town horror movies only last 90 minutes. It's a lot of mundanity in between the horrifying peaks.
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Is that a common genre?
（ he has watched exactly one movie, and it was spongebob, and he hated every minute of it. ）
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You should come by next time. I asked Viveca for a projector so we can turn an entire wall into the screen.
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（ it's not quite a no, but it's certainly not a yes, either. while he cares for them deeply, that does not mean that his social tendency towards spending the majority of his time alone is so easily set aside. one person he can handle, in small doses in close situations — two is another matter entirely, and not one he expects he is terribly well equipped to endure for any length of time.
the kettle starts to chatter, and so he measures out the tea leaves, thus arming the pot before he fills it. ）
I find I do not connect with most of the commonly accepted forms of entertainment the crew of the Ximilia tend to prefer.
（ the music was too loud. the play too chaotic (or maybe the actors were just — not of a calibre he's accustomed to) and movies too... frankly, ridiculous. ）
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Like, I have actual opinions on tea now. 〈 her hands open as if forming a rainbow between them. 〉 My horizons keep broadening.
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（ it does not sound like a revelation, surely — there is no sudden shock, no strange looks. but it is, in its own way. living is growth. learning new things — and, yes, broadening one's horizons.
for so long, his survival had been narrowed to the point of a blade. it was a thing done for nothing more than the singular purpose — he had been living to die. he had hoped then, that it would bring sasuke some modicum of peace, some closure on the deaths he has come to see as less and less necessary the longer he has been here.
the uchiha were seditious. that sedition could have easily lead to war. but danzō wanted them dead, and that is, ah — the root of it all. he saw the uchiha in the worst of all possible lights, but ultimately what drove him was a jealous lust for their power.
what a weak man. but fear still kneads at his gut when he thinks of him, of the hollow spark of shisui's chakra in his right eye. perhaps he will always be afraid, but fear would not have stayed his hand.
there are things he has considered here, realized here, experienced here, that his world could never have given him. at times he does not know if it is a good or bad thing — but he has grown. changed, and he hears that word in the echo of blue's deep, wavering voice. ）
Perhaps I will come. An evening. But I would request something in Japanese.
（ he is condemning you to subtitles, gwen. ）
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Any particular genre or dealer's choice?
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there are nearly no happy endings, in the stories of his homeland. not without cause. people write what they know, have seen, have endured. tragedy is the beating heart of konoha. but hope — he thinks of naruto, and of the future he hoped the boy would go on to build, and exhales. ）
I will leave it to you. Surely you are somewhat informed of my preferences by now.
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I accept the challenge.
〈 there will be a spreadsheet. years of illegal streaming about to pay dividends. 〉
Now, where's my tea?
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（ but he does fill the cups. rather than simply hand hers to her, however — ）
My personal goal on this mission is to perform an act of physical affection with three individuals. May I?
（ he holds out a hand to her, clear indication he intends to pull her to her feet. ）
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〈 despite her teasing, she takes his hand, rising with an innate (and entirely spider-bite granted) grace. she tips her head to the side in clear now what? gesture. her recently grown-out hair grazes her shoulder. 〉
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tardío fin.