〈 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. 〉
（ although, she would be correct to suspect he would say no. but he does after a moment wrap an arm around her and draw her in close — resting his cheek comfortably against the crown of her hair. he does not like the proximity, the nearness nor her inherent lethality — this close, she could kill him. the only thing that prevents it is her own nature and the relationship they have built back from betrayal.
the hug is enveloping, but brief. he releases her, and turns back to collect the cups of tea steaming gently on the small formica countertop, and then he hands one to her. ）
〈 —after careful consideration, the council has voted, and she will feel endeared. even if the request only came about because of the orbs. he thought of her, and that is practically a declaration that they're besties.
his awkwardness, in full fairness, is also pulling double-duty. there is something about watching itachi turning into a real boy that tugs at the heartstrings. she accepts her tea with an amused curl at the corner of her mouth. 〉
Thank you for the tea, and thank you for the very early birthday present. 〈 he is excused from getting her a gift in december. 〉
as in she actually does finger guns. someone come collect her, she’s out of control. 〉
Honestly, 〈 she begins in the same tone she might use to talk about an okay show, 〉 it’s a sign of my spectacularly bad luck that even my birth date sucks.
〈 when being born on christmas would have been an improvement. at least then she could crack jokes about being holy. 〉
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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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（ although, she would be correct to suspect he would say no. but he does after a moment wrap an arm around her and draw her in close — resting his cheek comfortably against the crown of her hair. he does not like the proximity, the nearness nor her inherent lethality — this close, she could kill him. the only thing that prevents it is her own nature and the relationship they have built back from betrayal.
the hug is enveloping, but brief. he releases her, and turns back to collect the cups of tea steaming gently on the small formica countertop, and then he hands one to her. ）
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his awkwardness, in full fairness, is also pulling double-duty. there is something about watching itachi turning into a real boy that tugs at the heartstrings. she accepts her tea with an amused curl at the corner of her mouth. 〉
Thank you for the tea, and thank you for the very early birthday present. 〈 he is excused from getting her a gift in december. 〉
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（ he will, of course, be doing something rather more thoughtful than this!!
but in the interim, he sits down beside her on the bed, and raises his tea for a drink. ）
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〈 that’s not a flex, gwen. that is emphatically not a flex. 〉
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（ when the b-side killers track mr. genocide over here is reading you for filth.... girl... maybe get some standards. ）
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as in she actually does finger guns. someone come collect her, she’s out of control. 〉
Honestly, 〈 she begins in the same tone she might use to talk about an okay show, 〉 it’s a sign of my spectacularly bad luck that even my birth date sucks.
〈 when being born on christmas would have been an improvement. at least then she could crack jokes about being holy. 〉
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（ he actually has no idea of the specifics. birthdates weren't something he tended to care about — his own, or anyone else's save sasuke's. ）
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Four days before that.
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still wore that ugly sweater tho. ）
I fail to see the correlation. What about the date is terrible?
（ people just don't care about holidays the same way in his world, and birthdays are rarely — if ever — a big deal to anyone. ）
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A lot—especially when your life has gone up in flames during the most wonderful time of the year.
〈 of which the school was all too happy to remind her. 〉
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tardío fin.