vatheon | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who: Dr. Stein and you!
Where: The plaza
When: Right after his arrival! (Tuesday, Jan 29)
Status: Open

[There are some people who don't mind getting soaked to the skin. There are some people who do mind it. Stein is one of those people who acts a bit like a wet cat, removing his lab coat and shaking it out, carding his hands through his hair and trying to flick out the water, and making an annoyed expression at the general wetness involved in arriving in Vatheon.

This does mean that the tall, scarred man with the metal bolt stuck through his head is not exactly looking where he's going.]

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[An even heavier sigh, mildly exasperated.]

I do.

[Happy?!]

Not that it makes much of a difference.

Did you learn anything from it?

[Ever the teacher and scientist, huh Professor.]

Quite a few things.

[It also served to complicate his friendships with a few people, by way of introducing a few peculiar sentiments with regard to their loss and rediscovery.]

Although they have nothing to do with each other, I coincidentally feel I understand my father a little better.

Oh? How so?

The manner with which my Honorable Father addressed the students and faculty of Shibusen made it easier for him to reach his intended audience. This, I understood intellectually, but comprehending it on a personal level was beyond me until in a similar position, myself.

[He'll just elaborate more on this, like he's delivering a report on the beauty of the number eight in front of the class. Probably just as mind-numbingly boring in tone, too.]

Some definitions for certain sentiments seem more enriched by my experience. My understanding of camaraderie and loss, for example. I was a little chagrined by my long exile.

I think I had begun to assume it my responsibility as a reaper to see after the health and safety of the coral, and by proxy, Vatheon itself.

Edited 2013-02-05 22:52 (UTC)

[Many things bore Stein. Human psychology, for one. The thought processes of a young god are an entirely different story.]

It makes sense for you to feel an obligation to a place you lived for hundreds of years.

Even though the curse is over and I now know that everything I thought I experienced was a mere fabrication, this remains.

[A weary sense of obligation and fondness, gently bruised by centuries of impotent waiting.

Furthermore, that awkward moment when you wake up after a curse and realize your heart ached to see your friends again, even though they were helpless children who didn't even recognize you for who you were.

To say absence makes the heart grow fonder does not even begin to describe it.

Kid's expression has, in the meantime, gone from stoic concentration into a scowl of discomfort. Ugh, feelings. What do. Dismissively flicking a hand, he continues:]

This side-effect is sure to pass, like with all curses.

[The walk is taking longer than it should for a single reason: Kid insists on taking left-right-left-right turns, in that order precisely.]

[Left, right, left, and if Stein knew where they were going, he would try to lead Kid there, but he doesn't, so he just lets the neurotic little god point him down the winding roads.]

Is it really such a bad thing?

Bad or good, I couldn't say.

[Confusing? Hell yes.]

In indulging a fantasy of two centuries, I've complicated an otherwise satisfactorily straightforward friendship. Two, to be precise.

[Because when isn't he.]

There are pleasant and unpleasant aspects. The balance struck between these two has a certain appeal, of course, but it otherwise seems to serve no other purpose.

The complications happened while you were under the influence of the curse?

It was only particularly complicated once I realized those two centuries never happened.

[There was no longer a justification for this baffling, strong sense of attachment, the swelling sense of joy when he sat at breakfast with all the others and saw them chatting away as if nothing unusual had taken place at all.]

It's unbecoming. Father would be ashamed, surely.

Kid, your father has never been ashamed of you.

What you remember might not have happened, but that doesn't mean you can't let it affect you.

[That darted, sidelong glance at the professor might well have been a trick of the light reflecting off his eyes.]

It seems foolish to be affected by a known falsehood, Professor.

Oh? Did you do anything then that you wouldn't have done if those years were real?

[Is it terrible that he has to really consider that question before he answers it?

No, as he looks critically at this, he can't see how his response might have been different, the baffling sentiments still as strong and confusing; that may have comforted him, if not for the fact that he continues to be as at a loss of what to do about it as he was before.]

...Not particularly.

Then what's the harm of letting yourself learn from it?

I don't think I particularly like what I've learned.

[GOSH THIS IS COMPLICATED. If only he could change the subj--HERE WE GO!

Kid has come to an abrupt halt, but the reason becomes clear when he follows this up with:]

We've arrived, Professor.

You don't have to like every lesson.

[All right, all right, he'll let the subject change.]

Very nice.

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