Short or not, I can't say that I'd dislike it. For me, I have always been open to hearing or learning new things.
(which is true, karna has always accepted people from many walks of life. their profession, their choices, did not matter. as long as they were not wicked and were repentant of the misdeeds they have done prior to his aiding them if were they in need. another reason why so many considered him a saint before and after his demise by his brothers arrow.
the scars don't sting, but they're there along his neck, across that heart suit mark of his. large and obvious. though he did notice that hum, the amused tone in it. it's nice to know that she found him being sincere about it then pleasing.)
But I speak truly, anyway. I am more a warrior than an artist, but the arts should still be appreciated....a pity then that, so many may not pay attention.
For me, I would often drink with my sworn brothers. My adoptive family. We would share our own stories, our own tales, while our home was lively. Some having had followed me while knowing that I would never once allow the weak to be punished if they were true.
You paint a lovely picture there, my thoughtful new friend.
[Perhaps in some ways their cultures were not so different. (She knew they were not.) To hold a banquet, to share tales, to drink, and to delight in each others company…
How human. How divine.]
It is making me think that perhaps we could host such a thing ourselves one day. It could be all of this resorts’ guests, drinking and being merry together… or it could be just us, beneath the moonlight with some poems.
Either way, I think it would be a wonderful sharing of hearts and minds.
(indeed, he knows. from his own comradery with his fellows, he knew too well. to do such things in itself had always felt human to him, it made him feel as though he belonged in their happiness. their revelry and more as the nights passed on.
some were solemn and in remembrance of those they had lost, those that would no longer be with them. others....others were more than that, time spent in beloved joy, beloved happiness. time that they could have had longer with long passed comrades, while they drink in their names and pray to the gods for their soul's journey to be kind.)
Perhaps.
I know that I would not be opposed, perhaps I might have tales to spin. Stories I heard before as I once questioned my elders often in my youth about the worth of their lives, their dreams they once shared with me.
(hmm, he did think about it. the pause and karna shifting to sit up properly, well-mannered and everything for someone so prone to causing others to worry about him heavily. he's silent, it would be interesting. like those stories that were often recited, be it by poems or more than that. his polite demeanor is followed by a look at the partition again, quiet and calm.
or he was quiet until:)
....mm, if we meet again, then I can tell you my name, too. Even for a place as indulgent as the hedonistic pleasures that are offered, a little romanticism has never hurt someone.
(perhaps even the two women he once married would have felt that way, knowing their husband and how he did try. he wasn't the best, admittedly, with anything that the resort pushes on others. or maybe it's easier to say that how he views it is different from others. there was a reason why he hadn't tried to replenish his mana properly.
... When we meet again. Until then, I will pine to know it.
[No. A little romanticism, a little bit of self-imposed longing never hurt anyone. Every time she had been hurt, after all, it had been by far more than only "a little".]
Will we set a date? To meet at the Vale next the false moon rises full... ? Or shall we allow the threads of romance to guide us once more, and leave it all to chance... ?
(being hurt is something karna knows too well, emotionally in some ways and physically. the ring of scars around his neck is proof of part of that when he rubs the back of it idly. without thinking much about it, that was a habit he has in an almost mindless sort of way. any time he thought about something related to it, he would touch the scars.
his sharp blue eyes settle on the table before him, a drink is there, half touched. the idle thoughts remain whilst finding it to be tempting to arrange a meeting. but....after a conversation on romanticism, about other things shared between them from their lives, no. he knows what he wants to do.)
Let it be fate. As a pair of old souls I'm presuming, the two of us know too well how mysterious it can be. Be it by chance, or its own cruel whims.
(he won't hide his age, anyway, no matter how youthful he looks.)
“Fate”, then. For I have always loved it more than “chance”.
[But no, she does not correct his presumption. They are both, perhaps, old souls. Compared to the majority of guests, at any rate. It has been somewhat lonely, in a way she does not often like to linger in, to be surrounded by so many mortals without the option to simply away and spend time with those of similar blood and years.]
I would offer you the respite of the sleep you said you pondered, but now, I am almost determined that you hear all you can of my voice in this time we share, so that you might know it even as a faint laugh across a crowded room.
[She did claim to be a poet… one who sounds to be shifting slightly on her cushioned seat. Getting more comfortable… ?]
Shall you take your turn to draw a paper… ? Or is it to be a lullaby?
I'll play then, it's only fitting that I do my utmost to allow you to remember the sound of my own voice similarly.
(even karna can tell, out of everyone within the resort he's an outlier. all in his own ways, beyond the years of most. to think that he'd meet another that sticks out among young men and women, it's what surprised him. she desires he memorizes her voice, that's only fitting he does commit to memory every laugh and every sound.
everything he can hear while offering her the same from his own whenever a rustling is heard. he reached for the jar, many small sheets of paper sits inside and folded up neatly until he finds the one he wants to grab. it crinkles when he unfolds it with a thoughtful expression.)
Tell me about a fond memory.
(both sides might have many, while he gets more comfortable again after reading it. charred fingers brush against the paper he unfolded before folding it back up carefully.)
[He can have it. She is more comfortable now, settled in, accompanied by the passive sound of her smoking-- the soft rhythm of inhales and exhales, an occasional tap of the metal bowl to settle the scented leaf.]
I have had many fond memories, it is difficult to choose...
[Should she stick to the last fifty years or so, keep it recent? Go far back into the past? There's a gentle humming as she considers it, mulling a few possibilities over in her mind, before,]
I once had a lover who served at court as an exorcist... mostly a ceremonial position, really, but he was quite talented nonetheless. I knew our bond would only be temporary, considering our differences...
[Mortal and immortal, exorcist and supernatural, after all, but.]
But he was a handsome man, and very kind... Very thoughtful. We exchanged many a poem through intermediaries before finally meeting in person, which I suppose is what reminded me of this memory now, of all times.
[A gentle drag of sound- perhaps nails idly running over the cushions.]
There is a festival of love and fortunes in the second month, when spring is nigh, when people would use love poems to predict their futures. Learned men of letters but very little money would hide their faces and take to the streets with a plum blossom branch over their shoulder and love poems tied to the twigs, for sale for those unable to write themselves. At that time, I was attending to a higher-ranked lady who was confined for a birth, and could not go to visit him, nor receive gentleman callers...
But that evening, a love poem seller came to the door of the estate to sell his wares, and I recognized his eyes, and his voice...
[... Hmm. It really has been a long time since she thought about this.]
We shared only a brief touch of bare hands, a lingering glance, before our "transaction" was complete and he needed return to his own estate, and me to my duties... but that letter and the bit of plum branch, which flowered in the vase I set it to rest in, kept me company for many a night alone.
[It had been a shame... when he had found out what she was. The tale ends with her tone bittersweet, perhaps, but... the majority had been "fond".]
(as he listens, he closes his eyes for the moment in thought. his legs crossed together for him to sit on them on this sofa, hands resting against knees, while karna thinks to himself it sounds lonely. or something akin to loneliness, to speak of something close to love and how fond she must have been. in long lives like theirs....heartbreak is a norm. karna has lost plenty. his sons, his life, his everything. did his wife, the woman he first married at the behest of his father feel the same way? that all of it was heartbreaking. she must have. he recalls it, the part where he learned she threw herself on the fire in grief.
where she burned herself to death as her husband was laid to rest, the man she grew to love. that man who sacrificed so much for not only those he cared about, but had gone through things that would have driven mad all manner of men and women. it reminds him of that. would he recognize her again if she reincarnated, if he saw her again somewhere? is it best he didn't? that he would never know it's her, in vivid reminders of her own devotion and her happiness being that of her husband's own.
he hasn't thought about it in a long time. not about her, not about how he screamed in anguish as he found his beloved son dead and struck dead his brother's own. but he won't taint the atmosphere. not with melancholy and tragedy. tragedies were only something that those with their lives would never lose. the only thing that they could do is carry on, no matter that grief and how it weighs heavily on old souls. sometimes, the memories were always better kept close to them.
the joy, the sorrow, that's what keeps them human. as close to it as a demi-god and whatever this woman he speaks with is like a pair of elders among children. among the new generation that is beyond their years.)
Perhaps it's a different sort of tale for me, but as a boy I would often lash out. I knew not my true mother, my true father. I would react with cruelty, without a second thought in who I trampled. My mother and father, they often worried about me. About what kind of man that their son would become. All they could do was watch, do as they must for my sake while showing me that despite it all, that some day I would not feel so angry. So lost and cruel.
Given time, my anger faded. They were humans, a charioteer and his wife. Both having found me abandoned as a babe, I wasn't their son, and yet they sought to raise me as their own.
(perhaps not as bittersweet, but....fond. fond as he thinks about it, no matter the way he once behaved. how he was violent, how he was angry.)
They wished to see me be a strong man, they decided even as I was hurting from not knowing....that they wouldn't give up on me. Even when I was taken in by another family, I would never stop thinking about their kindness. About how they loved me when I considered myself a lost child looking to lash out at the world.
I didn't achieve a lot of things, but for them....I only hope they were happy, to see the man their son became.
[Mortals are not meant to experience the amount of tragedies that come of living long. Their hearts break too easily, and their minds splinter beneath the weight. Has Kiritsubo not met humans who have twisted their bodies with substances stolen from spirits, forcing hearts and brains not meant to experience more than a century to attempt it and go crooked or mad in the attempt? There is a certain... distance, of sorts, required to bear it all. An ability to disconnect, to divorce from the world...
But they also cannot go far. There must be tethers. Things to bind them, and make them human enough. Memories... so many memories, even if they were not always vivid or close at hand, only brought to mind by fleeting reference or reminder. Or... a game, played between those of a similar life.]
It takes a heart full of love to properly raise a child not born of one's own body.
["Properly", is important. Plenty of people raise children not of their own blood from a sense of duty, order, or misguided purpose. Parents did not even properly raise their own flesh, at times.]
And a strong one, to persevere in the face of cruelty. Even the casual, unmeant cruelty of a child.
[And so his parents, then, must be both of these things. That, and-]
How could such hearts not rejoice, to know their son grew into a man who now spoke of them this way with one such as I?
[It is very possible they did not live long enough to see it themselves, for that was the fate of mortals. The woman she had been entrusted to had passed before Kiritsubo had even developed the full, nay the half of her powers. But...
She is smiling faintly where she sits and listens, her cheek pillowed in the palm of her hand.]
Do you mind if I cheat the game a little for our next round... ?
[The fingers of her other hand rustle in the papers, as if dowsing for the sort of prompt she wants and waiting for a sign of which to choose.]
I wish to hear what you sound like when you laugh.
(perhaps he finds himself smiling, it's faint. the memories are always something he'd cherish. a father bringing his son along, praying that the boy would one day embrace this love that had been offered before him. he didn't have everything. his heart would often wonder why his mother would leave him, why she never once came to find him. but he could not bring himself to hate her. that was karna. he held not resentment, only understanding. that had been her choice in the end, she bared the son of one god and then another. both were her children, even if she did favor arjuna more than karna. her status, too.
even in death, he knows. his life, as short-lived as it all was, he did everything he could have done. as a warrior, a father, and more. he turned not away those who were repentant for their sins, for their lies and wish for his succor. he would sacrifice to them everything. his body, his heart, and that soul of his. all burning brightly, like the sun he apologized for speaking blasphemy against. against his actual father and the brightness of it that would be given to the masses, for comparing those he treasured most to it not long before he passed. not long before arjuna shot clean off his head in their final battle.
those memories, they'd always be something in their good and bad karna would hold dearly. his heart which knew not everything from his mother leaving him, it'd never let go of his treasured people. his beloved friends, those he called family. his sworn brothers, even. they were all people he loved, and even now he finds himself reminded of that. if only slightly. about how fleeting it is, game or not....he would hope they do not find themselves dragged into this.
it's the question that catches his attention, sharp blue opening again in thought. cheating, huh? he can take that, is something karna muses to himself. she wants to hear his laughter. how he sounds when he finally allows himself to do it.)
....I can do that then, Miss.
(his laughter is....light. no, it's light yet warm, a calm and gentle tone to it. in his response he gives her a gift of knowing it, something rarer even for those that knew and grew with karna. that he can laugh so freely, so warmly for sounding the way that it does.
like a brightness, the sun itself again showering those around it with it's rays. like he could be more than that man who struggles, struggles with emotions and something as simple as conversation. he was only, himself. that man who would always do better in his actions than his words alone.)
If she could「see」him, perhaps she would not be surprised by the sound of it. But she is "blind" now, in the pod, and though she was a very good judge of character purely by experience, and could do much with a person's voice, their breathing, and their choice of words... She is, admittedly, a little surprised. What a bright, soft sound. Like sunlight dappling on a meadow, the brightness swaying slightly in a breeze. Her fingers itch to touch the button on her side... but no, they have an agreement, so they much be longing to take up her brush instead.
She cannot help but laugh herself. It is a touch lower than usually expected from a woman, husky from the pipe she often took breath through... but beneath the effortlessly sultry tone most heard and were content to focus on, especially in this place... there is a lust still, for new reasons to laugh, despite the many weary years.]
My, you've gone and spoiled me now, Sir, just giving it to me that freely...
[The words slide into a hum, and the rustling of the paper stops.]
Here I thought I would have to go through a some far too lewd or far too serious questions until I found one that asked us to share a funny joke.
[Would he find "Fire Crackle Mountain" amusing? That thought makes her chuckle again.]
You must ask some favor of me, now. So we may be even.
[In case fate or chance or romanticism did not lead them to meet in person.]
Hmm, would you prefer we both tested it together, then?
(good question, he should have asked that first. but that's not unusual for karna to take it upon himself, having to do everything to ensure others were safe. he held no desire for someone to get hurt if he can help that.
or weren't at risk for whatever reason.)
We likely could, depending on the drink you may pick.
If it's just that we start to feel hot and bothered, it's not too bad in the scheme of things. [ It's better than drinking a poison that might kill them or make them very sick. ][ ]
There's a bottle of wine on the table and I'll be helping myself. [He would be pouring Karna one as well if not for the partition. For now, Kabru pours himself a glass. ]
(the wine bottle was on his table too, one which he opened with care by popping open the cork. his glass is heard filling up momentarily, drinks are nice, but drinking with one's own fellows always was better.)
Here's to our stay, perhaps? May it be filled with us not being as....I suppose, pushed around by the House.
(that might be better, better than playing the game.)
Cheers! [ Kabru pours himself a glass also. He pours more than is considered a usual serving. ]
From what I heard, that's unlikely. If we want to maintain some control, we should probably try to take things into our own hands.
[ The suits, Kabru means, even if his is going haywire right now. If it's something you take care of in a planned way, there's less chance of losing control of yourself. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kiritsubo ― mingle.
Date: 2025-02-22 12:26 am (UTC)I see....
Short or not, I can't say that I'd dislike it. For me, I have always been open to hearing or learning new things.
(which is true, karna has always accepted people from many walks of life. their profession, their choices, did not matter. as long as they were not wicked and were repentant of the misdeeds they have done prior to his aiding them if were they in need. another reason why so many considered him a saint before and after his demise by his brothers arrow.
the scars don't sting, but they're there along his neck, across that heart suit mark of his. large and obvious. though he did notice that hum, the amused tone in it. it's nice to know that she found him being sincere about it then pleasing.)
But I speak truly, anyway. I am more a warrior than an artist, but the arts should still be appreciated....a pity then that, so many may not pay attention.
For me, I would often drink with my sworn brothers. My adoptive family. We would share our own stories, our own tales, while our home was lively. Some having had followed me while knowing that I would never once allow the weak to be punished if they were true.
<3
Date: 2025-02-22 02:49 pm (UTC)[Perhaps in some ways their cultures were not so different. (She knew they were not.) To hold a banquet, to share tales, to drink, and to delight in each others company…
How human. How divine.]
It is making me think that perhaps we could host such a thing ourselves one day. It could be all of this resorts’ guests, drinking and being merry together… or it could be just us, beneath the moonlight with some poems.
Either way, I think it would be a wonderful sharing of hearts and minds.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-27 11:14 pm (UTC)(indeed, he knows. from his own comradery with his fellows, he knew too well. to do such things in itself had always felt human to him, it made him feel as though he belonged in their happiness. their revelry and more as the nights passed on.
some were solemn and in remembrance of those they had lost, those that would no longer be with them. others....others were more than that, time spent in beloved joy, beloved happiness. time that they could have had longer with long passed comrades, while they drink in their names and pray to the gods for their soul's journey to be kind.)
Perhaps.
I know that I would not be opposed, perhaps I might have tales to spin. Stories I heard before as I once questioned my elders often in my youth about the worth of their lives, their dreams they once shared with me.
no subject
Date: 2025-03-01 12:29 am (UTC)[What might be an automatic correction from "miss" to her name trails off into a contemplative hum, before,]
Shall I tell you my name? Or is it more romantic to remain faceless voices, until our little banquet where I trade my poems freely for your tales?
no subject
Date: 2025-03-04 01:50 am (UTC)or he was quiet until:)
....mm, if we meet again, then I can tell you my name, too. Even for a place as indulgent as the hedonistic pleasures that are offered, a little romanticism has never hurt someone.
(perhaps even the two women he once married would have felt that way, knowing their husband and how he did try. he wasn't the best, admittedly, with anything that the resort pushes on others. or maybe it's easier to say that how he views it is different from others. there was a reason why he hadn't tried to replenish his mana properly.
not yet, anyway.)
no subject
Date: 2025-03-04 01:57 am (UTC)[No. A little romanticism, a little bit of self-imposed longing never hurt anyone. Every time she had been hurt, after all, it had been by far more than only "a little".]
Will we set a date? To meet at the Vale next the false moon rises full... ? Or shall we allow the threads of romance to guide us once more, and leave it all to chance... ?
no subject
Date: 2025-03-04 08:08 am (UTC)his sharp blue eyes settle on the table before him, a drink is there, half touched. the idle thoughts remain whilst finding it to be tempting to arrange a meeting. but....after a conversation on romanticism, about other things shared between them from their lives, no. he knows what he wants to do.)
Let it be fate. As a pair of old souls I'm presuming, the two of us know too well how mysterious it can be. Be it by chance, or its own cruel whims.
(he won't hide his age, anyway, no matter how youthful he looks.)
no subject
Date: 2025-03-04 08:20 am (UTC)[But no, she does not correct his presumption. They are both, perhaps, old souls. Compared to the majority of guests, at any rate. It has been somewhat lonely, in a way she does not often like to linger in, to be surrounded by so many mortals without the option to simply away and spend time with those of similar blood and years.]
I would offer you the respite of the sleep you said you pondered, but now, I am almost determined that you hear all you can of my voice in this time we share, so that you might know it even as a faint laugh across a crowded room.
[She did claim to be a poet… one who sounds to be shifting slightly on her cushioned seat. Getting more comfortable… ?]
Shall you take your turn to draw a paper… ? Or is it to be a lullaby?
no subject
Date: 2025-03-04 08:39 am (UTC)(even karna can tell, out of everyone within the resort he's an outlier. all in his own ways, beyond the years of most. to think that he'd meet another that sticks out among young men and women, it's what surprised him. she desires he memorizes her voice, that's only fitting he does commit to memory every laugh and every sound.
everything he can hear while offering her the same from his own whenever a rustling is heard. he reached for the jar, many small sheets of paper sits inside and folded up neatly until he finds the one he wants to grab. it crinkles when he unfolds it with a thoughtful expression.)
Tell me about a fond memory.
(both sides might have many, while he gets more comfortable again after reading it. charred fingers brush against the paper he unfolded before folding it back up carefully.)
no subject
Date: 2025-03-04 09:50 am (UTC)[He can have it. She is more comfortable now, settled in, accompanied by the passive sound of her smoking-- the soft rhythm of inhales and exhales, an occasional tap of the metal bowl to settle the scented leaf.]
I have had many fond memories, it is difficult to choose...
[Should she stick to the last fifty years or so, keep it recent? Go far back into the past? There's a gentle humming as she considers it, mulling a few possibilities over in her mind, before,]
I once had a lover who served at court as an exorcist... mostly a ceremonial position, really, but he was quite talented nonetheless. I knew our bond would only be temporary, considering our differences...
[Mortal and immortal, exorcist and supernatural, after all, but.]
But he was a handsome man, and very kind... Very thoughtful. We exchanged many a poem through intermediaries before finally meeting in person, which I suppose is what reminded me of this memory now, of all times.
[A gentle drag of sound- perhaps nails idly running over the cushions.]
There is a festival of love and fortunes in the second month, when spring is nigh, when people would use love poems to predict their futures. Learned men of letters but very little money would hide their faces and take to the streets with a plum blossom branch over their shoulder and love poems tied to the twigs, for sale for those unable to write themselves. At that time, I was attending to a higher-ranked lady who was confined for a birth, and could not go to visit him, nor receive gentleman callers...
But that evening, a love poem seller came to the door of the estate to sell his wares, and I recognized his eyes, and his voice...
[... Hmm. It really has been a long time since she thought about this.]
We shared only a brief touch of bare hands, a lingering glance, before our "transaction" was complete and he needed return to his own estate, and me to my duties... but that letter and the bit of plum branch, which flowered in the vase I set it to rest in, kept me company for many a night alone.
[It had been a shame... when he had found out what she was. The tale ends with her tone bittersweet, perhaps, but... the majority had been "fond".]
no subject
Date: 2025-03-16 04:18 pm (UTC)where she burned herself to death as her husband was laid to rest, the man she grew to love. that man who sacrificed so much for not only those he cared about, but had gone through things that would have driven mad all manner of men and women. it reminds him of that. would he recognize her again if she reincarnated, if he saw her again somewhere? is it best he didn't? that he would never know it's her, in vivid reminders of her own devotion and her happiness being that of her husband's own.
he hasn't thought about it in a long time. not about her, not about how he screamed in anguish as he found his beloved son dead and struck dead his brother's own. but he won't taint the atmosphere. not with melancholy and tragedy. tragedies were only something that those with their lives would never lose. the only thing that they could do is carry on, no matter that grief and how it weighs heavily on old souls. sometimes, the memories were always better kept close to them.
the joy, the sorrow, that's what keeps them human. as close to it as a demi-god and whatever this woman he speaks with is like a pair of elders among children. among the new generation that is beyond their years.)
Perhaps it's a different sort of tale for me, but as a boy I would often lash out. I knew not my true mother, my true father. I would react with cruelty, without a second thought in who I trampled. My mother and father, they often worried about me. About what kind of man that their son would become. All they could do was watch, do as they must for my sake while showing me that despite it all, that some day I would not feel so angry. So lost and cruel.
Given time, my anger faded. They were humans, a charioteer and his wife. Both having found me abandoned as a babe, I wasn't their son, and yet they sought to raise me as their own.
(perhaps not as bittersweet, but....fond. fond as he thinks about it, no matter the way he once behaved. how he was violent, how he was angry.)
They wished to see me be a strong man, they decided even as I was hurting from not knowing....that they wouldn't give up on me. Even when I was taken in by another family, I would never stop thinking about their kindness. About how they loved me when I considered myself a lost child looking to lash out at the world.
I didn't achieve a lot of things, but for them....I only hope they were happy, to see the man their son became.
no subject
Date: 2025-03-16 09:35 pm (UTC)But they also cannot go far. There must be tethers. Things to bind them, and make them human enough. Memories... so many memories, even if they were not always vivid or close at hand, only brought to mind by fleeting reference or reminder. Or... a game, played between those of a similar life.]
It takes a heart full of love to properly raise a child not born of one's own body.
["Properly", is important. Plenty of people raise children not of their own blood from a sense of duty, order, or misguided purpose. Parents did not even properly raise their own flesh, at times.]
And a strong one, to persevere in the face of cruelty. Even the casual, unmeant cruelty of a child.
[And so his parents, then, must be both of these things. That, and-]
How could such hearts not rejoice, to know their son grew into a man who now spoke of them this way with one such as I?
[It is very possible they did not live long enough to see it themselves, for that was the fate of mortals. The woman she had been entrusted to had passed before Kiritsubo had even developed the full, nay the half of her powers. But...
She is smiling faintly where she sits and listens, her cheek pillowed in the palm of her hand.]
Do you mind if I cheat the game a little for our next round... ?
[The fingers of her other hand rustle in the papers, as if dowsing for the sort of prompt she wants and waiting for a sign of which to choose.]
I wish to hear what you sound like when you laugh.
no subject
Date: 2025-03-16 10:04 pm (UTC)even in death, he knows. his life, as short-lived as it all was, he did everything he could have done. as a warrior, a father, and more. he turned not away those who were repentant for their sins, for their lies and wish for his succor. he would sacrifice to them everything. his body, his heart, and that soul of his. all burning brightly, like the sun he apologized for speaking blasphemy against. against his actual father and the brightness of it that would be given to the masses, for comparing those he treasured most to it not long before he passed. not long before arjuna shot clean off his head in their final battle.
those memories, they'd always be something in their good and bad karna would hold dearly. his heart which knew not everything from his mother leaving him, it'd never let go of his treasured people. his beloved friends, those he called family. his sworn brothers, even. they were all people he loved, and even now he finds himself reminded of that. if only slightly. about how fleeting it is, game or not....he would hope they do not find themselves dragged into this.
it's the question that catches his attention, sharp blue opening again in thought. cheating, huh? he can take that, is something karna muses to himself. she wants to hear his laughter. how he sounds when he finally allows himself to do it.)
....I can do that then, Miss.
(his laughter is....light. no, it's light yet warm, a calm and gentle tone to it. in his response he gives her a gift of knowing it, something rarer even for those that knew and grew with karna. that he can laugh so freely, so warmly for sounding the way that it does.
like a brightness, the sun itself again showering those around it with it's rays. like he could be more than that man who struggles, struggles with emotions and something as simple as conversation. he was only, himself. that man who would always do better in his actions than his words alone.)
Will that suffice, then?
(his faint smile is still there, for now.)
no subject
Date: 2025-03-16 11:49 pm (UTC)If she could「see」him, perhaps she would not be surprised by the sound of it. But she is "blind" now, in the pod, and though she was a very good judge of character purely by experience, and could do much with a person's voice, their breathing, and their choice of words... She is, admittedly, a little surprised. What a bright, soft sound. Like sunlight dappling on a meadow, the brightness swaying slightly in a breeze. Her fingers itch to touch the button on her side... but no, they have an agreement, so they much be longing to take up her brush instead.
She cannot help but laugh herself. It is a touch lower than usually expected from a woman, husky from the pipe she often took breath through... but beneath the effortlessly sultry tone most heard and were content to focus on, especially in this place... there is a lust still, for new reasons to laugh, despite the many weary years.]
My, you've gone and spoiled me now, Sir, just giving it to me that freely...
[The words slide into a hum, and the rustling of the paper stops.]
Here I thought I would have to go through a some far too lewd or far too serious questions until I found one that asked us to share a funny joke.
[Would he find "Fire Crackle Mountain" amusing? That thought makes her chuckle again.]
You must ask some favor of me, now. So we may be even.
[In case fate or chance or romanticism did not lead them to meet in person.]
kabru ― mingle.
Date: 2025-02-22 12:29 am (UTC)Hmm, would you prefer we both tested it together, then?
(good question, he should have asked that first. but that's not unusual for karna to take it upon himself, having to do everything to ensure others were safe. he held no desire for someone to get hurt if he can help that.
or weren't at risk for whatever reason.)
We likely could, depending on the drink you may pick.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-22 08:54 am (UTC)There's a bottle of wine on the table and I'll be helping myself. [He would be pouring Karna one as well if not for the partition. For now, Kabru pours himself a glass. ]
no subject
Date: 2025-02-27 11:08 pm (UTC)(the wine bottle was on his table too, one which he opened with care by popping open the cork. his glass is heard filling up momentarily, drinks are nice, but drinking with one's own fellows always was better.)
Here's to our stay, perhaps? May it be filled with us not being as....I suppose, pushed around by the House.
(that might be better, better than playing the game.)
no subject
Date: 2025-03-02 09:46 am (UTC)From what I heard, that's unlikely. If we want to maintain some control, we should probably try to take things into our own hands.
[ The suits, Kabru means, even if his is going haywire right now. If it's something you take care of in a planned way, there's less chance of losing control of yourself. ]
no subject
Date: 2025-03-04 01:42 am (UTC)(a sip of his wine, so far? he felt nothing unusual, no differences in his body, and karna did seem calm. quiet. half thinking about it before:)
I speak more from experience, anyway.
(he's already not the greatest player of the game.)