Scene #8798: WPN - Private Discourse

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Lilian Rook	Lilian, perhaps confused about Hibiki's age, after having not cared and not paid attention for a while, doesn't have anything further to say to Tamamo on the topic. 'The one I chose' earns a weary smile from her regardless. "That's true. Regardless of every other shitty thing that happens, that matters just as much." A pause. "More." 'Hm... is that so? You have never said the words to me, before now, have you?' §<<Of course. <Lilian Rook/Unchosen of Winter> wouldn't want to <say/inflict> it. To be <Girls Like Us> is to be a <well-bottom/vessel> for the evil of the <masses/consensus> to pour <into/upon/away from them>, and then, once full, a symbol of evil to <vanquish/purge/sublimate> and thus eliminate all <blame/debt>. 'Lilian Rook' cares so much for protecting <Tamamo-no-Mae/Chosen of Questions> from that. Better that it all swirl unto <Her/Us> instead.>>§ It's astonishing how much a head tilt and the boring stare of black eyes can convey. §<<I wonder. Even <I> am <being defined> as 'Lilian Rook' is. Does 'my' existence dictate that <Her/My/Our> <Turn> is <sacrosanct/a priori>? Or would it be that <Lilian Rook/Unchosen of Winter> does not accept a <missed turn> in <ontological terms>? How often has 'Lilian Rook' refused to <reevaluate> absolutely?>>§ The silent titter is implicit by the placement of §her§ fingers and the shake of §her§ shoulders. §<<If one act of <Redemption/Doing without being Asked> was enough to earn <Petra Soroka/Unchosen of Space> care side by side with hatred, perhaps a new <Turn> comes each time someone <carves away a branch>?>>§
Tamamo	Lilian, perhaps confused about Hibiki's age... Tamamo isn't reminding Lilian of the time she spent tying up Hibiki in front of an audience, today. Maybe another time. Exis explains just what she means about Girls Like Us, and Tamamo says, "There is such a path, and a direction to that path. Whether one walks along it, or else, peers in that direction, one may glimpse my past. And yet... I cannot claim for such to be my story, for there was another. This was a story I heard, once upon a time, about one who was unchosen. It is the story of an evil spirit, and there is nothing pleasant within it. Would you like to hear it?" It's not as if she's reluctant to tell it for her own sake, but neither is it appropriate to go down tangents of evil without mutual consent. Either way, the memory seems to have calmed whatever hackle-raising feeling had passed over her a moment earlier, in considering her past. 'How often has 'Lilian Rook' refused to <reevaluate> absolutely?' "Often enough, and yet..." '...perhaps a new <Turn> comes each time someone <carves away a branch>?' "Hmm?" Tamamo's twin-tailed style, fluffed up to go with her school uniform (albeit still the wrong uniform for a university) exaggerates the motion of her own head-tilt. "A new 'turn' for each time one prunes their possible future-selves, is it? For having made the decision to act, it is so, that they will have both 'taken a turn' and 'carved their future,' though the 'if, and so, then' is reversed from that of the order in which I heard your telling." Another tilt, to the opposite direction, accompanies Tamamo stretching out her arms as they walk. "For any 'act,' there must be 'opportunity to act.' The asking calls attention to the opportunity, and so, it is not the asking that is necessary. This is so. But is 'opportunity' truly omnipresent, or is it the 'memory of an opportunity, wasted' that persists forever?" Properly stretched, she puts her arms behind her, crossed and resting above her tails -- the trio, not the pair. Both tend to bounce a bit as she walks. "Would you rather speak of my past, after all? I would not wish to bore you."
Lilian Rook	'And yet... I cannot claim for such to be my story, for there was another. This was a story I heard, once upon a time, about one who was unchosen. It is the story of an evil spirit, and there is nothing pleasant within it. Would you like to hear it?' For a little while, it almost seems as if Exigent Serenity would like nothing better than to walk side by side, for how rare of an occasion §she§ has ever had the feet to walk on in Tamamo's world, and let the question pleasantly fade into oblivion. Lagging a little ways behind Lilian, for the moment that the situation allows, the time spent like this is an idle luxury, for being the second, or generously third time, that 'behind' and 'moment' have ever been concepts to which §she§ might apply to §herself§. Heedless in light surreality to the blank space in the conversation, §she§ meanders along the school corridor with Tamamo, swaying one way, then the other, arms behind §her§ back, then in front, orbiting her in too many slow steps to easily notice. Until finally, a sliver of darkness appears in the shape of §her§ parted lips, and §she§ replies to the cooling question, §<<I know all that 'Lilian Rook' and <Lilian Rook/Unchosen of Winter> have <known/thought>, and <alone/peerless> amongst all humans, <she> has <seen/known> all I have <dreamt>, but for the <very brief> <prophecied time> of our <separation/distinction>. The <form/version/angle> of <Tamamo-no-Mae/Chosen of Questions> that you <share/intercourse> with me <now/here> is something that only <I> will <come to know> and <examine contours>.>>§ 'Often enough, and yet...' §<<Only when <begged to> <be looked upon>, and never when <cursed by knowledge>~?>>§ says §Exis§ with humour-narrowed eyes, as if it were the natural end to Tamamo's sentence. §<<So as to be <inertial/stubborn/magnanimous/wise> to overlook <signal deviance/ambient noise>, and uncomfortable <holding hot coals> of <truth> long enough to smother them.>>§ 'The asking calls attention to the opportunity, and so, it is not the asking that is necessary. This is so. But is 'opportunity' truly omnipresent, or is it the 'memory of an opportunity, wasted' that persists forever?' Weaving close enough to rest §her§ head to Tamamo's sleeve, muddle-gravity weighed upon coyly by rest even while walking, §she§ briefly closes §her§ eyes into the fuzzy-white expanse of indefinite form, and says §<<I can never <know/understand>. I was <born perfect> from 'Lilian Rook', without <Original Sin>, and can't begin to <conceive/infer the shape> of 'wasted opportunity'. No more than <Lilian Rook/Unchosen of Winters> might <perceive> 'the time before she was born'.>>§
Lilian Rook	Tamamo feels the peculiar warm semi-numbness of §her§ indistinct body temperature start to bleed through her clothes, tinged shades towards the absence of something felt when floating in warm water, away from relieving anaesthetic. §She§ blinks slow-attentive toward her. §<<It's in <Her> <nature/design> to be unable to <overlook> the <molten moments> of another's <deflection/steering> of <themselves> through <the linear stream of time>. Once it's brought before her, <Her Breath> alone <stokes the flames>. An so it is in <My> <nature/design> to <ignore/reject> them, and see them only as I want, and not <the shape of what they wish to be>~ Those girls are <Proof/Therefore> to 'Lilian Rook', as they are <shadow puppets> to me; as <She> sees them as <a process>, while I see them as <not much to look at>.>>§ §<<Speak of <then/there>. Just for <myself> to <drink deep>. What you are to <Us/Her/I> will not be <diverged/forked> from its <destination/compilation>, and I will enjoy <hearing> and <speaking> of it with you.>>§
Tamamo	<<...something that only <I> will <come to know> and <examine contours>.>> "A little secret, just for us, for now." Tamamo laces her fingers together behind her, a spring in her step, and a smile on her lips that befits 'a secret.' '<<I can never <know/understand>.>> "Mm, yes, I see. That does make sense. There are things that can only be seen from one side, just as there are things that can only be seen from the other, is it not so? Even should one revolve entirely around a thing, to find its contours..." Her fingers come up to trace through the air where Exigent Serenity might be. It's not as if she's unable to sense her, but her depth perception is a little off in that silhouette. Tamamo has to go by feel. "...there is still the 'inside' and the 'outside,' no? It is not strange." <<<She> sees them as <a process>, while I see them as <not much to look at>.>> "The difference between a 'fixer-upper' and a 'heap,' is it?" Those weren't old Japanese terms. '<<Speak of <then/there>. Just for <myself> to <drink deep>.>> "Of then and there... ah, the story I had mentioned? I could not help but recall it, though it is not mine. It is a true story, and even if it were not a thing that had happened, it would be a story that many might hear and think, 'I have witnessed this.' It is the story of a little village, in a place long ago, and far away. It was a village like any other, in a world like many others, for it contained all manner of evil and curses. There were floods, and landslides, and famine, and sickness. It was a very ordinary place, and there lived a very ordinary boy." Tamamo brings both arms back around as she speaks, one to encircle Exis, the other to gesture, smoothing over punctuation with dramatically sweeping motion, even as she emphasizes the point of 'it was quite normal.' "Lacking one they could point to as being responsible for their misfortune, an evil god to blame, the village elected to create their own. They selected the boy, and took from him his name. They cast him out, yet held him close, as they declared him the source of all evils, the cause and instigator, the wellspring of every curse and disaster. Every curse being his fault, you see, meant that nothing they did to him could be 'evil,' for 'evil' was his, alone!" The exaggerated tone makes clear her mockery. "They carved every word of evil in his body, and even the name they gave him was something that would never be written but inverted, to show their contempt for what they made him to be. They broke him, piece by piece, but would not let him die." She had said, it wouldn't be a pleasant story. "They made of him a spirit of destruction. There is no twist to this story. They had set out to find a scapegoat, and had created one, and he became what they desired. In the end, 'hate' was all he knew. A vessel into which that mass of humanity could pour all evil, and thus, absolve themselves of all wrongdoing. A symbol to be hated, absent of anything worthy of sympathy." Her grand gesturing ceases. Tamamo's hand falls to her side. "I would not take such a rite as he underwent personally, had I not experienced an 'elimination of blame,' myself, many... many years, later."
Lilian Rook	'A little secret, just for us, for now.' §<<For the <shadow> to know what the <light side of the moon> doesn't . . . This is <theory/praxis/ontology> I remember from <City of Wishes>. Lucky, <then/here>, that I am the <vessel/diversion> best at lying~>>§ '...there is still the 'inside' and the 'outside,' no? It is not strange.' §<<And so it is. The <one hand clapping> is only <unpoderable/incomprehensible> for the <omnipresence> of one side, and the invisibility of <dark side of the moon> to <chroniclers/gatekeepers/dictators> of 'what is'.>>§ says Exigent Serenity. As strangely two-dimensional as §she§ seems, more like a person-shaped window or aperture into somewhere impossible to distinguish by sight, §her§ form is certainly solid. §She§ leans into Tamamo's hold, at first to guide her hand around the curve of §her§ shoulder, and then simply to touch more of her at once, snuggling up in a way that feels at once familiar and far too greedy. §Her§ arms search Tamamo's back and waist to the point it feels like an addictive clutch; like something §she§ can't quite stop or get enough of. The numbness of §her§ fingertips prickles like needles, then becomes a kind of perverse, warm synaptic pleasure, endorphins entering from nerves that aren't designed for it. 'They carved every word of evil in his body, and even the name they gave him was something that would never be written but inverted, to show their contempt for what they made him to be. They broke him, piece by piece, but would not let him die.' 'In the end, 'hate' was all he knew. A vessel into which that mass of humanity could pour all evil, and thus, absolve themselves of all wrongdoing. A symbol to be hated, absent of anything worthy of sympathy.' 'I would not take such a rite as he underwent personally, had I not experienced an 'elimination of blame,' myself, many... many years, later.' Exigent Serenity laughs. It's a strange thing to interpret. The noise is silent as always, but more jarring for it, given the ever-so-familiar flutter of §her§ chest and shoulders; the backwards tilt of §her§ chin and tossing of §her§ hair; all amplified, exaggerated, in careless abandon. The 'sound' that reaches the mind raises sudden chills like thin ice cracking underfoot, and rings entrancingly like bells in harmony. §<<It's ordinary for humans to need <allegory/animism> to <conceive/perceive> what is right in front of them, but isn't it so <holotype specimen>~? To imagine a <true> <victim-soul>, it must be 'male', 'young', 'captive', <stateless>, and 'blameless', to be worthy of <pitiable thing>. Should any one other element <contaminate/infect> the image, they'll simply find <casus belli/jumping at shadows/whispering reeds> to loathe it as the 'villagers'.>>§ §<<Of course, 'I' wouldn't feel a <monad> of pity for him at all~ Whilst 'Lilian Rook' reserves <her/our> <finite love> for <praxis souls> and not <theory souls>. There is no <ideal/hypothetical/goodness> to compel <her/us>. For 'Lilian Rook', there is only <people with faces>. And you are so very <auspicious> to be <hers/mine/ous>.>>§
Tamamo	Of course, 'I' wouldn't feel a <monad> of pity for him at all~ "It would be stranger were you to do so, no? After all, the point of their actions was to make him undeserving of sympathy. And yet, there does seem to be a contradiction inherent to this. How could one construct a perfect scapegoat, if one did not already lack pity? The cause and effect must coincide, within a single point of time." It is certainly 'different,' Tamamo cannot help but feeling. There is 'distinction' in the physical feeling, the touch, though this incites as much curiosity as anything. Even in a place like this, where things not usually available to be seen can be touched, she handles Exigent Serenity as if her hands might pass through the latter should she move too forecfully. She is, for her own part, quite solid. Her softness has definable limits, greater toward her core, as it is with most, if not all, celestial bodies. Easier, then, to allow herself to be held, than to hold. For 'Lilian Rook', there is only <people with faces>. And you are so very <auspicious> to be <hers/mine/ous>. "Those who possess faces, and those without, who cannot be seen... one might say, instead, that there are those whose masks cannot be distinguished from one another." Not quite clearly speaking to anyone so much as leaving the words in the air, "There are masks given to others, bid they wear them, and there are masks that are chosen, carved and painted." Presently, "Oh, of what were we speaking? My mind has wandered. Perhaps, if you gave more praise to my fortunes, I would recall the track." Continuing with the opportunity to stroll along in a student's guise, Tamamo -- still so carefully -- hugs Exigent Serenity to her side.
Lilian Rook	'It would be stranger were you to do so, no? After all, the point of their actions was to make him undeserving of sympathy.' §<<It would be 'stranger if I did', because I cannot <ingest the poison> at all.>>§ says Exigent Serenity, arm running down Tamamo like smooth ice and warm silk and the tingling ache of gently stretched sinews. §<<To pity another, one is required to <simulate> their <sorrow/woe/doom>. And since I cannot imagine myself as a 'human', I am <immune to malignant disease>~§ §She§ says it like a boat. Like §her§ personal best. Like a vain declaration of §her§ sublime beauty. Like a threat. Like an invitation. Like a proposition. 'Oh, of what were we speaking? My mind has wandered. Perhaps, if you gave more praise to my fortunes, I would recall the track.' §Mmmm~§ The 'sound' is more a singular tone in Tamamo's mind, but bears enough of a verbal tone to feel 'spoken' as well. §<<You had asked <I/us> about 'love'</love>. And seeing as <my/our> <answer> is given . . .>>§ §Her§ hand drops harshly lower. §Her§ touch is so insubstantial, and yet more solid than the real thing for its sheer force, the passing strain soaking below Tamamo's skin as linger synaptic heat and buzzing weightlessness. It's unclear whether §she§ rises to §her§ toes or whether §she§ simply shifts in frame of reference. Something like lips-- it must be, just out of her sight, neither wet nor dry but soft enough to erase the distinction-- catch the back of her neck, and the prick of teeth is like lightning. §<<Should there be <time/vector/impulse> for <showing/taboo>?>§