Okay. ( he takes the kettle and moves to begin filling it with water. ) I hope black tea is fine… it’s all I have, for now.
( it does help, by way of offering an outlet for his anxious restlessness. that, and he feels a little less awkward suddenly entertaining company in a room that he had generally been cooped up in for the better part of a week and some change. once the kettle is set to heat the water, makoto gestures for esi to join him at the very small table situated in the nebulous “living area” space situated between the bed and where the restroom and storage was located, near the entrance. functional, yet limited—spacious enough not to be cramped, but not spacious enough to feel any less like a hotel room… he’s grateful for this room as a significant improvement to the one he’d stayed in in the basement for so long, but there was stark mediocrity to its overall comforts.
makoto himself sits on the edge of his own chair, ready to have to get up again to continue preparing the tea. so esi did want to talk about what happened with the paintings… the topic immediately puts makoto on edge, and he’s not good enough at shielding his own reactions to hide it. after a tense moment, he nods, frowning. )
Yeah… Me, too.
( the thing about makoto is, he doesn’t really know what his doppelganger had done. he has mostly created an image of the worst possible outcome in his mind, built upon a framework of his worst possible fears for what he himself could turn out to become. what had he said to other people? what had he done to them? considering how handily he’d dealt with makoto, does he have any reason not to assume the worst? )
Did he… ( he pauses, readjusting the approach of his words. ) Did mine—did he trouble you? I… I don’t really know much about what happened, I, ( though the words die here in his throat; shame makes it hard for him to admit how easily he’d been bested and how long he had languished in that portrait, almost wishing he’d never find his way out to see the aftermath. )
no subject
( it does help, by way of offering an outlet for his anxious restlessness. that, and he feels a little less awkward suddenly entertaining company in a room that he had generally been cooped up in for the better part of a week and some change. once the kettle is set to heat the water, makoto gestures for esi to join him at the very small table situated in the nebulous “living area” space situated between the bed and where the restroom and storage was located, near the entrance. functional, yet limited—spacious enough not to be cramped, but not spacious enough to feel any less like a hotel room… he’s grateful for this room as a significant improvement to the one he’d stayed in in the basement for so long, but there was stark mediocrity to its overall comforts.
makoto himself sits on the edge of his own chair, ready to have to get up again to continue preparing the tea. so esi did want to talk about what happened with the paintings… the topic immediately puts makoto on edge, and he’s not good enough at shielding his own reactions to hide it. after a tense moment, he nods, frowning. )
Yeah… Me, too.
( the thing about makoto is, he doesn’t really know what his doppelganger had done. he has mostly created an image of the worst possible outcome in his mind, built upon a framework of his worst possible fears for what he himself could turn out to become. what had he said to other people? what had he done to them? considering how handily he’d dealt with makoto, does he have any reason not to assume the worst? )
Did he… ( he pauses, readjusting the approach of his words. ) Did mine—did he trouble you? I… I don’t really know much about what happened, I, ( though the words die here in his throat; shame makes it hard for him to admit how easily he’d been bested and how long he had languished in that portrait, almost wishing he’d never find his way out to see the aftermath. )
…I’m sorry, if he did.