[ the hustle and bustle still hasn't diminished any, if anything, compared to throngs of people who lined up at the stalls during the day, the evening seems to capture its own unique audience. the children seem to disperse back to their homes, and the streets are lined with both couples, and those who are curious to the light and the lingering festivities. the lights shine nostalgically; not unlike a lighthouse may be seen from deep ocean waters, the only indication of shore. back then, he couldn't have envisioned these types of celebrations were on the other end of those glowing orbs.
that said, now he gets to see and experience them up close.
not to state that he hasn't back in linkon, but it feels different not being alone. to have someone at his side. while this doesn't diminish the amount of time he thinks about home, or her (even if he consciously fights against these memories, as if bitter at the concept of being left behind once again), he can't help but take in the warmth of malkuth's steady, careful presence beside him. maybe it's the cold, but they're huddled a bit closer, his own arm flush right against her as they fight the crowds.
once they reach a smaller clearing beneath all the twinkling illuminations, he turns around suddenly. in his hand is a wrapped gift. he looks back down at it, as he brushes some pocket lint from the top of it. clearly he was keeping it deep in his coat pocket. ]
Since I know a certain someone's been practically dyiiiing to get her gift. That's why you looked so antsy earlier, right? [ going to playfully place the gift on the top of her head now. honestly, he doesn't know if that's true... he's really just saying anything. ]
[ it's wild to think of all the things she's been able to experience, to see, to feel and taste that she never would've been able to back in the city -- even if she was still elijah, that poor girl whose gaze was always on someone who never once saw her. the lights are beautiful. the sense of community unique. the-- tension, maybe, anticipation from those around them as the night darkens and many wind down to sleep, leaving the rest to linger. rafayel's arm is a comfort to her among the throngs of people, her hand itching to hold his and staying carefully apart instead.
it's a different kind of yearning, maybe. she's content with just this. as long as he sees her, as long as he keeps her in consideration, as long as he turns to...
oh, he's turning alright-- it makes malkuth jump a little, caught in her own thoughts, and her gaze flicks down to his hand and then somewhere-- elsewhere as he sets it atop her head, ears pressing back. did she seem antsy? she remembers feeling it. because she's feeling it again, his own gift "heavy" in the bag at her side, and she carefully takes the box off with a huff. ]
I was just excited to get going. It's my first time celebrating the season, and there were already so many people... I was worried we wouldn't get to do everything we wanted.
[ but they did, somehow. or maybe they did just enough that malkuth doesn't mind a few missed points on the schedule she'd poured hours over the night before. it'd just been fun. ]
... And now I'm worried about the sort of thing you're giving me. [ pfft. ] Your housewarming gift was a painting, who knows what else you're capable of parting with?
[ not that it doesn't make her excited, even if giving gifts was par the course. she'll pick carefully at the wrapping, sorry. the lights definitely reveal the shadow of her tail swishing so happily though. ]
[ while the intention was to catch her slightly off-guard, he doesn't actually expect her to jump. the idea that she does gives him a small laugh, even if he does temper it down with a touch of something a little more serious. after all, the emotions expressed with a gift was just as essential in he gift exchanging process, wasn't it? not unlike art, one thinks about the intention behind it, and the stories untold.
maybe, that's why just like reading a book, where one doesn't know in which direction the journey will inevitably route them— he feels a swell of excitement in that mystery. ] Wow, you make it sound like you didn't rush to hang it up immediately? [ hello?
he's about to tell her even if they hadn't got through everything, that's what next year is for? but, he gets a bit distracted by the sound of the wrapping getting torn open.
when she manages to open it, she will find that it's a paintbrush adorned with seashells of various colors, the one lining the very center, however carries a deeper auburn sort of tone. while she may have just been getting started, it's a reminder for her to continue her journey here. to accomplish her dreams, and paint the future she wants. buuuut also, she needed a paintbrush for her assignments, right? there is also a small card that says:
More to come. Be patient and you may find a few leftovers from a fishie at your door.
when she does go home that night, she will find a neat envelope with a few sketches he's drawn when they were together.
[ gosh, don't remind her. if she wasn't so fixated on unwrapping his gift she'd have kicked him for the comment... it's true she had, though. and it's a pleasant sight every morning, a welcoming relief every evening.
the paintbrush stutters her heart. it's beautiful and well-crafted, almost too much to use -- but malkuth will use it, she knows, because it's not meant to gather dust. no more than a beautiful piece of cake is meant to spoil. she does click her tongue at the card, playful in her irritation, and she admires the paintbrush a moment longer before putting it back in its box, exchanging it with a more moderate-sized one from her bag and holding it out to him. it isn't wrapped colorfully... it's paper, a little old-fashioned with a string that's easy to pull open, but there's jellyfish and ducks that seem doodled on the brown surface to give it definition.
does she seem a tad bit more nervous? no, get your eyes checked. ]
We're well-matched today, Rafayel. Both of our things are handmade.
[ because there really is no doubt that he hadn't made it, artistic as he is, and when she goes home tonight she'll have fun finding new places to put his sketches-- but that's tonight, and right now... right now her gift weighs so much until he takes it from her, but only to her. it's rather light otherwise.
within the box is a familiar pair of pronged horns, and sat between their curved forms is another familiar sight: splotched with charcoal and paint, doodled on, somewhat torn at the edges with use... is her sketchbook. but before he can think to open it, she's putting her hand on the cover with pinned ears. ]
... I wanted to show you my gratitude somehow, for being both my mentor and a good friend. And because... I already entrusted my dream to you, [ his words, echoed from so long ago, ] so I wanted to show you the world I see -- colors and all. The future I want to create, the present as it exists now, and the memories I've made that lead me here are all found in this sketchbook. And, as promised, it has your assignment for me at the back too.
[ but she'll let him leaf through it after speaking if he'd like, or if he'd prefer to do it at home that's fine too -- malkuth isn't looking for any sort of critique, she just... wants to share her world in a way, too, even as the rest of her words remain stuck in her throat.
it is the sketchbook she's had since their start though, given it includes a tremendous amount of things: drawings their time at the respite, basileios, and ocelli park, along with a number of other architectural designs from various locations across karteria, kelesis, her own city, and buildings mimicking the ones he'd drawn for her. her first assignment (takasugi playing his shamisen) is in there, as well as samples of various scenes she'd tried to recreate in accordance to her current assignment including a watercolor of how the sun breaks over her home's view of gloria's streets (warm and bright, a new beginning every day), an acrylic the quiet of east sophia's night (cool colored and melancholic in a way, the sort of scene one enjoys alone,) and an oil of the stifling grandeur of the peacock theatre (busy with colors and details, curtains and stage drawn close). the last page is a gouache of the waterfront at sunset, something almost wistful in the way it's drawn. the papers which need preparation before their respective paints have notably been prepared, as she is a diligent person.
perhaps a promise in its own way, embarrassing in its vulnerability (giving so great a part of herself to someone she's grateful to know, literally and figuratively), but one she's not shying from. the sight she has right now, with rafayel beneath the lights, is something she'll be using the paintbrush to recreate later tonight too. ]
[ his eyes naturally follows hers as she examines the gift, not unlike someone may take in a work of art. there's interpretation— the reading of each micro-expression, the lull of each proverbial brushstroke, and everything unspoken. at the end of it all, he can't deny feeling a swell of not just relief but accomplishment when she sees to have enjoyed it.
but, in turn, because he was studying her, the tension she exhibits is just as evident to him. which is why he barely holds back an exhale of humor as he begins pulling the strings that tied the gift together. when he opens it... he sees the horns. for a second, he's reminded of a chat on the anonymous message board, and he can't help but to wonder how much thought was placed behind this gift.
maybe that's why it feels almost too intimate for comfort. as if he's returning to the moment in which they shared a bit of warmth in a way he was always meant to preserve for a certain someone of his past. he feels like he's on the crux of something, and just figuring out what that was felt arduous. strenuous enough where he finds himself desiring to focus on literally anything else. just like the sudden hand that stops him from turning to the book next. he looks back at her, and for a moment, he just doesn't speak.
...
there's a lot that ends up crossing the innermost confines of his mind. but, in the end— ] I'll accept your gratitude. As my best student, I have high hopes for you, Malkuth. [ the rare instance he uses her name as opposed to "miss librarian" and/or any number of nicknames he's used in the past.
even when he hasn't opened a single page, he feels the book in his hand and the horns feels heavier than anything else he's carried before, and yet in it... he wonders if he's also found a sense of peace. maybe this is the moment in which he also realized this place and the people in it... were so familiar to him. the space he occupies with caleb, maybe it was some version of home, and the people like malkuth were also part of this "new world." ]
But, it's kind of cheating to turn your assignment in as a gift.
[ at least her face can be red from the cold, and not from how her name falls from his lips. another win is how he definitely can't hear how hard her heart is beating; if it were any of her boys she'd be in trouble, but octopi probably don't have exceedingly good ears. holes in their head. whatever.
malkuth turns away a little with a huff, ears flicking as she admires the lights. ]
They just happen to be in there, so it's two birds with one stone. And my first plan ended up getting too messy to show...
[ not that that's an issue, because she thinks he'd appreciate it in his own way -- but she had wanted something clear and decisive as her submission, and the sketchbook offers a lot to see the concepts she built on. how her thoughts changed the more she got to know the people she worked to help, the new aspects in locations she'd sketched before, and so on.
... but it makes her happier than with any other gift she'd given that he seems to like it (tail swishing not unlike her foxes'), weighty as half of it is. no, she hadn't forgotten that small, unusual conversation. it wasn't like she had anything else she could do with it anyway, even if that isn't the reason she burdened him with them.
her chest aches. it'd be nice to hold his hand right now, but even that feels too much, too telling. this is enough. isn't it? ]
Anyway, um. Yeah.
[ .........
she's got nothing. just cheeks red as roses and a burning stare at the lights. like all things with him, she doesn't want tonight to end -- even if it must and will, even if she should be more than satisfied with how the evening's gone, even if she knows she'll see him tomorrow... it's a feeling she missed, and one she never thought she'd have again. ]
but, it's true. his senses aren't all the same as they were pre-transformation. though, he'd like to think his eye for detail hasn't changed much. the only difference here is that, he might also want to adhere to this level of ignorance. where they can both somehow pretend like they've always stuck to this same, established distance. a distance in which he deemed was acceptable, and to which he'd like to think he held most individuals by. even if it's a lie, he'd have to believe it for tonight.
he watches her tail, her ears... he's realized that these attributes may have been a curse. it's like they have a mind of their own.
is he relieved to have none of his own? he isn't sure if he'd go that far, not when he own tentacles still cling to the back of shirt, and seem to stir with how dry the air's been. that said, even if he can gather her excitement, he doesn't know much else of what she's feeling... ]
Did I ever say I didn't like messy? [ she's right. he would have been just as fascinated. that said, he gets the impression just by looking at her that she may be expecting something else? that she lingers here with some type of purpose, and he just doesn't know what that is. ... so he does the only thing he can in terms of well-accepted, well-established farewells. he reaches over and pinches her nose. ]
Why are you making such a weird face? You're making it hard not to bully you. [ but, he releases quickly. it probably doesn't feel like much when he's wearing gloves. ] We'll see each other tomorrow, you know.
Days like this are well spent because they're temporary. If you're that frustrated, draw something new.
[ she's swatting his hand for that, ears pinning back before they traitorously lay flat again. ]
I know, I know, I just... want to spend more time out, [ with him, ] so I'll probably just wander around a little more before turning in. A certain fishie's gifts aren't going anywhere, after all, and it's my first time in this life celebrating the season.
[ but it's better if they part before she actually says something she regrets, burning in the back of her throat and scalding the bed of her tongue, because maybe she'll have the mind to say it tomorrow instead. or the next day, or the one after that -- a normal day, uninfluenced by the crowds and stories behind the holiday.
... besides, "we'll see each other tomorrow" is pretty nice to hear. ]
I'll text you when I get home, and you text me when you get home. Okay? I don't wanna hear about a new ice sculpture come morning just because you froze to death in the night.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
malkuth.
that said, now he gets to see and experience them up close.
not to state that he hasn't back in linkon, but it feels different not being alone. to have someone at his side. while this doesn't diminish the amount of time he thinks about home, or her (even if he consciously fights against these memories, as if bitter at the concept of being left behind once again), he can't help but take in the warmth of malkuth's steady, careful presence beside him. maybe it's the cold, but they're huddled a bit closer, his own arm flush right against her as they fight the crowds.
once they reach a smaller clearing beneath all the twinkling illuminations, he turns around suddenly. in his hand is a wrapped gift. he looks back down at it, as he brushes some pocket lint from the top of it. clearly he was keeping it deep in his coat pocket. ]
Since I know a certain someone's been practically dyiiiing to get her gift. That's why you looked so antsy earlier, right? [ going to playfully place the gift on the top of her head now. honestly, he doesn't know if that's true... he's really just saying anything. ]
no subject
it's a different kind of yearning, maybe. she's content with just this. as long as he sees her, as long as he keeps her in consideration, as long as he turns to...
oh, he's turning alright-- it makes malkuth jump a little, caught in her own thoughts, and her gaze flicks down to his hand and then somewhere-- elsewhere as he sets it atop her head, ears pressing back. did she seem antsy? she remembers feeling it. because she's feeling it again, his own gift "heavy" in the bag at her side, and she carefully takes the box off with a huff. ]
I was just excited to get going. It's my first time celebrating the season, and there were already so many people... I was worried we wouldn't get to do everything we wanted.
[ but they did, somehow. or maybe they did just enough that malkuth doesn't mind a few missed points on the schedule she'd poured hours over the night before. it'd just been fun. ]
... And now I'm worried about the sort of thing you're giving me. [ pfft. ] Your housewarming gift was a painting, who knows what else you're capable of parting with?
[ not that it doesn't make her excited, even if giving gifts was par the course. she'll pick carefully at the wrapping, sorry. the lights definitely reveal the shadow of her tail swishing so happily though. ]
no subject
maybe, that's why just like reading a book, where one doesn't know in which direction the journey will inevitably route them— he feels a swell of excitement in that mystery. ] Wow, you make it sound like you didn't rush to hang it up immediately? [ hello?
he's about to tell her even if they hadn't got through everything, that's what next year is for? but, he gets a bit distracted by the sound of the wrapping getting torn open.
when she manages to open it, she will find that it's a paintbrush adorned with seashells of various colors, the one lining the very center, however carries a deeper auburn sort of tone. while she may have just been getting started, it's a reminder for her to continue her journey here. to accomplish her dreams, and paint the future she wants. buuuut also, she needed a paintbrush for her assignments, right? there is also a small card that says:
More to come. Be patient and you may find a few leftovers from a fishie at your door.
when she does go home that night, she will find a neat envelope with a few sketches he's drawn when they were together.
it's a gift and somehow... a promise. ]
no subject
the paintbrush stutters her heart. it's beautiful and well-crafted, almost too much to use -- but malkuth will use it, she knows, because it's not meant to gather dust. no more than a beautiful piece of cake is meant to spoil. she does click her tongue at the card, playful in her irritation, and she admires the paintbrush a moment longer before putting it back in its box, exchanging it with a more moderate-sized one from her bag and holding it out to him. it isn't wrapped colorfully... it's paper, a little old-fashioned with a string that's easy to pull open, but there's jellyfish and ducks that seem doodled on the brown surface to give it definition.
does she seem a tad bit more nervous? no, get your eyes checked. ]
We're well-matched today, Rafayel. Both of our things are handmade.
[ because there really is no doubt that he hadn't made it, artistic as he is, and when she goes home tonight she'll have fun finding new places to put his sketches-- but that's tonight, and right now... right now her gift weighs so much until he takes it from her, but only to her. it's rather light otherwise.
within the box is a familiar pair of pronged horns, and sat between their curved forms is another familiar sight: splotched with charcoal and paint, doodled on, somewhat torn at the edges with use... is her sketchbook. but before he can think to open it, she's putting her hand on the cover with pinned ears. ]
... I wanted to show you my gratitude somehow, for being both my mentor and a good friend. And because... I already entrusted my dream to you, [ his words, echoed from so long ago, ] so I wanted to show you the world I see -- colors and all. The future I want to create, the present as it exists now, and the memories I've made that lead me here are all found in this sketchbook. And, as promised, it has your assignment for me at the back too.
[ but she'll let him leaf through it after speaking if he'd like, or if he'd prefer to do it at home that's fine too -- malkuth isn't looking for any sort of critique, she just... wants to share her world in a way, too, even as the rest of her words remain stuck in her throat.
it is the sketchbook she's had since their start though, given it includes a tremendous amount of things: drawings their time at the respite, basileios, and ocelli park, along with a number of other architectural designs from various locations across karteria, kelesis, her own city, and buildings mimicking the ones he'd drawn for her. her first assignment (takasugi playing his shamisen) is in there, as well as samples of various scenes she'd tried to recreate in accordance to her current assignment including a watercolor of how the sun breaks over her home's view of gloria's streets (warm and bright, a new beginning every day), an acrylic the quiet of east sophia's night (cool colored and melancholic in a way, the sort of scene one enjoys alone,) and an oil of the stifling grandeur of the peacock theatre (busy with colors and details, curtains and stage drawn close). the last page is a gouache of the waterfront at sunset, something almost wistful in the way it's drawn. the papers which need preparation before their respective paints have notably been prepared, as she is a diligent person.
perhaps a promise in its own way, embarrassing in its vulnerability (giving so great a part of herself to someone she's grateful to know, literally and figuratively), but one she's not shying from. the sight she has right now, with rafayel beneath the lights, is something she'll be using the paintbrush to recreate later tonight too. ]
no subject
but, in turn, because he was studying her, the tension she exhibits is just as evident to him. which is why he barely holds back an exhale of humor as he begins pulling the strings that tied the gift together. when he opens it... he sees the horns. for a second, he's reminded of a chat on the anonymous message board, and he can't help but to wonder how much thought was placed behind this gift.
maybe that's why it feels almost too intimate for comfort. as if he's returning to the moment in which they shared a bit of warmth in a way he was always meant to preserve for a certain someone of his past. he feels like he's on the crux of something, and just figuring out what that was felt arduous. strenuous enough where he finds himself desiring to focus on literally anything else. just like the sudden hand that stops him from turning to the book next. he looks back at her, and for a moment, he just doesn't speak.
...
there's a lot that ends up crossing the innermost confines of his mind. but, in the end— ] I'll accept your gratitude. As my best student, I have high hopes for you, Malkuth. [ the rare instance he uses her name as opposed to "miss librarian" and/or any number of nicknames he's used in the past.
even when he hasn't opened a single page, he feels the book in his hand and the horns feels heavier than anything else he's carried before, and yet in it... he wonders if he's also found a sense of peace. maybe this is the moment in which he also realized this place and the people in it... were so familiar to him. the space he occupies with caleb, maybe it was some version of home, and the people like malkuth were also part of this "new world." ]
But, it's kind of cheating to turn your assignment in as a gift.
[ but, he seems oddly pleased by it. ]
no subject
malkuth turns away a little with a huff, ears flicking as she admires the lights. ]
They just happen to be in there, so it's two birds with one stone. And my first plan ended up getting too messy to show...
[ not that that's an issue, because she thinks he'd appreciate it in his own way -- but she had wanted something clear and decisive as her submission, and the sketchbook offers a lot to see the concepts she built on. how her thoughts changed the more she got to know the people she worked to help, the new aspects in locations she'd sketched before, and so on.
... but it makes her happier than with any other gift she'd given that he seems to like it (tail swishing not unlike her foxes'), weighty as half of it is. no, she hadn't forgotten that small, unusual conversation. it wasn't like she had anything else she could do with it anyway, even if that isn't the reason she burdened him with them.
her chest aches. it'd be nice to hold his hand right now, but even that feels too much, too telling. this is enough. isn't it? ]
Anyway, um. Yeah.
[ .........
she's got nothing. just cheeks red as roses and a burning stare at the lights. like all things with him, she doesn't want tonight to end -- even if it must and will, even if she should be more than satisfied with how the evening's gone, even if she knows she'll see him tomorrow... it's a feeling she missed, and one she never thought she'd have again. ]
no subject
but, it's true. his senses aren't all the same as they were pre-transformation. though, he'd like to think his eye for detail hasn't changed much. the only difference here is that, he might also want to adhere to this level of ignorance. where they can both somehow pretend like they've always stuck to this same, established distance. a distance in which he deemed was acceptable, and to which he'd like to think he held most individuals by. even if it's a lie, he'd have to believe it for tonight.
he watches her tail, her ears... he's realized that these attributes may have been a curse. it's like they have a mind of their own.
is he relieved to have none of his own? he isn't sure if he'd go that far, not when he own tentacles still cling to the back of shirt, and seem to stir with how dry the air's been. that said, even if he can gather her excitement, he doesn't know much else of what she's feeling... ]
Did I ever say I didn't like messy? [ she's right. he would have been just as fascinated. that said, he gets the impression just by looking at her that she may be expecting something else? that she lingers here with some type of purpose, and he just doesn't know what that is. ... so he does the only thing he can in terms of well-accepted, well-established farewells. he reaches over and pinches her nose. ]
Why are you making such a weird face? You're making it hard not to bully you. [ but, he releases quickly. it probably doesn't feel like much when he's wearing gloves. ] We'll see each other tomorrow, you know.
Days like this are well spent because they're temporary. If you're that frustrated, draw something new.
no subject
I know, I know, I just... want to spend more time out, [ with him, ] so I'll probably just wander around a little more before turning in. A certain fishie's gifts aren't going anywhere, after all, and it's my first time in this life celebrating the season.
[ but it's better if they part before she actually says something she regrets, burning in the back of her throat and scalding the bed of her tongue, because maybe she'll have the mind to say it tomorrow instead. or the next day, or the one after that -- a normal day, uninfluenced by the crowds and stories behind the holiday.
... besides, "we'll see each other tomorrow" is pretty nice to hear. ]
I'll text you when I get home, and you text me when you get home. Okay? I don't wanna hear about a new ice sculpture come morning just because you froze to death in the night.