driftfleet | mk. 07 (text)

Entry tags:

mk. 07 (text)

Who: Kaworu Nagisa and anyone else
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: he's off on his own, for now.
When: afternoon

It's curious to call a place the way this place is called. "Solace" is a deeply personal concept to any creature, I believe. What brings you that measure of peace is going to be different from what brings it to me. So there's a lot of confidence in naming this space Solace, because how did they know whether this has what you or I are seeking?

But isn't it a little nice, too? The people who created this place must have found their solace in it themselves, and they truly believed it to be a provision of peace for the average heart. Those people have long since passed, I'm sure, now dead and having scattered past all these clouds. But what they believed to be vital, what nourished their well-being, remains here as a beacon of their hopes and endeavors. You know, it's always that way: when anyone leaves the world, their personal truths linger on, a landmark of reality. To the founders of Solace, this was solace. So it remains, whether or not you or I find our peace here.

Oh, anyway, hey, what do you think of this thing?

[attachment: nice72.jpg]

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I think I needed someone to listen more than I needed someone to talk. Of course, it's all context. Out of anything I could have spoken with, the ones who had a chance at talking back were the ones who were no good after all.

[Then here he hesitates, metaphysical thumbs not quite ready to key in anything else. He wonders what she might tell the lizard, if she were to come. He wonders how she would expect it to respond.]

So far all I've told it is that a friend said hello, and that friend's hellos are always special. Maybe now that it's heard that, it would like to meet you.

[So even he isn't so sunny as to think that everyone's good. That isn't nearly the surprise it should be. Finding out he wasn't perfect used to make her sneer and rage simultaneously, but now that's not quite true. Even though he's no different from before. Well. Less wary towars her, maybe. No, that's not all of it. Asuka swallows.]

But that was back then. Right?

[There's a tenseness and then a squirming in her gut as she looks at what else he's written. A friend. A friend. Kaworu called her a friend twice in a row. Called her special.]

[Her face is way too warm, and some of the old jealousy she used to feel when Shinji seemed especially overcome by Kaworu starts to mitigate. Kaworu's attention is like a full moon over dark water, illuminating everything.]

Then maybe I'll meet you both. And maybe you'll say hello yourself, too.

Don't let it crawl away before I get there.

That was back then.

[And should be now. Kaworu has been spoiled. He has spent too long feeling good about things. Feeling valued. Shinji says such kind things to him. And Asuka... he knows it was her who left him that scarf. He felt her presence, didn't know if he should face her, and waited until she departed. Then he saw the gift left behind, and he knew—he knows he's been living way too well.

Still, the emotional greed persists.]

We can both sit still and quiet for you, Shikinami-san.

Don't be too quiet.

[Maybe she'll ask about the scarf. Maybe she'll ask about him instead. Either way, the lizard isn't the primary one she wants to visit, but it is a nice bonus. An intermediary, almost. Yeah.]

[Asuka pulls her hair back into a ponytail and digs around in her closet.]

Give me a few minutes. I'll find you.

Just a little quiet, then.

Take your time. I don't mind waiting.

[Waiting is a chronic condition in him, but it's not like patience came naturally to him. But he has begun to wonder if his qualities suit more than just Shinji. The possibility seems almost outlandish.]

[True to her word, Asuka's there in a few minutes, walking up awkwardly to the park bench, waiting, uncharacteristically, to be asked to sit. She's dressed in a red blouse and skirt. She's been all out of sorts since the invasion, but out of sorts (no, that's too harsh) (what is it, why is it she likes--) with Kaworu for longer. It's past time they talked to each other.]

[She sees the lizard there, too. He looks like he'd be weird to the touch, all rough.]

Hey. [And then--] Hey, Kaworu.

[He's already looking at her, from the moment she's within view (a very long moment, for Kaworu). His smile stays mild all the while she draws nearer. But as she addresses him, he cants his head, because...]

Hey, Shikinami-san.

[...he has learned to be meek, here and there, most especially in the face of surprise. "Kaworu" is his favorite thing to be called, but he's never heard it in her voice. "Nagisa" has always been all right, but it's a little...

He swallows back a youthful burn, feeling a little more grown up, like this. And he seems to savor the swallow; for a second, he closes his eyes, face still turn up toward her.

Once he opens his eyes again, he lets out a soft, slight breath. Of course he's smiling.]

It's seemed content to wait here, [he says—well , it's a murmur, ostensibly for the sake of the lizard.] It must have been determined to make your acquaintance, after hearing a little more.

[Asuka looks uncomfortably at the bench before plopping down on it, all impulse and little consideration (but plenty for the lizard-- there's room safely between them). People standing while she's sitting make her feel anxious, and though she doesn't think anything short of Shinji in danger could ever make Kaworu anxious, she still doesn't want him uncomfortable. Yeah.]

[Shikinami-san is okay, too. She hasn't asked him to call her anything different, and of course, she didn't ask his permission to stop using his given name either, just started up with it. It's all right. It's plenty just to be called a friend.]

Hey, you. [Asuka nods at the lizard, expression far less wry than maybe it ought to be at her age.] Don't trust what he says. He's way too nice describing people. [She steals a glance back over at Kaworu. Then back to the lizard.] I mean it.

[The lizard's only acknowledgement is a sluggish blinking of its eyes; otherwise, it stays stock still. Kaworu, meanwhile, is leaning heavy to his side, putting his weight on one hand, its fingers splayed against the ground. His legs are folded underneath him. All in all, he could be posing for a painting, down to the charmed expression on his face. He looks awfully fond, which is not necessarily uncommon—but it's also nearly tremulous, something with more substance from his heart, and not a thing lent to all creatures. Calling her a friend was one thing, but the classification is a lot more evident in his ruddy eyes.

Of course, he'd had a lot more time to grow comfortable with having Shinji as his friend, so while there's little seismic activity in those interactions, the time he spends with Asuka has caused his plates to shift more and a little bit more. He shifts his hand. He crosses his ankles. He is never wholly sure what to do with himself; he's inexperienced, compared to dealing with Shinji. Part of himself says that he has the time to learn. The other part is loud and prickly with rebuke.

He takes one psychosomatic breath.] I describe a person as I see them. I can be callous if I feel like it, but that wasn't how I needed to portray you.

[He's fidgeting, kind of. It's weird to see him like that. Asuka's not looking at the lizard now, who seems to be content enough, just Kaworu's posture. He always looks as if he's stepped out of a magazine, almost always acts with that peaceful assurance she envies so much. Things are different now.]

I've been callous to you.

Shikinami-san, [and here he lowers his eyes. He's not cowed; it's solemn but solid, and a sign of respect. A buffer perhaps, for this:] Asuka Shikinami Langley, you have never owed me anything. Yet here you are.

[Asuka opens her mouth as if she's about to reply, then closes it almost immediately. It's rare that she doesn't know how to respond, or rather, rare that she chooses not to. He has a way of catching her off guard at any moment, seemingly without meaning to.]

[Nervously, she tilts her head and pushes a strand of hair back behind her ear. Bright red flower hairclips hold it back now, no headset. She's almost gotten used to not wearing it anymore.]

I didn't get you. [She doesn't fidget this time, but she does pause.] I thought you were going to take him away.

[Kaworu looks at peace with what she says. He looks at peace with most things said by most people, but Asuka has been markedly more successful with rattling his entire nervous system. This, though, this is all right. Judging by the lowering of his eyelids, and the way his fingers spread over the ground in what is nearly a caress, it's all right.]

What did you feel? When you saw that I do indeed get scared of things.

I didn't know what to feel.

[Asuka's eyes are lowered, too, looking more at his fluffy hair and his hand on the ground than his face.]

Vindicated, I guess. [Knowing that Kaworu had feet of clay just like anyone else. Worse, even, since he'd been doing this over and over, with no success.] I thought you'd had it so easy. But...

[This much naked honesty is getting far too uncomfortable.]

But I felt betrayed, too. Look, that's not your fault. Shinji thought you were so great. So amazing. I hated that. [She takes a deep, unnecessary breath as the lizard seems to perk up and listen in.] But then I realized I could see it, too.

[His eyes almost meet her face—they do, for a split second, and then he's glancing more furtively than that, shame or secrecy, things she's seen too much of from him. There's no joy in his face while he looks marginally upward through his eyelashes, chin still angled down. His expression isn't one of upset, exactly, but right now he feels guilty for misleading her and Shinji both. The posturing is always done on purpose, of course, but...]

You know better than anyone that I only look that way because I try to.

[He never really accepts compliments even when he's jovial, but here—he has promised her more than once—he isn't supposed to be dishonest with her. And yet he is encased in a bitter wealth of manufactured presentation. If she sees him even a little bit like Shinji does, he's lying to her.]

That's not true. Idiot, no one can fake--

[Fake what? Being like him. Being kind. Being someone that could so easily make it seem like his whole attention was focused on her. She might never have owed him anything, but he hadn't owed her, either. Not his time, not his attention. He hadn't seen her as the perennial irritant she'd seen him as for far too long.]

[Her face is flushed, teeth digging impatiently into her lower lip.]

Don't act like that when I'm trying to tell you I like you.

[This always happens. He always ends up feeling so damn young around her. It's here now: he wants to ask, How should I act? He wants to ask her, How does it feel to like me? He might as well be days fresh from LCL, trying to figure out the television remote, and then giving up and flipping through channels with the light of his soul.

But he isn't going to give up here. He wants to approach this with heart and hands. That's the way it should be.

Anyway, he's still intent on being honest:]

I like you, too.

[A plain statement, simple and straightforward, uttered with no evasive cadence or urge to shy away. He is bone white in comparison to her flush. And he still isn't smiling, but the result of that combined with his level delivery is something attentive. Invested, even. Yes, Kaworu is invested in this moment occurring between them. His words are simple as they are because he doesn't want to be superfluous or miscommunicate himself; he doesn't want to harm what's happening right now. It means a lot to him, to be liked.]

You do?

[She hasn't relaxed the barest inch since he said it. I like you can run the gamut, after all. A person like Kaworu (when did he become a person instead of an Angel?) (when did he become someone she cared about for his own sake, and not just for Shinji's?) likes the eavesdropping lizard, bags of candy, probably even liquid soap dispensers. He treats what surrounds him as if it's all completely new and exciting. So it's not good enough just to be liked. Asuka craves precision. Definition.]

How? [She doesn't say it as though it's an impossible feat, to like her. It isn't, even as rotten as she is. She forces herself to look at his pale face, his red eyes, and keep on demanding, face florid.] What do you mean by that?

[He isn't surprised by her desire for clarification. It's familiar, and it's in line with what he's learned about her. He knows, then, how important it is that he chooses the most thoughtful answer. When Kaworu shuts his eyes, it's in deep consideration. He is poring over every aspect of her he's encountered.

Ah. He's finally found it. There's the spread of a smile over his face, which is tilted up toward her, a pigmentless sunflower.]

I like you like I like Beethoven's Appassionata.

[Asuka's silent as he turns that smile on her. It's warm. It's very, very warm. She didn't know how much she craved that, didn't know how it would make her feel so-- so-- light and wanted. She doesn't really feel like she deserves it, but that doesn't keep her from relishing it, or from starting to smile back.]

That's a lot. [That's a piece she sort of recognizes, or thinks she does. It's dramatic. And then, because that's not enough, fingers curving, feeling like the fourteen-year-old she isn't but she's always been--]

I like you a lot, too.

[Kaworu's eyes snap back open. Her words are the logical conclusion of this conversation, all they're sharing with each other, but that doesn't mean he anticipated them. She likes him, all right, he's still adjusting to that feeling. But now she's saying she likes him a lot.

Talk about being undeserving. Equally young for the moment, he's caught between wanting to grab her hand, to squeeze her fingers for security purposes, and wanting to ask her a hundred demanding questions about liking things. (Liking him, specifically.) He refuses to do either of those things. He's not that new and stupid anymore, he tells himself. Although he does wonder what she might think if he acted on youthful impulses.

Instead, he compromises. He rises from his spot on the ground, slow and steady in body but with fluid motion, and he dusts off his hands. First he glances down at the patient lizard. With a laugh crouched in the back of his voice, Kaworu says,] I think it fell asleep. It wanted to meet you, but I kept you all to myself once you came.

[Now he looks at her again. He's looking down at her only for a moment, before he makes certain to posture himself equally instead of above: he sits down on the bench beside her.]

This is a good thing. [He says it softly, gently. He's addressing his own doubts about deservedness just as much as hers.]

[She's glad that he's gotten up. Asuka's tried so hard for most of her life to position herself above anyone, as if by rising to the top she'd feel like she should be there. But sitting beside her as an equal is so much better. So much more natural and comfortable.]

[She rubs the back of her neck with her hand and starts to shift over. Not giving him more room, giving him less. Not trying to invade his personal space. Just trying to share in it.]

[She's a schoolgirl again. She's passing notes under the desk. Do-you-like-me-yes-or-no. But it doesn't feel bad. It doesn't feel juvenile. It just feels whole.]

Yeah.

[She reaches over, nervous but quick, grabbing his hand, fingers intertwining insistently with his.]

I'm glad. I'm really glad.

[Physical contact is such a wonderful thing that sometimes, privately, Kaworu feels like crying when he's alone in his bed. This past year—not a lot of time, but the most compounded part of his life so far—has given him more touch than he ever thought he would experience. But almost all of it has been one person, through predictable circumstances, and there's special novelty, a new wonder, in the specifics of Asuka's hand. Her wrist and palm and fingers are unique to her. The measure of her grip, too.

Kaworu, meanwhile, has his own special way of holding hands: his fingers lock into hers accordingly, but when Kaworu holds somebody's hand, it's like he's cradling them. Like his palm is full of their trust. He knows he is, in essence, holding a very young heart, along with that hand. His grasp is soft but grounded. He's careful about never squeezing too hard. He's cool to the touch but he's still emanating warmth. It radiates from his smile, his eyes, that real joy that's less than mellow.

He leans even closer to her—knocks his shoulder gently against hers. This is a gesture of affection he does frequently with Shinji, but also only ever with Shinji. Friendship reaches different points of elevation. Kaworu has called several people in the Fleet his friends. But now comes the rarity of his defined affection. He likes Asuka as an individual. A person in her own right, with qualities Kaworu finds desirable. Qualities Kaworu wants to spend time with. Whatever distinctions of friendship Kaworu hasn't quite learned, he at least knows that Asuka Shikinami Langley means more to him than a presence boiled down to the beauty of life. She exceeds such simplicity.]

I would like to play it for you, some day. Appassionata. Everyone plays it a little bit differently.

I'd like that. [Asuka's smile hasn't faded out yet. For a long time, too long a time, she thought she didn't have a reason to perk up at all, thought that life would always be a series of battles eroding her down to fragments. For a long time, even on the Fleet, she'd been prepared for the day she'd be back piloting Eva.]

[But now he's holding her hand like he's holding her heart instead. She's not so bitter anymore. Not so cynical. She thinks, right now, that no one could be cynical if they always had a hand to hold. His hand to hold, willing and gentle. She tries to chide herself for being so sentimental, but she can't dismiss her own thoughts. Kaworu's the kind of person that seems to see the could bes instead of the realities. That has to be why Shinji fell for him so.]

[Has to be why she is, too.]

[The brush of his shoulder feels like an affirmation. Asuka doesn't actively touch many people, either, for all that she tends to be alternately invasive and aloof. She's only held hands with two other people before, and, one foot tapping on the ground, she's already afraid she's getting greedy.]

It's all about the touch, isn't it?

It's all about how one wants to touch. [Not so much a correction as an elaboration. He watches the movement of her foot, notes her tempo.] A person's touch might be that of determination. Of fear. Or something confident. It could contain desire, too.

[The metaphor, or double meaning, isn't even subtle, and he doesn't intend for it to be. There are many ways to touch a piano, and many to touch another person. When he looks once more to Asuka's face, it's straightforward, eye to eye, nothing fearful.]

Often, when you listen to a person play music, you can hear that they are pouring everything in their hearts into their performance. Anger or desolation or deep and headstrong love. Whatever their hearts are yearning to say is what you hear in their song.

mk. 07 (text)

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