[ As old as Morpheus must be, 'quite some time' carries an implication that Vanessa doesn't miss. The thought warms her. ]
How sorry I am for someone you care for to suffer this city's curse...yet their presence must bring you a comfort that little else can.
[ She'll reach for another piece of clementine. ]
I am glad for you to have such a friend. To wonder at you carrying such burdens as our dreams for longer than I can imagine, I then worried for you being lonely.
[ he does not address the first statement. that would give too much away, perhaps. ]
He thought the same, at one point. I did not respond well to his drawing attention to it.
[ he speaks confidently as he usually does, as if the words were already written in the stars, though the last sentence is spoken a little slower, just short of actual hesitation. ]
[ With both hands now resting in her lap, she considers what it would mean for Morpheus to 'not respond well'. A cold shoulder? A demand for silence? Was the poor man punished?
Is he going to punish her?
Well, she'll lean into it. ]
Lonely souls often recognize one another...and it can be painful to be seen.
[ She looks to her hands while letting out the tiniest of shrugs, as though there can be no helping it. ]
[ With a minute tilt of her head, she looks back to him and wonders again at how old his friend must be. She can still recall what had earlier been alluded to. If he is anything like Morpheus, then no matter the character, he must have known loneliness at some point. ]
For how long have you known him? Beyond 'quite some time', I mean.
Then I must request a different story from you in the future.
[ Which does remind her, ]
I never did hear what happened to Yama and Yami. Did they manage to discover everything?
[ The journey they had set out on sounded so tantalizing. To experience everything the world had to offer was what she had always yearned for, from its sweetness to its most bitter—to swallow the night, crawl through the sand, and sink into the sea.
But of course, something must have gone wrong for them. It always does. ]
[ Perhaps there are many that sound nice, she muses, but there is always an element of something...else. ]
Even in the happiest of tales there must something sad, however miniscule. Some sort of...struggle. Perhaps only so small that few notice it where it hides, that forgotten sadness.
[ Morpheus starts to softly speak, his voice is steady and confident, painting the scenes in the story with his low pitch and deep tones. he words keeps a slow and even tempo even during the more urgent beats of the tale's plot, but it never feels plodding or painful, and there's just ... something about the way he speaks that makes the listener feel as if they themselves were there in the story, the scenes and characters fully formed in their imaginings as if they could merely turn there heads and see it all lying before them.
And true to his word, he tells her a story that has no sad elements in it, only joy and celebration of all life in its glory. it's very obviously not a human story, the words and names of things completely foreign, the world fantastical by human standards but still somehow believable by him telling of it, speaking as if it's a place he's actually been to, walked the paths and swam in the rivers he describes.
it's not a terribly long tale, maybe 10 minutes have passed since he began speaking, and the ending sounds as if there could be more to it if he only kept going. ]
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No. We have known each other for quite some time.
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How sorry I am for someone you care for to suffer this city's curse...yet their presence must bring you a comfort that little else can.
[ She'll reach for another piece of clementine. ]
I am glad for you to have such a friend. To wonder at you carrying such burdens as our dreams for longer than I can imagine, I then worried for you being lonely.
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He thought the same, at one point. I did not respond well to his drawing attention to it.
[ he speaks confidently as he usually does, as if the words were already written in the stars, though the last sentence is spoken a little slower, just short of actual hesitation. ]
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Is he going to punish her?
Well, she'll lean into it. ]
Lonely souls often recognize one another...and it can be painful to be seen.
[ She looks to her hands while letting out the tiniest of shrugs, as though there can be no helping it. ]
Or else why would we remain lonely?
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I do not imagine him to be a lonely soul. Quite the opposite, in fact.
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For how long have you known him? Beyond 'quite some time', I mean.
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[ the barest smirk. ]
I will allow him to illuminate you on the details, if he wishes to provide them.
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Is that an invitation for me to meet your friend?
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How could I resist the opportunity to ask after the adventures you two must have had?
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I fear you may be disappointed on that front.
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[ A playful squint accompanies her gentle headshake. ]
Impossible.
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[ Though, that type does have usually bring brilliant stories. ]
Sometimes it can be a quiet discovery.
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[ Which does remind her, ]
I never did hear what happened to Yama and Yami. Did they manage to discover everything?
[ The journey they had set out on sounded so tantalizing. To experience everything the world had to offer was what she had always yearned for, from its sweetness to its most bitter—to swallow the night, crawl through the sand, and sink into the sea.
But of course, something must have gone wrong for them. It always does. ]
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Mm... No, I am worried it will make me sad.
[ No doubt there will be plenty opportunity for sad things in the future. ]
Are there any stories that don't carry a sadness?
[ A question that isn't a question at all. ]
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Oh yes, there are countless.
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I don't believe it.
[ Perhaps there are many that sound nice, she muses, but there is always an element of something...else. ]
Even in the happiest of tales there must something sad, however miniscule. Some sort of...struggle. Perhaps only so small that few notice it where it hides, that forgotten sadness.
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[ Or something that looks like it, but the disillusionment is all her own. ]
The day you can share a story that has never known sadness, I may kiss you for the delight of it.
[ Which should be nothing new by now, but in this case it's a gentle jest. She would be surprised if he could find her such a story, however. ]
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Well then, how can I refuse? I am usually one for a good surprise.
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[ Morpheus starts to softly speak, his voice is steady and confident, painting the scenes in the story with his low pitch and deep tones. he words keeps a slow and even tempo even during the more urgent beats of the tale's plot, but it never feels plodding or painful, and there's just ... something about the way he speaks that makes the listener feel as if they themselves were there in the story, the scenes and characters fully formed in their imaginings as if they could merely turn there heads and see it all lying before them.
And true to his word, he tells her a story that has no sad elements in it, only joy and celebration of all life in its glory. it's very obviously not a human story, the words and names of things completely foreign, the world fantastical by human standards but still somehow believable by him telling of it, speaking as if it's a place he's actually been to, walked the paths and swam in the rivers he describes.
it's not a terribly long tale, maybe 10 minutes have passed since he began speaking, and the ending sounds as if there could be more to it if he only kept going. ]
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