(- 59 -) [action/written]

[blackteriques]

[It's past midnight and he can't sleep. He tells himself that he should sleep, considering he has a mission that he has to report for in the morning, but...

Walter ends up heading out of the house (quietly, of course), and practicing over to one side. Kicks and punches, all while muttering Relares under his breath. Might as well exhaust himself in this late night chill if he can.

After he's done, however, he finds that he needs to empty his thoughts. So he turns to the journal he often neglects and writes in it -- with the camera covered.]

What do you miss most about being away from home?

Sometimes I miss knowing what I did mattered to someone I cared about.

[It takes all of his willpower not to immediately scribble out the writing. He shuts the journal and will only look at it once he's back in his room.]

Comments

[written]

[holyknights]

[Elliot normally doesn't care to write, but it is late, and he especially doesn't want to attract the attention of nosy servants... Of course, what stands out to him more than the question is the anonymous person's answer.]

What you do now doesn't matter to anyone here?

[written]

[blackteriques]

[...Ugh. Walter grimaces when he reads the question, resisting the urge to toss his journal on his desk and just flop on his bed.]

Not really.

I'm sure there's other people like that here.

[written]

[holyknights]

You don't know that.

[It feels like he's heard something like this before...]

I don't know what I miss.

[written]

[subsultive]

[Luca shouldn't be up either, admittedly, but he's a little restless. He doesn't exactly pause once he reads the question, scrawling his answer as neatly as he can muster at such an early hour.]

My mother's cheese soup.

[written]

[blackteriques]

[Cheese soup, huh? ...Yeah, familiar food would be something to miss.]

I take it that you don't know how to cook it?

[written]

[subsultive]

That's right. It wouldn't feel the same if it wasn't made by her, too.

[written]

[accepted]

[People write the strangest stuff late at night it seems. With a yawn and some poor penmanship, Caius scribbles down a reply.]

Friends from home. Were on an adventure together with them. They're not here, miss them a lot.

[written]

[blackteriques]

[It takes him a moment to process the sentences because of the structure, in addition to the time of night beginning to affect him.]

Did you have many of them?

[written]

[accepted]

Four. There was my brother too, he's here now. [But being brought up away from him and some other complications he doesn't feel as connected to him as he did with his other friends.] Have lots of friends here who I like but none of them are those friends.

[Written]

[lostinmyway]

[Well. Guess who's also up at all hours, Walter.

Grune has no set schedule; she wakes up and goes to bed whenever she feels like it. And right now? She feels like being awake.

Unsurprisingly, she doesn't recognize his handwriting, but that certainly doesn't stop her from replying in some concern.]

I'm sure what you do here matters to your friends here. Don't worry.

[Written]

[blackteriques]

[...He just can't seem to get away from this Orerines, can he? Letting out a frustrated sigh, he manages to keep a neutral tone in his answer.]

I'm not worried.

[Written]

[lostinmyway]

Are you sure? You sounded sad.

[written]

[ruinedhiswish]

I miss circus and horseback riding and all the other fun things I could do at home...




_{[AND she misses Coda.]}

[written]

[blackteriques]

[There were arguably a lot of things people could do in Luceti that were fun, but...]

Circus?

Re: [written]

[ruinedhiswish]

You don't know what circus is?

[Voice]

[geniustheveil]

[Her answer is simple.]

I miss my coworkers and my friends.

[written]

[blackteriques]

[Coworkers as well? ...It doesn't take him long to surmise why that is.]

You must like your job if you miss your coworkers too.

[written]

[geniustheveil]

[More truthfully, she overworks herself and is rarely away from said job. However, it's also true that it's important to her, and so are those people she's met through it.]

That's right. It was my dream since I was young.

[written]

[fierybluebird]

A specific person you cared about or just in general?

And I miss my brothers.

[written]

[blackteriques]

Your family?

[He taps his pen thoughtfully against the page as he thinks of how to answer the question.]

Both, in a way. There's one person who is the most important, but there is a whole group-- [race, really] --that I care about.

[And the real pity was that it took being stuck in Luceti for him to realize how much it meant to him.]

[written]

[bloodypocket]

[In the same way that Walter's camera is covered, so is Eyes'. This wasn't information he wanted associated to him so quickly.]

Kinsmen, knowing that I've done what I can to guard them well.

[written]

[blackteriques]

[It doesn't surprise him to see someone else covering the camera. ...In fact, it makes him even more aware of how many people had responded without covering the camera. Huh.]

Were they appreciative of what you did?

[Nothing] Now with (hopefully) more sense! /o/;;

[bubblywishes]

[It’s not until the middle of the next day that Norma comes across the message during a break in her shopping routine. Now, normally she wouldn’t bother with something like this – it’s a loaded question and she has enough on her shoulders already – but there’s really nothing else she could be doing right now, other than maximizing her wardrobe. Besides, with the severe lack of ruins, symbols, and traps to tease her brain, Norma has to do something to stay sharp-witted.

So, it’s with a bit of detective work (regarding the style of writing, the form, curvature of certain letters, etc.) that Norma deciphers the writing style to be one she’s very, very familiar with...and nearly drops both her bags and her journal. This is certainly not something she expected to see during the day, and her mind races back to two key points in her journey back on Melfes. It’s one or the other – a 50/50 shot, but somehow she just knows who the speaker is; call it a sick, sixth sense. Her mouth opens, but when no sound comes out, Norma thinks it better to just stay silent.

She'd like to say she was sorry, sorry for what happened - what they did - but the fact of the matter is she can't. Norma cannot apologize and truly mean those words. It had to be done. For the sake of her people, and for Shirley, it...had to be done. Of course, saying she didn't feel guilty and bothered by the fact that she played a part in someone's death would be a lie. One can't take a another person's life and not reflect back on that moment. Especially not when the killer lives with the same person they killed.

So, it's with trembling hands that Norma shuts her journal and tucks it deep down into her bag, gathering herself up again to resume her little escapade.

She won't be returning home until late tonight.]

[written]

[blessingone]

[Fenimore is usually asleep at this time of night, but from time to time she wakes up from bad dreams that rattle her too much to just get back to sleep. Rather than stay to the bed, she gets up and makes her way out to the kitchen, initially to pace but eventually to brew a pot of tea from what Grune has brought home. It's not that she drinks tea, but the last time Shirley was here, Madame Musette had instilled a love of tea in her and she had tried to pass it on to Fenimore. The scent is nostalgic now, so she pours a mug to set on the table and let the smell permeate the room.

(Initially, she pours two mugs without thinking, but that is a little too nostalgic. So she pours the second down the sink.)

She opens her journal to find something to keep her mind from wandering to bad places in the dark. After a moment, she also covers the camera and writes in a similarly loopy style from learning Relares.]

A person. [And, after a moment:] There are many things.

[If he's returned to his room already by the time she's gotten up, it may require some thought to determine her identity or, if he's still on his way back and thus would see she was up when he returned, it may be a very easy conclusion to come to. Fenimore herself hasn't noticed the similarity in writing styles and thus has no idea.]

[written]

[blackteriques]

[Another anonymous response. There is something almost comforting in not knowing the face of the other person; if he doesn't agree with what's said, he can get angry and convince himself the other person is lying.

Rather petty, but it was a way to protect his interests.

He reads the vague response and decides he has to comment on it.]

You cannot make up your mind?