The cost of sentimentality

[measuringdistance]

WHO: Chikai Kuji & Open
WHERE: Chikai's calibration room
WHAT: Who doesn't love strangers snooping around in your head?
WHEN: During the Calibration Event
WARNINGS: Potential depictions of violence, murder, torture, and mentions of suicide.

Those who wind up this small Japanese bedroom, the first thing they're likely to notice is the temperature. It's cold - not quite enough to make someone's breath fog, but more than enough to be uncomfortable. The longer you stand around, the more it seems to seep in, regardless of what anyone's wearing. The second thing is the smell. Those who have had soba before will recognize it, but even those who haven't may still find it comforting, in the way home-cooked food tends to be.

Yet that only puts it more at odds with the otherwise barren room. The walls have bits of green and yellow paper stuck to them, the remains of posters that have long been torn off. There's no other decorations, only a closet that will open if you give it a good tug. Inside is a purple jacket emblazoned with a seagull on the back, a metal ruler with a bandaged handle leaning against one of the inner walls, and a large duffel bag that's packed to the brim. Open it up, and you'll find a mess of money and clothes all stuffed inside haphazardly. The clothes themselves seem to be for a child, and the ones that stand out most are a soccer uniform and a heavy winter coat with a faux-fur lined hood. Dig deep enough, you'll also find a flute and soccer ball buried there under the paper and fabric.

The one piece of furniture is a low desk, which Chikai himself is sitting on top of. He's wearing sunglasses that make it hard to read his expression, though he seems to be looking out the nearby window. Not that there's much to look at; it's night out there, and the only thing in sight is a dark and empty alley. The desk has drawers, but you'll have to get him to move if you want to open any of them. Sitting beside him is a glass full of lollipops, all different flavors. There's enough in there they nearly look like a bouquet, and are easily the most colorful thing in the room. On the floor by his feet, there's a framed picture, though it's impossible to say of what. The glass itself is completely covered with what looks like black ink or paint. He seems to have no interest in picking it up.

Comments

[deal_me_in]

For someone who doesn't exactly feel things the same way as he might have, the pressing cold is definitely an unusual thing. But then these are unusual circumstances. Rather than worry about matters, Cayde chooses to simply go with it, even if things don't make sense to him. He'll work it out.

He doesn't recognize the person perched there on the desk, but the Exo wanders about at complete ease as though they've been friends forever. "Hey there," he greets, even as his glowing optics take stock of the room and the sparse contents within.

[beholding_archivist]

Another night, another barren room.

Jon frowns a little at this one, but doesn't hesitate to step into the room's very center and allow his attention to be drawn towards the owner of this particular room. The smile he casts in the young man's direction is a genuine one, if still a little on the awkward side. There still remains something to be said about being in another's mind. Though Jon can't exactly claim not to be curious.

"Well, I... Guess it's this tonight?"