Emet-Selch (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
amaure) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
victory_road2021-09-13 11:16 pm
amaure) wrote in victory_road2021-09-13 11:16 pm
Entry tags:
closed;
Who: Dirk and Emet-Selch
Where: Saffron City, at a "Korean" bbq restaurant
When: Saturday the 11th
Summary: Just two partners having lunch, nothing to see here
Rating: T cuz Dirk has a potty mouth, also just Dirk in general
Log:
The place, the date, everything is utterly purposeful. As it always is with Emet-Selch, or as Dirk favored, Emet. A year ago this would not be a meal they'd share together, yet here they are after that terrible break still together and stronger for it. Indeed, the date and that mess from the year prior was fresh on his mind as he asked Dirk to lunch, but he did not let such show in his voice nor face.
Even still, as they sit at their table, the grill heating up with the sliced onion upon it to grease it, he does not hint at nor specify that this has any relation to that day. Time has always been odd for someone like him—odd for mortals, anyway, for him it's always been like this. Where a year can feel like minutes, yet sometimes it can feel as though it's crawled along on useless limbs, grasping with feeble claws incapable of making purchase.
Miserable, grueling, arduous.
Yet, he cannot say that's how this year has felt. Quite the contrary, it has been one of the quicker ones he's endured in a long time, one that's felt almost as if it has slipped through his gloved fingers; unlike the tongs he uses to grease the grill. Aiming a smile at Dirk—a genuine one, rare as it is—he decides to break the silence while they wait for their food to arrive (an order of bulgogi, chicken bulgogi, jumulleok, accompanying vegetables, and a plethora of side dishes from purple rice to mandu.)
"I was thinking," is how he chooses to start, his tone measured and soft. Inviting, even, "with how oft we enjoy one another's company, and for all we likewise enjoy to converse, I must admit beyond what I have gleamed from your tome, I know very little else of those whom you hold dear from your reality."
The onion sizzles almost as emphatic punctuation as he drags it across the heating metal, clearly finding a spot hotter than it was at previous. For a moment, his golden eyes look down through his lashes at it, the bubbling juice of it catching his attention, before he looks back to Dirk.
"Unless you wish not to speak of them, I know I have little room to talk for the scarce little I have shared on mine own. Admittedly, that is far less because any reservations on my end."
Yet he still chose not to speak of them...
Where: Saffron City, at a "Korean" bbq restaurant
When: Saturday the 11th
Summary: Just two partners having lunch, nothing to see here
Rating: T cuz Dirk has a potty mouth, also just Dirk in general
Log:
The place, the date, everything is utterly purposeful. As it always is with Emet-Selch, or as Dirk favored, Emet. A year ago this would not be a meal they'd share together, yet here they are after that terrible break still together and stronger for it. Indeed, the date and that mess from the year prior was fresh on his mind as he asked Dirk to lunch, but he did not let such show in his voice nor face.
Even still, as they sit at their table, the grill heating up with the sliced onion upon it to grease it, he does not hint at nor specify that this has any relation to that day. Time has always been odd for someone like him—odd for mortals, anyway, for him it's always been like this. Where a year can feel like minutes, yet sometimes it can feel as though it's crawled along on useless limbs, grasping with feeble claws incapable of making purchase.
Miserable, grueling, arduous.
Yet, he cannot say that's how this year has felt. Quite the contrary, it has been one of the quicker ones he's endured in a long time, one that's felt almost as if it has slipped through his gloved fingers; unlike the tongs he uses to grease the grill. Aiming a smile at Dirk—a genuine one, rare as it is—he decides to break the silence while they wait for their food to arrive (an order of bulgogi, chicken bulgogi, jumulleok, accompanying vegetables, and a plethora of side dishes from purple rice to mandu.)
"I was thinking," is how he chooses to start, his tone measured and soft. Inviting, even, "with how oft we enjoy one another's company, and for all we likewise enjoy to converse, I must admit beyond what I have gleamed from your tome, I know very little else of those whom you hold dear from your reality."
The onion sizzles almost as emphatic punctuation as he drags it across the heating metal, clearly finding a spot hotter than it was at previous. For a moment, his golden eyes look down through his lashes at it, the bubbling juice of it catching his attention, before he looks back to Dirk.
"Unless you wish not to speak of them, I know I have little room to talk for the scarce little I have shared on mine own. Admittedly, that is far less because any reservations on my end."
Yet he still chose not to speak of them...
no subject
Without that, losing hours or days is hardly unusual to Dirk, skipping erratically through weeks and months that in the moment are themselves composed of hypercompression and distension, details excruciatingly drawn out or holes in time where things got done but his awareness could simply not manage its presence. In the retrospective, the same span of time could at once appear to have passed in an eyeblink and yet sprawl out infinitely behind him, incomprehensibly vast in its specifics and scope.
Reflecting long enough to recall how that time felt is something he does not do, and this 'not doing' is done very much on purpose. Searching, he turns up empty-handed. It's when his back is turned, cognitively speaking, that the patterns make themselves apparent to him. Whether he wants them to or not. At which point he will be unable to forget.
This, though... this is just lunch. A really nice lunch, featuring most of his favourite foods, surrounded by the trappings of his own cultural phantasia, and across from one of his favourite people--one of his very few people that are people, amongst a number of very few people at all. He doesn't bother pretending he isn't watching Emet, as his shades very neatly disguise the fact that he's looking at anything specific at all.
Dirk manages not to furrow his brow, a feat he'll remember to pat himself on the back for later. For now, he makes sure he doesn't have chopsticks anywhere near his hand, because he knows from experience that he'll end up with them in his hand, and then he'll be gesturing with them like an ignorant boor. He hates catching himself doing that.
".... I was under the impression most everyone on your side of reality was dead."
Did he.... miss something?
Or is this a 'tactful' topic placement? He hates it when Emet does that.
Mostly because it usually starts with him wondering if he missed something.
"So who are you asking about?"
no subject
"Oh, they are very much dead, this is true, but reincarnation has a funny way of making such a state impermanent."
With a flourish of the tongs, he goes back to his work.
"I wish to know more about that Roxy fellow--I have a clear enough image of Jane and Jake--the former more so than the latter for obvious reasons--but I cannot help but wonder about your friend."
His eyebrows tick upward as he looks at Dirk once more, his gaze as soft as it is penetrating.
"If that's all right, of course."
cw f slur
He tries to ignore the faggy wrist thing to affect a smooth answer.
"Is this the price I pay for mandu and dak bulgogi? I'd say that if you want to know about Roxy, you should ask a Dave, but..." He lets that sentence die, both because the Dave available is metalogically impaired when it comes to the kind of knowing he'd be making reference to, and because Dirk knows Emet, and so he knows damn well what Emet's response to that kind of deflection would be. If he wanted Dave's opinion, he would have asked Dave for it. But he didn't. He asked Dirk. Because he wants Dirk's opinion.
It's usually a buoying notion, that Emet is interested in his words, his thoughts and insights specifically. That it's not just about getting the facts--although Emet certainly knows that if it's the facts he wants, Dirk's the man for the job.
Right now, though.
It makes a difficult topic nearly impossible. Directing Emet to Dave was itself an idea partially born of pettiness, maybe even a little bit of spite. Dave'd been all over Roxy since the minute they met, bonding so closely to his ectomaternal figure so effortlessly and so quickly that it often meandered out of the realm of the endearing and into obnoxiousness. He basically threw himself at Roxy, pouring the most insipid, pathetic nonsense that came into his head at Roxy's feet, and Roxy just laughed like this was cute. It was downright pitiful.
It was also (not) unfair.
No. Wait.
Back up. This time he was onto something.
"Actually, that's not the worst way to break this down. You've met Dave. You've met me. Anywhere we diverge, that's Roxy. I can't really tell you much more than that. All the shit I used to know about him probably isn't true any more. I could give you a canon update, but I couldn't tell you what he's thinking."
Okay. He dished. Or close enough to it.
"Your turn. Do they still get reincarnated when you've got reality half-patched? How much of them is there--what happens to the larger percentage?" That's the mechanical side of things. He can't not ask it. But he's not trading small questions for big ones. No; they're going pound for pound. Or onze for onze.
"Do you even want to see them?"
rude dirk that's the man you kiss
"I see..."
Neutral as that response may be, it was also a sign he was mulling the answer over, likely rolling around the next question to pose upon Dirk.
Opening his mouth to speak again, he pauses as the waiter wheels their cart of food up. Closing his mouth as he smiles politely at them, he allows them to quickly and efficiently stock the table, check the grill's heat, before checking for anything else they may need.
With a brief glance to Dirk, he then sends them on their way.
"Right, then." He finally breathes out, universally wait staff seemed to know when to come at the worst time, but it mattered little. He busies himself with laying out the meat upon the grill, orderly and with purpose.
"Upon the shards that remain, they do, those Rejoined then stay with their primary self upon the Source." Whether or not that larger soul is allowed to reincarnate on the Source itself is another matter. Not pausing from his work, he uses a free hand to put up a finger for each he lists, starting again once he reaches past the first five in his count.
"The fifth, twelveth, second, third, sixth, tenth, and seventh shards have been rejoined. Which leaves five fresh for them to live, suffer, die, and reincarnate on--though, I suppose that is less so the case with the thirteenth. They are certainly living, if you'd deign to call it such."
The sizzle of raw meat hitting the grill may as well serve as punctuation for that thought. Though, he realizes he didn't answer Dirk's question. Such a realization is made plain by the downward tug to his lips, but he chooses to amend it.
"Seeing them is all a matter of course. We unsundered could not hope to carry out our duty without assistance, and while they are the fragments of our fallen brethren--not unlike the other mortals--they are but a disturbing mockery of their former selves. Useful they may be, they are yet disposable in their inadequate and disturbing state of existence."
Letting the meat sit so it can cook, he settles back.
"And what of the Roxy you once knew? Do you miss him?"
cw transphobia, misgendering,
He chews on that for a minute, albeit in a strictly proverbial sense.
(He wishes he was chewing on something more literally. It smells so damn good in here.)
Had Emet not followed up by bringing the topic of Roxy back around, he could have spent several minutes ruminating on the necessary cruelties of their roles and positions--cruelties meted and met in unequal proportion, some with cause and others merely collateral. The impermanence, irrelevance and insignificance of the fragmentary pieces that had to be used (and discarded) as means to just and benevolent ends. Timelines, shards, splinterings, sunderings.
But the same attentiveness to conversational specifics that ensured Emet actually answered Dirk's question also ensured he wouldn't be allowed to simply drop other lines of inquiry.
"Of course I do." He answers immediately, allowing no time for added genuflection. "How is that even a question? She--" Ugh. He? No. Not he. That's not the Roxy he knew. He doesn't know that Roxy at all.
"Roxy was the best friend any of us could have had. Call me an optimist, but I'm hoping he'll see things my way in the end."
no subject
The process was quicker than anticipated, however, almost as if instinctual than anything deeply considered. Idly he wonders if this is a sign of honesty or delusion. After all, from what he had read, their relationship hadn't seemed entirely promising, let alone desirable. In truth, one might name it compromised by how little there seemed to be betwixt them--anymore.
"Is that something he often did? Come around to seeing things your way, that is. A precedented behavior that would inspire such hope?"
He could ask what made Roxy such a great friend, but knowing the situation they both shared for a greater stint of their short lives meant that Roxy was his only friend. Well, that he could share such a burden with. That would breed a different measure of solidarity than what he would share with Jake and Jane.
Compared to having no one of a similar distinction, Emet supposes that would indeed make him the best friend Dirk could ask for. In any realistic sense.
no subject
"Not in so many words, no. But Roxy and I disagreed pretty heavily about the Game, back in the day. It got pretty tense sometimes, and Jane had both of us vying for her ear--she was fully on my side, no question, but she still had two oracles from the future perched like imps on each of her shoulders. She didn't know we were from the future, then. But Roxy made out like he had every intention of not playing, and went so far as to sabotage Jane's computer... almost blew up more than just her Condesce-riddled Crockertop in the process. Obviously, necessity prevailed. He got his ass in gear when the time came, and without the Game, none of us would be alive now. None of us would have been alive to begin with. He even admitted later that he wasn't ever not going to play when everyone else was already going ahead with it; it wasn't really ever in question, he was just anxious about it. That's just one example, but you get the idea. He knows when to make a choice."
no subject
Roxy acted out of the need for survival. Physically, emotionally, and what Dirk would probably also name narratively.
The purse to Emet's lips is far more telling than anything else about how he holds himself. He has long since placed the tongs down (after flipping the meat so it wouldn't burn as they chat), a gloved hand gently cupping his chin in a contemplative gesture as he watches him unblinkingly. He does see Dirk's logic, if you could name it that, though more it is Dirk's need to feel validated in what he believes is Right. It's very human of him, and though Dirk might hate that distinction, it is not something to utterly abhor.
In Emet's opinion, forged through timeless experience and observation, true perfection is not the absence of flaws, but the awareness of them. Dirk is still working on that, but this he does not hold against him.
"So, it is less that he concedes the necessity in so many words, and more that his actions speak for him—to you? That, once robbed of all measure of choice, he will take the only one true option available?"
Was this not like The Convocation and their own plight against the end of the world? That, had they any other means to halt it, they would have gladly taken it, yet this was not the reality afford for them. He cannot help but be amused by the parallel between Roxy and Azem in this way, but instead of how Roxy came along in the end, Azem stubbornly refused to stand by the decision to summon Zodiark.
Refused to play their "game", if he would be so crude to call it that.
"...How bittersweet it is, these similarities we share, but even more bitter are the differences."
no subject
"There's always at least two choices."
He's not actively trying to be cryptic about this, but to someone like Emet--someone who understand both the experiential and the facilitative sides to the narrative coin--the bare facts should be pretty self-evident even without his explaining what a visual novel is.
On a textual level, Dirk is aware that he 'reads into' things 'too much.' If questioned, he might even admit to it, though this acknowledgment does not come without his own added criticisms. And what it means for his relationships is something he's only half-internalised--that it 'creates an environment of paranoia' and 'creates an atmosphere for hypervigilance,' mostly. That it might allow people dear to him to decline any responsibility towards him, or that he might be inferring intent where none was given (and in turn, deny people around him the clarity of his own perspective) is still lost on him. Then again, it's all but impossible for Dirk to recognise that his level of devotion might not be reciprocated in the first place, at least not until well after the damage has been done.
"....I'm clocking the bitter part of this, not so much the sweetness."
no subject
Had, he supposes, though he likewise cannot say that he is truly dead in any meaningful way.
Which means that, despite himself, he concedes to Dirk's point. Roxy could indeed have chosen death, but in that instance the decision was made for him due to the fact any living creature strives for survival above all else. Typically, at least.
Roxy had not been twisted and broken to that point yet, and so while there was technically two options, there wasn't any way someone like him would choose the other, even if it wasn't something he particularly wanted. If given the option to lose your hand or to keep it, technically there's a choice to be made but the options are nowhere near equal; the landslide of drawbacks makes not a fair alternative, so is there truly a choice to be made?
"Misery enjoys company, dear boy. Through our shared--though differing--experiences, we have a semblance of familiarity, solidarity, and understanding. Even down to the struggles we have faced with our own dearest friends." That word, 'friend', is spoken with a wounded inflection. One that he seemed to fail to keep at bay. Quickly he continues.
"That I should feel some level of camaraderie with you through our similar burden and wounds is a balm. One that does not cure the hurts, yet affords me some measure of succor that I have otherwise been denied."
He smiles simply, softly, and sincerely.
"To not feel the ache of loneliness for even a fraction of a moment with you is far more than I have been gifted in eons. I treasure it."
no subject
And how long would Dirk have lived that way? How much longer could he have endured before death became his choice--not his only choice, maybe not even his only other choice, but undeniably and inescapably a choice.
In a way, perhaps Roxy had approached their ultimate question with more choices than Dirk had.
This fact wasn't lost on him. Maybe he could have resented her for that. If she were anyone else, he could have.
But not Roxy.
No one had known Dirk for as long as Roxy had, no one know him as well as she had. No one understood him as thoroughly as she had--had, past tense, like the pronoun, apparently. Now--
The truth is that Emet's words resonate with Dirk, his eons spread across a hundred thousand splinters--lives lived and deaths died, understanding meted out in fragments, pockets of time; Jakes and Roxys scattered sparingly through the infinite fields of the infinite self. And long ago--not that long ago, but long enough--he'd outpaced them all, left them behind to be buried, buried engulfed in the vast infinity of narrative and ego (and narrative ego, and ego narrative.) Not drowning but dissolving and devouring to become where they could not, or would not, follow.
Only to find that there were people already here. A person. At least one. An improbable, even impossible person whose potential existence should have been obvious, and yet was just the opposite.
Comforting?
You couldn't even begin to imagine.
But he--Emet--didn't have to, and Dirk knew that. But he'd also never said that, and not like this; it was never just about.... people. It had been an unspoken, accepted fact that the people ('people') Dirk had dealt with were.... well, they were just plain worse than Emet's. Even then, Emet's tragedy was like Dirk's own, was 'fixable'--a work in progress, with a better ending still in the works. It was the kind of progress, and the kind of work, that ensured its author-slash-engineer, wouldn't be enjoying it. Thankless work, but rewarding nonetheless.
Except that the way Emet said 'friend' just now, like the word was wrapped around his throat and constricting--it catches him off guard, and he blinks, his breath caught somewhere in his trachea. He suppresses his instinct--to look around, like he's looking for a cue--and swallows. In doing so, he realises his throat is dry, and there's a lump in there.
Why is he he doing this in public?
This is the kind of thing you say when trying to plead with someone not to break up with you, or....
"Are you okay? You're not breaking up with me, right. I mean, I. I don't even know what to say here. I don't think there is anything that isn't just repeating what you already said. And we're in public. I don't want to cause a scene, but I don't know how you just up and say things like that, like it's easy. This is downright stomach-churning. A real thick layer of saccharine syrup. You don't sound okay, though."
He stares fixedly at a piece of meat, watching the jittering light effect of heat and moisture.
no subject
...That is until the sizzling of the meat draws his attention to it. With deft hands does he serve himself and Dirk their portions, and just as deftly does he replace that which he took with fresh slices. Which merely draws out the silence that he honestly should not allow to fill the air after what Dirk has asked, and yet here we are.
"I am not breaking up with you, I would not dream of doing such. Little is there aught further from my truest desires than that." Placing the tongs down, he then lifts his chopsticks, as if he's going to leave it at that and just start eating. Perhaps he would, if he were more cruel, but cruelty is not what is fueling him at the moment.
"My apologies, I fear I am feeling a touch sentimental. I mean not to embarrass you. I suppose I merely yearn for a little of that saccharine syrup every once in a while, is all."
no subject
"I didn't mean it like that. You don't have to stop on my account." He frowns at Emet's hands, at the tongs and then the chopsticks. He tips his head to the side, a gesture equal parts cautious and casual. Not premeditated, but just shy of meditative.
What was he trying to say? Why did he have to say that? Why did Emet stop--and stop there?
"Just because I said something, that doesn't have to mean anything every time."
If Dirk were aware of just how much he was giving away with that sentence... of course he knows he's giving up some of his ground here, he's not completely clueless. But as far as he's concerned, suggesting that Emet is best served ignoring him--now and in the future--is less a reflection of his standing and more a reassertion of simple facts. Dirk metes out judgment on the world and on Emet in particular pretty much endlessly--he has criticisms of Emet's clothing, his endearments, his sleep cycle. And Emet, for his part... largely moves, indifferent, through his words, the same way Roxy did (until he got tired of it and stopped responding), the same way Jake did (until he couldn't stand it any more and told him they were over.) He doesn't see how this should be any different... that it did affect a change (in topic, in tone) is uncomfortable.
He does manage not to say something truly stupid, like 'thanks for not breaking up with me,' at least.
no subject
So, with Dirk discouraging Emet from changing course because of his complaints, openly welcoming him to continue--almost pleading, if he wanted to be churlish about it. It's certainly something to distract himself with.
"Oh? And here I thought you were feeling ill, and little would I wish to ruin your dinner ere you've taken a single bite." As if to emphasize this, he reaches across the table, plucking some of Dirk's food betwixt his chopsticks. Dipping it in some sauce (with a needlessly elegant gesture) before putting it to Dirk's lips.
The smile on his face and the look in his eyes are certainly as much of a challenge as an invitation.
Go on, Dirk. Unless you've bitten off more than you can chew..?
no subject
Wait--
Oh hell no.
Dirk manages not to recoil, and he sure as hell doesn't flinch, but the shock is reflected in the stiffness of his posture and in the way he sets his jaw, hard, refusing to open his mouth. Not even to argue, or else he just knows Emet will take the opportunity--
no subject
He also knows how set in his ways Dirk is.
"Is aught amiss, my dear?" He knows he isn't likely to speak, but he can't very well not attempt to goad him into it. "Did I not grill it to your taste?"
no subject
--and Dirk didn't expect him to, though it would have prevented the ridiculousness to come--
--he opens his mouth, leaning forward faster than Emet can react to close his mouth over the chopsticks--food and all. He doesn't just take the food, though. He bites down on the chopsticks with his teeth, and now refuses to let go. He doesn't make a sound, or move from his seat. It's the most dramatic escalation he could achieve while drawing the least amount of attention. Because they're in fucking public. Emet.
no subject
Well.
He can't say this is exactly unexpected, and yet he stares on unblinkingly wide-eyed as Dirk holds the utensils tightly between his teeth. Not unlike a dog possessive of a stick.
There is a single attempt to draw them back and away from Dirk's mouth, but upon that failure, he changes course. Should Dirk wish to keep them, then he shall! Emet's aim is to procure himself Dirk's own to replace his own, swift and deft in his pilfering.
"Well, then! Do not eat the jeotgarak, delicious as it all may be, that would come out as poorly as it would go down."
Cue him taking a piece of his own food, dipping it in his own sauce and giving it a try. His expression tells of his delight, and the way he eats it is honestly a bit much. How his eyebrows raise and slant backward, the enjoying purse to his lips... He is very clearly trying to provoke Dirk, or seems as much to someone as sensitive as Dirk.