text | un: kovacs

[kovach]

[ after attempting to follow some small footprints from the dining room, kovacs briefly hears some strange and suspicious laughter that echoes out for only a short time before it's gone.

— the fuck? ]

Has anyone heard some creepy fucking kids giggling in the hallways?

Or seen some tiny feet trailing around?

Comments

[kovach]

Like I said, it ain't pretty.

[ which is meant to be a warning, in case it's not something he wants to hear, but since he seems interested, kovacs decides to just go forward with it anyway. don't read it, tak. he can hear rei in his memory, looking up at him with wide, excited eyes. i want you to tell it our way. he pulls out his carton of cigarettes, nabbing a stick to place into his mouth. ]

Once, there was a cruel father who had two kids. He was called Mad Mykola. He was a miller, but he made the kids do all the work.

[ he leans his back to the wall of the hallway, pulling out a lighter, clicking it before bringing to the flame to the end of his cigarette, pausing briefly before continuing. ]

The girl and the boy worked so hard, that one night they fainted. Mad Mykola found them lying on the floor, and he threw them both into the mill. Then he thought, who's going to do all the work for him? So he went into the village, stole more children. He killed them, cut them up, and took their bits and pieces to the loom. And stitched all their bloody dead parts into one huge, strong, creepy thing — the Patchwork Man.

[ he sighs, blowing off a wisp of smoke. ]

But it turned and it ripped Mad Mykola to shreds. Then it went out in the world. But its body kept falling apart. So to this day, the Patchwork Man wanders the streets looking for children to kill, to cut up, and to sew into himself.

[calmness]

Ah... I see what you mean. [it is far more grim than xichen anticipates, for a children's tale. at least far more graphic in imagery.

its a cruel tale, but there are definitely tales that are crueler.] I suppose if one is looking for solace in it, it is that the children escaped one way or another in the end?

[kovach]

[ he'd given him the warning about the course of the tale, but well — it's not like many things in kovacs' world had good endings, things that didn't just simply end in death and tragedy somehow. it's the reason for these stories, for twisting them into something a little darker, a way of contrast to make reality somewhat brighter from a false perspective.

at the more positive reflection received in response, he can't help a slight smirk. people are always trying to be hopeful, aren't they? ]

Sure, I guess you can see it that way. [ though he considers the identities of the children in his story — he wouldn't hold the same kind of optimism. ] Tales like this, nothing really survives, but — the girl and the boy, they always do. They escape it all — together.

[ false hopefulness. he's guilty of it sometimes too. ]

[calmness]

Some say optimism can be a gift or a curse, but I think in this case it helps to have hope. [optimism, seeing the bright side of things, has definitely brought more hurt and pain to xichen's life than it saved and yet that is his curse.

it is in his nature to see the good in people, in stories. it is also why what waits for him back home is isolation.

he frowns then, glancing back at the hall and then his companion.] I am afraid, if they were ghosts at all, your laughing friends are no longer with us.

[kovach]

[ the things he has to say about optimism and hope probably aren't things to say out loud here now, because it's not something he clings to too strongly, even if the false twist of his tale is meant to carry some of it. but he wants to, evident by his words, by his immortalizing the memory of rei from a few simple words.

he presses his lips together to pose something of an almost sheepish smile, faint enough that it might be hard to tell if he's smiling at all. the man's words seem goodwilled enough that it seems cruel for even him to shut them down. ]

That's alright. [ he brings his cigarette to his lips to get another drag, relaxing him from the tension of the previous story. ] Figured it was a dead end, anyway. Appreciate you trying though.

[calmness]

[perhaps it's a lucky thing that xichen has grown up with a brother that shows a sea of emotions with micro-expressions and prefers not to speak, or that the role of sect leader has prepared him for reading faces.

he notes the faint smile, a subtle change and wonders how rare of a shift it is.

he nods at that assessment, offering his own soft smile.] Speaking to spirits has given us useful information before, so I am happy to assist. [it is the least he can do. then the realisation hits.] I haven't introduced myself. I am Lan Xichen. [or-- well.] Or simply Xichen. I have noticed people here don't use their family name.

[kovach]

Cultural differences. And everybody apparently like to be ... extra familiar.

[ and probably too cozy with one another, which kovacs has tried his best to avoid. but being obligated to spend this much time with everyone all for the sake of the mission means he has little choice in the matter. ]

Most people just call me by mine — Kovacs. [ a pause before he reconsiders, almost reluctantly. ] Takeshi Kovacs. Either name's fine.

[calmness]

I have noticed that. [and it's not terrible, just different and uncomfortable. something to get used to.

xichen isn't trying to avoid it but it's strange to be so informal when at home he's more of a title, the embodiment of an archetype, to most than a compatriot.

he smiles at the introduction, noting how both of them have given options and no preference.] Which do you prefer?