(Untitled)

[not_broomboy]

Elphaba lives.
Kumbricia stirs the pot, and licks the ladle,
He's not sure what that means. He's not sure what it means to him.
Sets the table, pours a glass of tears
He's not sure if it means he's free to be himself or not. That question brings up the bigger question, if he even is a self, if he has any existance outside of Elphaba's shadow,

Comments

[pat_rin]

Also at the Bar, a dark-haired man sips a glass of pale-colored wine and glances in his direction.

"Good evening," he says a little tentatively.

[not_broomboy]

"It's yet to have proven itself good."

[pat_rin]

Pat Rin raises an eyebrow. "Has it proven itself bad?"

[not_broomboy]

"It doesn't have to prove that."

Much as people don't have to prove themselves stupid to him. He shakes his head gruffly for a moment before pulling the package of perguenay cigarettes he'd obtained earlier from his pocket and slipping one from the box. It's lit in short order by the matches he'd obtained as well and then he sucks gently at the end as if merely wishing to touch the edge of the flavor. The scent of the smoke is nutty and a little gritty, but in a refined sort of manner that speaks of a pricey product.

He'd only had them before when Commander Cherrystone had given them to him. Now the cigarette between his lips felt better than told in his hand, even though he didn't like the coarseness it brought to his voice and had to pull gently on the smoke or he'd cough.

[pat_rin]

Pat Rin looks at him and is strongly inclined to go elsewhere, but Milliways has given new life to his curiosity, and he is still trying to learn more about the establishment that keeps appearing where his office should be.

"Do you say so because you are in Milliways, or is this a general truth for you?"

[not_broomboy]

"All truths are general. It's what makes them so inescapable. Especially since they tend to be more exact than you'd like."

He sucks on it another moment before losing his taste for it. Having had it, even for a moment, and able to get it himself, that was the pleasure of it. The scent would linger as long as he'd like it to, and eventually the taste in his mouth would fade to a tolerable level. That was the point, really. Not the enjoyment of the thing, but the enjoyment of having the thing.

[pat_rin]

"Surely this is not the case. It is a truth that my cook makes excellent bread, but that is neither general, nor inescapable, nor more exact than I would like."

[not_broomboy]

"That's a fact, not a truth. Truths are a little deeper than that."

[pat_rin]

"Do you contend, then, that it is a truth that evenings are bad?"

[not_broomboy]

"I'm not sure."

It's neither proud nor snappish, simply thoughtful. His moods shift often, occasionally suddenly, and he tends towards thought on all things, even though his thought can be more or less valid at times.

He orders himself a cup of hot chocolate with spices and sips it a moment.

[pat_rin]

"Yet an evening must prove itself good, but need not prove itself bad.

"Perhaps this is a presumption, then, rather than a truth?"

[not_broomboy]

"Entirely possible."

He thinks, then, of his discussion with Candle. What to plant? what to plant?

"To get an evening, you plant a morning. To get a good evening, you plant--"

He looks to Pat Rin. Why Pat Rin might know of his game is unknown to him or to anyone else, but he feels like playing it and Candle isn't here.

[pat_rin]

Drily, "Presumably not a good morning, or you would have no need to ask."

"Personally, I find that one answer is a well-planned rooftop greenhouse, but I suspect this is a fact rather than a truth."

[not_broomboy]

"No, it's a truth. For you, anyway."

He feels as if he's been drinking, but he knows he hasn't. He's made sure not to, as he knows how easily such things effect him and he's not about to do something that would make him that vulnerable. But as it is, he feels lightheaded, as if he might float off any minute, much as he'd felt on Nether How.

[pat_rin]

"And for you? What truth do you plant for a good evening?"

[not_broomboy]

"Perhaps the expectation that I'll not have a morning."

He's not exactly suicidal. No, he wants to live. He's always wanted to live. He just has issue with the world he lives in. So many issues with it. And with himself and how he's lived in it.