Let's just say - I loathe it all: ev'ry little trait, however small...
Day: 33
Characters: Miles Edgeworth (mentis_reae), Huey Laforet (immortalstudies)
Summary: Meeting up for a game of chess. And, you know. Some very, very polite bitching, most likely.
DAY/NIGHT & Time: DAY - First Rec
Status: Closed, Ongoing.
When Huey's hand slid over the chair's backrest, it felt surprisingly a lot smoother than it looked. What he had expected, judging from his cell, was splintery, rotten wood. But it was obvious, if just from the design and clean order of the room, that staff had some interest, for reasons he could not figure out yet, to keep the appearance of the recreational block in the building somewhat nice - even enjoyable. He wasn't normally a person who had enough appreciation for comfortable places - or nice, comfortable things in general - to bother to consciously note their presence, but in the absence of anything else that matched this pattern, the order and the interest and effort somebody had obviously put into designing this area was, indeed, notable.
He pulled the chair back and sat down in front of the chess board, and something in his bearing, in the thoughtful, distracted slowness he moved with, would have made people who didn't know him well believe he was thinking of something else, maybe even daydreaming. His back straight and his eyes directed passively at the chess figures, nobody could be blamed for having the impression that something was bothering him, and, he figured for himself, it would not exactly be a weird thing to assume. With all he had learnt about this place since his arrival, nothing seemed to make any more sense than before. But as it was, Huey had never daydreamed in his life, and now was no difference great enough to take note of to any other time. He was still himself; the mind was its own place, he remembered the line going, from long ago when he had still used to waste his time on literature and things that promised to give insights and answers. A waste of time, of course, and he was aware of that, almost looking down on the boy he had been once. But this line, for some reason, had never really let him go. Perhaps because it was, in its own way, such an ironically simple solution.
The mind was its own place, he remembered, and in itself, could make a Heaven of Hell - and a Hell of Heaven.
He lifted his head to look at the man who had accompanied him here. Miles Edgeworth... Admittedly a few years younger than he sounded, and now so painfully familiar that Huey could not really believe he had not recognised the voice on the intercom before. Preaching about justice and the things that were "right", Miles Edgeworth had been one of the men attacking Orochimaru right in front of his eyes. No, that was wrong. He had been in the group, not been the main attacker. But the fact still stood that this was an unexpected and surprisingly soon reunion. Still, it only improved the situation further. There was something a little off, a little different about Edgeworth - not in the blatant, fascinating way that Orochimaru was different, but intriguing no less; perhaps even more, because Edgeworth had a human nature that was uncommon, but not as removed and distorted as Orochimaru's was. And Huey wondered what really hid behind that calm, determined façade.
"Well..." He broke the silence eventually, his gaze dropping at the chess pieces with dead eyes and an expression that was somewhere between tired, unimpressed, and faintly pondering. "Would you like to open the game, Mr. Edgeworth?"
Characters: Miles Edgeworth (mentis_reae), Huey Laforet (immortalstudies)
Summary: Meeting up for a game of chess. And, you know. Some very, very polite bitching, most likely.
DAY/NIGHT & Time: DAY - First Rec
Status: Closed, Ongoing.
When Huey's hand slid over the chair's backrest, it felt surprisingly a lot smoother than it looked. What he had expected, judging from his cell, was splintery, rotten wood. But it was obvious, if just from the design and clean order of the room, that staff had some interest, for reasons he could not figure out yet, to keep the appearance of the recreational block in the building somewhat nice - even enjoyable. He wasn't normally a person who had enough appreciation for comfortable places - or nice, comfortable things in general - to bother to consciously note their presence, but in the absence of anything else that matched this pattern, the order and the interest and effort somebody had obviously put into designing this area was, indeed, notable.
He pulled the chair back and sat down in front of the chess board, and something in his bearing, in the thoughtful, distracted slowness he moved with, would have made people who didn't know him well believe he was thinking of something else, maybe even daydreaming. His back straight and his eyes directed passively at the chess figures, nobody could be blamed for having the impression that something was bothering him, and, he figured for himself, it would not exactly be a weird thing to assume. With all he had learnt about this place since his arrival, nothing seemed to make any more sense than before. But as it was, Huey had never daydreamed in his life, and now was no difference great enough to take note of to any other time. He was still himself; the mind was its own place, he remembered the line going, from long ago when he had still used to waste his time on literature and things that promised to give insights and answers. A waste of time, of course, and he was aware of that, almost looking down on the boy he had been once. But this line, for some reason, had never really let him go. Perhaps because it was, in its own way, such an ironically simple solution.
The mind was its own place, he remembered, and in itself, could make a Heaven of Hell - and a Hell of Heaven.
He lifted his head to look at the man who had accompanied him here. Miles Edgeworth... Admittedly a few years younger than he sounded, and now so painfully familiar that Huey could not really believe he had not recognised the voice on the intercom before. Preaching about justice and the things that were "right", Miles Edgeworth had been one of the men attacking Orochimaru right in front of his eyes. No, that was wrong. He had been in the group, not been the main attacker. But the fact still stood that this was an unexpected and surprisingly soon reunion. Still, it only improved the situation further. There was something a little off, a little different about Edgeworth - not in the blatant, fascinating way that Orochimaru was different, but intriguing no less; perhaps even more, because Edgeworth had a human nature that was uncommon, but not as removed and distorted as Orochimaru's was. And Huey wondered what really hid behind that calm, determined façade.
"Well..." He broke the silence eventually, his gaze dropping at the chess pieces with dead eyes and an expression that was somewhere between tired, unimpressed, and faintly pondering. "Would you like to open the game, Mr. Edgeworth?"