006. ( video. )

[magnitudes]

( Ah, it’s a heartwarming holiday scene, viewers. Sarissa, lounging on a couch, somehow inexplicably still with severe tank top tanlines despite a) it being winter and b) her wearing a tank top, which surely should theoretically make the tanlines less apparent. Not today, apparently. It reads “Sorry for the thing I said when I was hungry,” but perhaps “Sorry for what I’m about to say now I’m drunk” would be more fitting. She’s got a neon curly straw sticking out of a bottle of bourbon, and a cocktail umbrella tucked behind her ear, and appears to be wearing tropical board shorts. It’s just that kind of day. Or night. Whatever.

Sitting next to her is Pablo, who is wearing a striped cardigan, black shorts, and fiddling with his bangs and a straightening iron until he notices that Sarissa is recording. He frees his hair and sets the iron aside, picking up instead his own drink of choice (non-alcoholic; it's a capri-sun pouch) so he can more easily listen. )

Okay, but like. Okay, no, sorry, but if you think about any of the stuff that all of us across all our bloody worlds have gotta have in common, it’s art, yeah? Like— creativity. Art and poems and music, the expression of everything that makes us who we are given some kinda solid shape. Whether its colours or melodies or whatever form we gotta grab and twist about, it’s expressions of the world and how we understand it, right? It’s a way to know that we’re not going out of our bloody minds, because there’s thing element that we can understand and connect with, and it links us to other people. It’s why people got all fired up about the Spice Girls, a while back.

( That isn’t actually what happened, Sarissa, but sure. Go with that. ) And Pablo here, he’s an artist. Makes the world make sense with colours. Everything is colours and— and texture. It’s stories all layered up and up, kind of like people. We’re all hundreds of thousands of stories all layered together and then laid out.

What? Oh, uh...

( Pablo seems to not know what to say about that, given his silence, though if he feels put on the spot it doesn't show on his face. He starts to shake his head, but then instead opts to say: )

Right. Well you know, I don't know if it even has to exactly make sense, if like... we can still look at it and feel something, because either somehow we do understand it, on the level of like... uh... ( He gestures circularly over his head, glancing in Sarissa's direction for a moment but then upward. How to say it? ) You know, intuitively, even if we don't know why, or what anything really means. Or we don't understand but try to, or-- sometimes people don't want to. It all depends. But, uh-- yeah, it's still a little bit of everything and everyone we've ever known, too. Like stories.

( He stops talking and looks back over at Sarissa. )

Or a jigsaw puzzle. Or, uh— there’s this art, in Japan? Kint— ah, shit. Kintsuko...roi? It’s um, it’s like the to do with change and journeys and things gathering more meaning. I guess. I mean technically it’s about repairing broken stuff with gold lacquer, but it’s like an extra layer? Like a new addition to the story. Somethings not less perfect for being broken, and it doesn’t lose something. It gains it? I don’t know, make that a metaphor, if you wanna. People and art fit together. ( She grins, a bit ridiculously. ) And if they don’t, we can glue ‘em together with gold lacquer. It could get very Klimpt. Or Kahlo.

( Sarissa frowns, then, as she delicately sips her bourbon. ) Does anyone else do that? Like finding ways to express the way they understand things more tangibly? Like an enigma machine for your thoughts?

Comments

[hardedged]

[ oh no, she's getting serious malcolm vibes... he seems like a nice dude, relatively. it helps her curb the grumpy asshole front, but only by a bit. still, jess ignores his questions in favor of asking more of her own. ]

You guess so — what does that mean?

[aojona]

Oh. Okay.

[ He's still not sure he understands what Chilton means in specific, but far be it from Pablo to invalidate it for that reason. Like he said, art doesn't always have to make sense -- at least not to everyone. ]

Have you known a lot of people like that?

[magnitudes]

( And she just quirks an eyebrow. ) Why are you pissed at me?

[hardedged]

I'm pissed at everybody.

[ jess states this truth plainly, as if the very question is absurd. it's who she is. ]

[aojona]

Oh, uh-- [ He pauses again, taking a moment to brush his bangs from his face. ] Well, I just wouldn't want to assume anything, you know? That's all. And I never asked about it.

[magnitudes]

Actually, you normally find me delightful.

[hardedged]

[ a pause, followed by a snort. ]

You don't have to ask around her. You just know.

[ sarissa is sociable to a fault, that she could probably befriend a serial killer. #yikes ]

[hardedged]

[ she scoffs in vague disagreement, then falls silent. ]

Forget it. Have fun getting wasted.

[slightlyoffchilt]

Honestly? Only a few might qualify as true visionaries. But I find I am often generous in the end.

[aojona]

[ To be fair that's an easy mistake to make. Apparently. ]

Oh. [ He thinks about that, then nods slowly. ] Okay. Then yeah, I think so -- I mean, that makes a lot of sense. I guess I don't really have much instinct for that kind of thing.

Are you guys pretty close, then?

[aojona]

[ A considering nod. ]

I don't know how common it really is, you know? At least, you don't usually hear much about it.

[hardedged]

Nope. [ it's a quick, effortless reply. ] I don't have friends.

[slightlyoffchilt]

Rare is the person who wants to extend themselves in this way.

[aojona]

[ And Pablo is lost again, though only briefly. What a complicated lady. ]

Do you want friends?

[hardedged]

[ you don't know the half of it, pablo. (run while you can.) she scoffs. ]

Pass.

[aojona]

Huh. You know I never thought about it like that -- I always figured maybe it was genetic or something.

[aojona]

[ It's hard not to worry about the potentially lonely, it's a rough way to live! But it's cool... it's all good. ]

That's okay. Um-- like, I don't just mean me, because I get that... but, uh, being on your own isn't always such a bad thing either. If that's what you need?

[slightlyoffchilt]

Nature often walks in hand with nurture.

[aojona]

Did they ever talk to you about their visions? Or... well, maybe that's private.

[magnitudes]

Thanks babe.

( Somehow that sound extremely - and deliberately - like an obnoxious frat dude. )

permaprivate yisss

[magnitudes]

( Her expression isn't quite deer in headlights, but it's definitely reminiscent of that and of someone with their hand in a cookie jar, and whatever other worn out, run down phrase you can think of for surprise. Sarissa is a cliche; her expressions, all of her is predictable. She isn't surprised any more, that she gets worked out so easily. People seem to see through her faster than an open window. )

Not your fault. Whole point is that I make a mess of words, right? I talk and I talk and nothing I say makes a lot of sense.

( She's tired. Incredibly, gut wrenchingly tired. )

I've been told... it's too much. The stuff I say. Like the way I talk burns people, but I keep holding their hand over the flame. I'm a bloody— I'm a nuclear reactor with more and more safety measures being turned off. I was stable and now I'm just a danger zone that people trust to be safe, but that's been poisoning them because all the safety measures have been taken away and no one got told.

[magnitudes]

I don't get hungover. Powers.

( Thank God for enhanced recovery. Paper cuts are almost completely a thing of the past. Sadness and bad choices, however, remain.

And despite that she is still taking the banana, because food is comfort. Is there anything sadder than a depressed Australian failing at peeling a banana, with a tropical umbrella behind her ear, no less?

Well. Maybe actual world tragedies, or something. Whatever. ) Saroula— ( Her breath hitches, and shudders, ) hates me.

[aojona]

Are you sure? You don't want coffee or anything...?

[ Pablo gently takes the banana back so he can help get her started, returning it to Sarissa halfway unpeeled -- he'd have done the whole thing, but maybe it'll be a good thing for her to focus on for however long it takes her to finish the job. He doesn't move from the couch, though, and won't unless she does want water or coffee or something else; it seems better he stay close otherwise. ]

She doesn't hate you. Why would she hate you? [ He shakes his head once, gaze dropping to his hands, clasped loosely between his knees. ] She might be upset right now, but that's okay. I mean...

[ In all honesty, he's not entirely sure how to give advice for this kind of thing -- it's a numb subject, upsetting family. Siblings. ]

People are different, right? We don't always know how, uh-- [ He pauses, working the words out in his head carefully. ] ... Well, actually, I don't think we can. Like, live an impact-less existence -- everything we do or that we don't do matters, and sometimes, um... it's hard.

But... it helps to have faith in the people you love. Most of the time, they want to forgive you. So-- like, that can inspire you to do what you need to in order to feel like you've earned it, you know?

[slightlyoffchilt]

The visions of my patients... Most have been fairly gruesome.

permaprivate!

[slightlyoffchilt]

Perhaps you are willing to feel more than other people -- or people you will admit to it. A breed of courage, regardless.

[It is easy to wonder who has told Sarissa these things. Nuclear reactor. Burning people. The flame beneath a hand, poisoning. Chilton had his suspicions, of course.

Her name hid behind his teeth.]

Do you often feel as though your feelings for others aren't... Equally expressed?