[Oh. He wasn't expecting questions right out of the gate. Though Choso does seem to ask a lot of questions in general.]
I've been spending a lot of time exploring the city. [That... counts, right?] And I also frequent the library. That's not a good place for conversation, though.
Are you at the Valentia currently?
[...You know what, let him just send this number.]
( he doesn't mind the offer: but he does leave his message on read, with no response, for a foreboding amount of time; it's only so that he can put on something a little more proper than lounging around in his tidy room in his undergarments, shrugging on a deep purple sweatshirt over black sweatpants, the clothes that he's taken to sleeping in as though it makes him appear less dated. with communal bathrooms and all kinds of people roaming the hallways and the various rooms at all hours, he's quickly learned to be modest.
one hand works to gather up his hair into a singular, messy bun; bits and pieces snag and fall in around his face, but it should be enough to be presentable, or at least he's hoping so as he carefully makes his way up to felwinter's room. there, polite, he waits a moment--and then cranes his hand in, a firm knock to the wood. )
It's Choso. ( calmly, patiently, as he waits to be let in, standing there like he's a soldier on duty, shoulders squared, back straight. ) Sorry for the wait.
[Ah, no response... That's fine, really, perhaps Choso was out in the city. Perhaps he just didn't feel like talking face-to-face right now, which was also perfectly fine. Felwinter is about to send another quick message to clarify this when there's a knock at the door, followed by Choso's voice. It catches him off-guard, a little.
He's quick to open the door, pausing a moment to take in the sight of Choso in these new clothes (which for some reason feel very unexpected) and then gestures him inside.]
It's no problem. Though I was starting to think you weren't coming. Make yourself comfortable.
[His room is impeccably tidy and looks barely lived in, though his meagre possessions make it uniquely him. The massive battle axe, as tall as he is, propped in the corner by the sink. His shotgun, partially disassembled on the counter where he had been cleaning it. His helmet set on the end of the bed and a small collection of books on the shelf hung over it. A few odd trinkets on the bedside table: a small flower made of scrap metal, a cute little drawing of a baku, a shiny purple stone.
It occurs to him now that these rooms are too tiny and cramped for simply sitting and talking. He'll let Choso sit on the bed if he wants to, instead opting to perch against the edge of the sink, purposely leaving the path to the door clear should Choso wish to escape. (That's his own first consideration, in any new location: where is the exit, how quickly can he reach it, what is between it and him?)
He's less polite when it comes to staring. He studies Choso openly, though the man is familiar to him by now. The sharp line of his jaw. The tired eyes. That odd mark across his nose.]
Gojo told me you know each other from your own world. I've been meaning to ask: Is it typical for him to treat you so poorly? [No preamble, though he seems to realise a moment later that probably there should have been, dipping his head apologetically. Perhaps Choso will think himself having been invited here under false pretenses, to be interrogated rather than to talk.] Forgive me if this is... intrusive. I don't like the way he speaks to you, but this isn't about how I feel. You are ok with it?
( the brief, guilty look that flashes across his features is there and gone again, because it's just something to learn from: he should clarify when he's coming, where he's going, how soon he'll be showing up. things to do the next time they meet up this way, although if they're going to be living together, they might want to figure out some kind of way to communicate altogether--another thought to tuck away, for later. instead, he bobs his head in something of a bow, coming in through the doorway so that he can leave his shoes, politely, near the opening.
compared to his own room, sparse of anything save his clothing items--and one strange mug--there's so much to look at here that for a moment, he's distracted. weapons that felwinter likely is quite adept at using, little trinkets, a shiny stone that draws his gaze curiously: felwinter is far better at living like a human, he thinks, than he is. something that makes a smile, small and patient, start over his lips, until he hears felwinter's voice.
of course he doesn't think to take to the bed: he just stands there, hands tucked together like he's used to pushing them into his large sleeves, like he's just another pretty ornament in felwinter's room for appraisal. turning towards him, he nods. )
...It isn't something I can change. ( slowly, though that doesn't answer the question of whether he's okay with it, or not. )
He is a sorcerer, and I am beneath him--that is how he sees it, anyway. The part of me that isn't human likely disgusts him, and he would exorcise me if he thought he could, though I think he's moved past that desire, for now.
( he continues calmly, as though the words are simply displaying a truth devoid of emotion; he hasn't really considered how to feel about it himself. )
Even if he hated me, or hates me... I still need to look after him, for the sake of... For the sake of others. He is important. ( which almost begs the implication that he himself is not. )
[That doesn't at all answer the question, though it does give Felwinter a lot to think about. The way that Choso seems resigned to it, as though it hadn't even occurred to him to demand better for himself. The way that he's dedicated himself to Gojo, even in spite of believing that Gojo hates or is disgusted by him.
It makes sense, now, why Gojo seemed so certain that Choso would choose to stay with him. And part of him wants to insist that he doesn't think it's hate, but Gojo had used that word himself, hadn't he? Fel isn't going to undermine him in that way, as though he somehow knows better. How could he have any idea about someone else's feelings, when he doesn't even understand his own?]
I won't pretend to know what's going through his head. But I think it's less about what you are than what you did. What you forced him to do. He... told me about how you met.
[And it still seems so incomprehensible, when this is the Choso he knows. Calm and awkward and shy. Even when he had only just met Choso, during Patho-Gen's drug trials, his impression had been of... someone sweet and gentle, who wouldn't hurt a fly. Spending time with Choso, out on their expedition into the marshlands, had only solidified that impression of him.]
But the way he talks about you when you're not around is different. That's why it... frustrates me, when he treats you like that. When I know he can be better.
[He makes a quiet, awkward little sound, folding his arms across his chest.]
It may just be that I'm prying into something which is none of my business. But if I'm going to be living with the two of you, I'll also need to find it in me to tolerate the way he dehumanises you.
his gaze lifts, goes to the corner of the room, as though he can divine the answers from it there. there's an odd ache that settles into his chest, something that wants to propel answers forward: like he wants to explain that he only followed orders, that he only did what was best for his family, that he wanted so desperately to have a world where his brothers could live, happily, that he would have done anything for them, would have soiled any part of him for their sake. a part of him that is scared this means felwinter hates him, too--that he heard whatever gojo satoru told him, and took it to heart.
it feels, a little, like his own fault. his own fault for thinking to rely on others, here, when he should have kept himself separate. he could have watched over gojo from a distance; he could have stood out alone, like always.
a small swallow, considering, before he speaks again. )
Yes. It was a pointed attack, on him. Trauma. He is from a time where that trauma is very fresh. I understand.
( or at least, he understands why gojo would hate him because of what he did, or rather, what he participated in. )
If it would make it easier, I can find another place to live. ( that might solve some of the problems; at the very least, it wouldn't put a burden on felwinter to have to tolerate the way gojo acts around him, even if it's well deserved. )
It's not my intention to...( a slow swallow. ) I don't want to hurt you.
No. [Immediate, and a little sharper than he intends. He repeats it, softer this time:] No. That's not what I meant.
[This was a terrible idea, wasn't it? He's not sure how to articulate what he wants to articulate, and his usual habit of finding similar experiences in an attempt to relate doesn't work here, because it's not about him. Gojo had told him that, too. It's not about him. And yet here he is, making it about his own opinions again, when they ultimately don't matter.
This is about Choso. How Choso feels. What Choso wants.]
If Gojo gets out of hand, I'll deal with him. [Somehow. He'll just fight him if he needs to.] But... let's forget about him for a while. We can circle back to that later.
[Because he feels like he's still missing pieces of the puzzle. There's a discrepancy between the Choso he knows and the Choso he's been told about. No, that's not quite right either. Even what he had been told didn't match up with what Gojo had angrily ranted about in the middle of their most recent argument.]
I said I wanted to get to know you, so let's focus on that. You can sit, if you like. You don't need to wait for permission.
[And he'll remain where he is, eyes narrowed and fixed on the floor as he considers how, exactly, they were supposed to get to know each other. Perhaps he should have planned ahead. Come up with some questions that normal people might ask one another. But then, Choso had already started them off on that, hadn't he?]
You asked what I like to do, so I'll turn that question back on you. How do you like to spend your time here?
( it had been true when he'd said it, and he sees it now, too: the way that gojou and felwinter work well together, the way that they meet on a similar level, the way that they think of each other as equals, as much as he can see. it's the sort of thing that he thinks gojou needs, in this place; he needs someone to help meet him and also help bring him down, and it makes him feel almost indebted towards felwinter, as though gojou himself is a member of his family and he should be saying thank you for watching over him like a worried mother.
that thought, at least, brings some warmth to the icy chill he can feel settling over himself; his gaze slides, and there's a short, brief nod. sitting. right. he doesn't have to stand here like he's being scrutinized.
of course, this means that he takes a glance around him and very gently sinks himself down onto the floor, shifting to sit cross-legged, at least, his hands pressed calmly into his lap. )
...How I spend my time, here? ( repeating it slowly gives his thoughts a moment to catch up: but as always, honesty clamors forward, slow and methodical. )
Mostly reading. Helping out where I can. Talking to the--children, here. ( a soft swallow. ) Training. I'd like to learn a lot of new things, and some of them, I think, are necessary.
( cooking, for example, or writing letters--things he has little experience in. )
...Do you enjoy food? ( tentatively, as he risks a small glance at felwinter, mild--and one of his hands lifts, a ghost of his own fingertips over his mouth. ) I might have asked you, but most of what I remember from our first meeting was...the rest of it.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
text | un: valravn
I'd like to get to know you better. Without Gojo around, for a change.
If that is of interest to you.
no subject
( but how does one get to know another better....hmm. )
What do you like to do? In this place, or otherwise.
no subject
I've been spending a lot of time exploring the city. [That... counts, right?] And I also frequent the library. That's not a good place for conversation, though.
Are you at the Valentia currently?
[...You know what, let him just send this number.]
My room, if you'd like to talk in person.
no subject
one hand works to gather up his hair into a singular, messy bun; bits and pieces snag and fall in around his face, but it should be enough to be presentable, or at least he's hoping so as he carefully makes his way up to felwinter's room. there, polite, he waits a moment--and then cranes his hand in, a firm knock to the wood. )
It's Choso. ( calmly, patiently, as he waits to be let in, standing there like he's a soldier on duty, shoulders squared, back straight. ) Sorry for the wait.
no subject
He's quick to open the door, pausing a moment to take in the sight of Choso in these new clothes (which for some reason feel very unexpected) and then gestures him inside.]
It's no problem. Though I was starting to think you weren't coming. Make yourself comfortable.
[His room is impeccably tidy and looks barely lived in, though his meagre possessions make it uniquely him. The massive battle axe, as tall as he is, propped in the corner by the sink. His shotgun, partially disassembled on the counter where he had been cleaning it. His helmet set on the end of the bed and a small collection of books on the shelf hung over it. A few odd trinkets on the bedside table: a small flower made of scrap metal, a cute little drawing of a baku, a shiny purple stone.
It occurs to him now that these rooms are too tiny and cramped for simply sitting and talking. He'll let Choso sit on the bed if he wants to, instead opting to perch against the edge of the sink, purposely leaving the path to the door clear should Choso wish to escape. (That's his own first consideration, in any new location: where is the exit, how quickly can he reach it, what is between it and him?)
He's less polite when it comes to staring. He studies Choso openly, though the man is familiar to him by now. The sharp line of his jaw. The tired eyes. That odd mark across his nose.]
Gojo told me you know each other from your own world. I've been meaning to ask: Is it typical for him to treat you so poorly? [No preamble, though he seems to realise a moment later that probably there should have been, dipping his head apologetically. Perhaps Choso will think himself having been invited here under false pretenses, to be interrogated rather than to talk.] Forgive me if this is... intrusive. I don't like the way he speaks to you, but this isn't about how I feel. You are ok with it?
no subject
compared to his own room, sparse of anything save his clothing items--and one strange mug--there's so much to look at here that for a moment, he's distracted. weapons that felwinter likely is quite adept at using, little trinkets, a shiny stone that draws his gaze curiously: felwinter is far better at living like a human, he thinks, than he is. something that makes a smile, small and patient, start over his lips, until he hears felwinter's voice.
of course he doesn't think to take to the bed: he just stands there, hands tucked together like he's used to pushing them into his large sleeves, like he's just another pretty ornament in felwinter's room for appraisal. turning towards him, he nods. )
...It isn't something I can change. ( slowly, though that doesn't answer the question of whether he's okay with it, or not. )
He is a sorcerer, and I am beneath him--that is how he sees it, anyway. The part of me that isn't human likely disgusts him, and he would exorcise me if he thought he could, though I think he's moved past that desire, for now.
( he continues calmly, as though the words are simply displaying a truth devoid of emotion; he hasn't really considered how to feel about it himself. )
Even if he hated me, or hates me... I still need to look after him, for the sake of... For the sake of others. He is important. ( which almost begs the implication that he himself is not. )
no subject
It makes sense, now, why Gojo seemed so certain that Choso would choose to stay with him. And part of him wants to insist that he doesn't think it's hate, but Gojo had used that word himself, hadn't he? Fel isn't going to undermine him in that way, as though he somehow knows better. How could he have any idea about someone else's feelings, when he doesn't even understand his own?]
I won't pretend to know what's going through his head. But I think it's less about what you are than what you did. What you forced him to do. He... told me about how you met.
[And it still seems so incomprehensible, when this is the Choso he knows. Calm and awkward and shy. Even when he had only just met Choso, during Patho-Gen's drug trials, his impression had been of... someone sweet and gentle, who wouldn't hurt a fly. Spending time with Choso, out on their expedition into the marshlands, had only solidified that impression of him.]
But the way he talks about you when you're not around is different. That's why it... frustrates me, when he treats you like that. When I know he can be better.
[He makes a quiet, awkward little sound, folding his arms across his chest.]
It may just be that I'm prying into something which is none of my business. But if I'm going to be living with the two of you, I'll also need to find it in me to tolerate the way he dehumanises you.
no subject
his gaze lifts, goes to the corner of the room, as though he can divine the answers from it there. there's an odd ache that settles into his chest, something that wants to propel answers forward: like he wants to explain that he only followed orders, that he only did what was best for his family, that he wanted so desperately to have a world where his brothers could live, happily, that he would have done anything for them, would have soiled any part of him for their sake. a part of him that is scared this means felwinter hates him, too--that he heard whatever gojo satoru told him, and took it to heart.
it feels, a little, like his own fault. his own fault for thinking to rely on others, here, when he should have kept himself separate. he could have watched over gojo from a distance; he could have stood out alone, like always.
a small swallow, considering, before he speaks again. )
Yes. It was a pointed attack, on him. Trauma. He is from a time where that trauma is very fresh. I understand.
( or at least, he understands why gojo would hate him because of what he did, or rather, what he participated in. )
If it would make it easier, I can find another place to live. ( that might solve some of the problems; at the very least, it wouldn't put a burden on felwinter to have to tolerate the way gojo acts around him, even if it's well deserved. )
It's not my intention to...( a slow swallow. ) I don't want to hurt you.
no subject
[This was a terrible idea, wasn't it? He's not sure how to articulate what he wants to articulate, and his usual habit of finding similar experiences in an attempt to relate doesn't work here, because it's not about him. Gojo had told him that, too. It's not about him. And yet here he is, making it about his own opinions again, when they ultimately don't matter.
This is about Choso. How Choso feels. What Choso wants.]
If Gojo gets out of hand, I'll deal with him. [Somehow. He'll just fight him if he needs to.] But... let's forget about him for a while. We can circle back to that later.
[Because he feels like he's still missing pieces of the puzzle. There's a discrepancy between the Choso he knows and the Choso he's been told about. No, that's not quite right either. Even what he had been told didn't match up with what Gojo had angrily ranted about in the middle of their most recent argument.]
I said I wanted to get to know you, so let's focus on that. You can sit, if you like. You don't need to wait for permission.
[And he'll remain where he is, eyes narrowed and fixed on the floor as he considers how, exactly, they were supposed to get to know each other. Perhaps he should have planned ahead. Come up with some questions that normal people might ask one another. But then, Choso had already started them off on that, hadn't he?]
You asked what I like to do, so I'll turn that question back on you. How do you like to spend your time here?
no subject
that thought, at least, brings some warmth to the icy chill he can feel settling over himself; his gaze slides, and there's a short, brief nod. sitting. right. he doesn't have to stand here like he's being scrutinized.
of course, this means that he takes a glance around him and very gently sinks himself down onto the floor, shifting to sit cross-legged, at least, his hands pressed calmly into his lap. )
...How I spend my time, here? ( repeating it slowly gives his thoughts a moment to catch up: but as always, honesty clamors forward, slow and methodical. )
Mostly reading. Helping out where I can. Talking to the--children, here. ( a soft swallow. ) Training. I'd like to learn a lot of new things, and some of them, I think, are necessary.
( cooking, for example, or writing letters--things he has little experience in. )
...Do you enjoy food? ( tentatively, as he risks a small glance at felwinter, mild--and one of his hands lifts, a ghost of his own fingertips over his mouth. ) I might have asked you, but most of what I remember from our first meeting was...the rest of it.