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Entry tags:
(semi closed) and if you should call
Who: Helena Adams and etc.
What: Catch all log!
When: November
Where: All over.
Warnings: Will edit if needed.
What: Catch all log!
When: November
Where: All over.
Warnings: Will edit if needed.
[for anything Helena related over November or backdated. if you want something specific, PM me or find me atmoonjelly!]
it's lit and by lit I mean literature
In the meantime, Shin's dragged down his blankets and pillow from the top bunk and gone scavenging for unused, unclaimed and unattended ones like the menace he is and he and Helena have created a bit of a nest on the floor, which the plushes have been vacuumed into.
Today, they've gotten a book of Tennyson's poems from the library containing one in particular that they talked about a while ago and Shin's going to read it aloud in the height of coziness, because the weather outside is freezing currently and nope to that in general. There's the sounds of him idly leafing though to get a bead on just how long this goes on for and what it's like in general.]
It's fine if it's not in English, right?
[Shin's been mostly content to not really examine Yogen's translation much beyond idle thought, but now he has to wonder about it. Poetry gets particularly affected by that sort of thing, doesn't it? Then again, if anything would perfectly translate something backwards and forwards it would probably be whatever weird magic is going on.]
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[her version, the second she had requested, is in braille like usual. it'd be unfair if she made him read everything, after all - and it'll be nice to be able to follow along. tucked up in comfort, she knows the snow will come soon, if the weather outside is anything to go by, in the next few weeks.]
As long as you can read it, it's fine, right?
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[It's hard for him to articulate... just that it seems very important to her that he get whatever it's trying to say, so potentially missing a detail in that... Maybe he's just overthinking it.]
I'll just start then, shall I?
[He settles into the blankets, in a comfortable position and starts reading aloud, the slightly archaic flowery words, his voice settling into it's rhythm like the quiet wash of waves. So far it mostly seems to just be describing a place, the imagery of it unfolding for him but not imparting anything it looks like he's supposed to be looking for... and then he hits a snag.]
Galingale... What's a galingale?
[It's half muttered to himself, rolling over a little to reach for his PDA or phone by habit before the usual remembrance.]
Ahaha, how did people live before the internet, honestly.
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[it comes out easy, simple. almost thoughtless as she waits for him to come back to it.]
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[Right, yeah... he'd had to explain what a computer was to her, he'd forgotten for a hot sec.]
With libraries and things, right?
[He's... going to quit while he's ahead on digging himself deeper with this one, and continue reading after another shuffle into position. The writer says faces pale nearly twice in a row, is that allowed? He's also got a growing suspicion that he finally voices after the word poppy actually appears.]
Wait... Is this about opium?
[They had a lot of it back then right, in... actually he doesn't know when this was written, flicking back through the book it says 1832? Actually did Helena ever have opium? He's thinking about this now.]
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[she says it with all the exasperation that a nineteen year old can have when you're talking about metaphor and very far from the point she wants to make to him.]
I wouldn't show you a poem about opium to make my argument about truth.
[sigh. Sou! think critically. in any case, it's her turn to read some now, and she goes over the lines with care, and cannot stop herself when she gets to certain ones, how her voice lingers a little more, when let us alone echoes for the third time, and she manages to finish the phrase-
Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease.
it's the same words that had sparked this whole discussion and idea.]
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...
Truth, huh.
['It'll all become clear once you have the words before you', she'd said. He's never liked this feeling. Lines of code, typed out one by one, very, very slowly. Somehow it's different than when they're just studying.
Code is at least more straightforward. It's an art, but it can't be twisted into shapes as liked like thin metal.]
...
[He's starting to get it, at the very least that the sea must be painful truth and the lotus comforting lies, but in the way where the barn door has already been left open on the emotions before it. He's quiet and listens, in the half-way of someone siphoning off the liquid of their heart in the background, to get it into shape sufficient for speaking.]
Ahaha, you said it was a choice before... so which one would you make?
[What are Helena's words, not Lord Tennyson's?]
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[there's more to it. more to the state the sailors are in. more to the state of the world. she needs to keep going, to tell him more of it, more pages of the chorus. and as if it's unconscious, she makes the recitation even sweeter, even more tender as it grows more towards what is lost, but why someone would do it. pain and loss and confusion, and to struggle seems endless, not worth it.
Sore task to hearts worn out by many wars/And eyes grown dim with gazing on the pilot-stars.
but how beautiful this dreamy paradise is. how enticing. how one could lay down, and simply be here forever. and then she stops, right before the last section.]
Your turn.
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Aha, thorough...
[But it's for her in the first place, so he'll pick up where she leaves off. Maybe the problem here is he knows this too well, a harsh world, a desire for rest and relief, and so must assume what she wants him to see is something he's not seeing, rather than what is coming off the page, like someone assuming they haven't found the right level of focus on the microscope and turning the dial more and more only to unknowingly get further and further away.
He reads though, and there becomes that added layer to it; the desire for rest and relief and it requiring power and indifference, and suffering thereby. That's something he also knows well. The strong using the weak. There's connecting lines here.]
There really isn't a good answer here, huh.
[Suffer, or cause suffering. Well he knows which choices he made there.]
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[closing the book, she shifts to be more bundled in the blankets.]
But it's a choice to be made and to live with, even if the cost is unthinkable. Whether you take the road of peace, even if it's lies, even if you will lose yourself - or if you stay on your course, and retain yourself and the truth, but face down so much pain. Neither answer is good or bad - it just is.
[and that is why she'd wanted to show him this, in their talk about honesty. that it was painful, but to turn from it was not necessarily a moral failing.]
You can't blame them for wanting to escape. You can't say the escape was the right thing.
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[She's the sort of person to face forward into pain, seek out the truth despite cost, like Sara. He's envious of people who can just do that without fear... but maybe it's it's own kind of trap.
Something's not quite aligning, parts of him that agree and disagree. The path of lies isn't exactly free of pain itself, and some don't get the choice about the truth at all... it's something he'll have to chew on.]
Truth, huh...
[It's almost funny, her wording. Retain yourself, abandon yourself. There's that little bit at the back of her brain wondering if she knows, despite the fact that he erased the board as easily as himself.]
Hang on a second.
[He wriggles out from the blanket pile and makes his way over to the room's closet, sounds of shuffling and rummaging as he grabs equally red construction paper and paint from the haphazard pile of art supplies.
He carefully rips a strip off the side of the paper to act as a makeshift brush, folding it and moving it in strokes before going back over them with more paint to emboss them. It's not long before he feels silly doing this... art project... but he's committed now, and besides, she likes poetry and that sort of thing, right? Below he puts two sets of dashes and dots, and then walks back over with it, shaking it like a polaroid and dangling it way too close to the heater to get it dry before he rests it on the back of her hand for her to take.
Practice drawing lines and circles for Clamor has been paying off; even with the crude brush it's a very neat, single kanji. Below, in Braille, the letters shi and n. To Helena's fingers the meaning is plain under the fuzzy focus Yogen's translation requires, like something that's both a duck and a rabbit at the same time; truth, reality, genuineness... the kind that ripens and bears fruit.]
Here. You can't take it outside this room... but it's yours.
[A little piece of his death.]
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with a very light touch, she can make it out. shin. one kanji, one word. something important, though the meaning is layered - the exact sort of truth she was speaking about - though decidedly more hopeful. Helena smiles, committing it to memory.]
"Shin." So that's how you'd write it...
[it's surprising in a lovely way that he's paid enough attention to her writing to be able to give it to her in Braille as well - watch long enough, and patterns will come up for letters, over and over. decode the letter e, and more follow.]
What does this mean to you?
[Helena asks with all the sincerity of a friend, someone who can manage the literal meaning but also wants to hear how he defines it, what associations she can connect and keep in her memory, before she has to give it up.]
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You could say it's my poem.
[He's being just a little bit cheeky here, but the metaphor stands; it's something that would mean less if he just straight told her, despite his own attempt at cutting the knot earlier. It's something he's giving her tacit permission to figure out... as infuriating as he knows that is...]
...That's a little vague, isn't it. Well, you could also say it's my death. Dark death, or dreamful ease, right?
[Shin that's equally vague.]
You don't have to worry about it for now... just keep it in mind.
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adams-san, do you have a moment? it's nene.
( and maybe helena can hear the gentle clatter of glass and plastic hitting each other, small bottles gently scraping against a smooth bottom as nene sets the box with her nail polish down on the coffee table before them. )
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[she doesn't know, but if Nene wants to use her phone to communicate, then Helena will oblige - it's not like she doesn't do the same on the forums, only with the inverse. where she is happens to be comfortably sprawled on a sofa, notebook and stylus in hand. if she doesn't make at least a little progress, she'll have nothing to read to her friend for editing next week...]
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( stay with her here, she's going somewhere with this. but how to phrase this... ugh, words are hard. )
you didn't get to take part last time, since so much was happening but also i don't think you knew i was doing that? so i wanted to ask if you'd like to check out the stickers, and if you like them i could
do your nails and stuff
if you wanted
( ... nene stares at her phone for a moment, and though she already hit speak, she can't help but look away nervously. it feels like such a silly thing to ask, honestly. but it's a way helena could take part in it too and know what she's getting on some level- the smoothness of the polish would be pleasant, of course, but with the stickers and decorations she'd have a better idea. or maybe she's just being presumptious? ugh-- )
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I've never had my nails painted before.
[so it's just surprise that's taken over. that, and the idea of the stickers, so she can feel it...she didn't know such a thing was even possible.]
Are you sure? I'd love to, if you are.
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of course i am! do you want to try feeling some of the stickers, so i have an idea of what you'd like?
( after the phone finishes, nene opens the box- there's the click and pop of the hatch as she opens it, the creak of the plastic hinges, something sliding across the couch. multiple sheets of the textured stickers- lace, butterflies, flowers, stars, suns, moons, gems and cartoony skulls. ... though, she doesn't think the last one will appeal to helena very much. )
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Wow...there's so many options...
[it's hard to narrow down the selection. but she eventually manages to pull it together, selecting a few sheets with stickers she likes and holding them up.]
I'll let you use your artistic judgement, though! I'm in your care, Nene!
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i'm gonna file your nails and then paint them okay? i won't be able to talk while doing this but i can listen
i also can play some music on my phone
is that ok?
( while she waits for an answer, nene quietly pulls out the nail file from the box- it's a little cube, with each side having a different purpose: edges, ridges, smooth, shine. helena might pick up little clatters of nail clippers and other things bumping and jostling as the cube is removed... )
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[Helena nods, clasping her hands in front of her. while she doesn't know what to expect, she knows she trusts Nene to make this happen.]
Whatever makes you comfortable, I'd be happy.
shoutout to alice for showing me this video to begin with
it's nice- a change of pace from the stress of life in yogen. maybe they both needed this. )
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it's almost like they aren't in Yogen - that they could just be two girls, happy to try something together, kindness shown for its own sake. and Helena can't deny she's very excited to feel the end result.]
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the song changes to the next in the album, and nene sighs softly but contently. what color, what color... helena wears a lot of neutral tones, so maybe a nice dark green or blue? she always liked how a nice light blue and creamy white went with brown. even if helena didn't know. hmmm...
there's a clack of small glass bottles being pushed aside gently, the shake of a harsh liquid within glass, and the squeak as nene opens it. the polish is cold, only occasionally brushing against skin, and immediately it gets wiped up.
helena can't see it' but it's a blue that matches her hat and scarf. she thinks the embedded lace and the butterflies will be quite nice. )
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one of the bottles has something of a sharp scent coming from the liquid, and she assumes that's the polish - paint always has a specific undertone to it, unless it's watercolors. if there was a way to know the color, she'd like it. certain colors to her are associated with feelings, with scents, things that make them up without needing what might otherwise be a space left empty.
really, all of this makes her feel...cared for, which is nice. sweet without being cloying.]
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