Posted Nov 25 2012 - 01:10 AM
IC. Various.Reik was nodding to himself. Why? He wasn't sure. It was a small nod. It could be coming from any number of things. Maybe the band playing in the nearby music hall. Maybe a vibration had sent the shake through his body and hos muscles had liked the feeling, unconsciously repeating. Maybe he was assuring himself of his abilities. That his relationship with Ema was strong enough to not have dissipated in the time he'd been gone. Maybe, just maybe, Agzinel hadn't done anything crazy in his absence. He looked down at the ring in his pocket and wondered if he himself was crazy. No, he didn't think so. Driven was a better word. Purposeful. Like Ema. Emarosa...the most stubborn person he knew. Emarosa who never gave up. The determined.He was no longer nodding. He was looking at his feet. He studied his shoes. The shoes of a rich scientist. The shoes of a nice guy. The shoes of a bore. He was a bore. Nothing interesting shined through his responsible visage. His shoes hurt his feet. He would have walking problems at some point. That was be bad for his martial arts training. That he...planned to take? At some point? He didn't know. He didn't know. Why torture himself with things like that? He was wealthy. He didn't need to fight to be attractive. Right? Ema liked him for him, right? She liked who he was, he was sure. Was he? In his soul, he didn't know. Did he have a soul? Or was he running out of soul, like the mindless drones he worked with? Was he turning into one of them? Or had he turned into a hater?Had trying to act like Emarosa, the fun-loving bartender, loved him, turned him into a hater? He had tried to stop hating others. Others had stopped hating him, for the most part. But was that truly what mattered to him? Was Emarosa not the only person whose opinion mattered? He certainly didn't hate her. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his fists. They were cold. His skin was cold. He was cold. That thought itself seemed bizarrely cruel, even in context. He felt the wrist of his jacket brush against his chin. The jacket wasn't comfortable. It didn't keep him from the cold. It hardly even stopped the wind. Why did he wear it? The same reason he wore the shoes he did. He didn't want to, he was expected to. Expected to by those who profiled him as an ignorant rich moron. By the people who respected him in the business that had taken him away from his life. The miracle plant had been popular. He'd earned lots of money. Yay.He had taken his seat on a bench away from other people. He tried to avoid eye contact. That opened the door for conversation, and it wasn't like he wanted that. The closest thing he'd come to talking to anyone other than other scientists had been something about finding the nearest restroom. He felt so different. He missed her so much it hurt. He wanted to go home. He picked up a pen, and a post-it note. He scribbled a face on it, but it nearly brought tears to his eyes. Is this what he'd become? He was a hater, he didn't have a soul, he was a rich moron? That was more than a little jacked up. He was miffed at this whole mess. What'd he done to deserve that? He stood up abruptly. He kicked his shoes off. His tore off his jacket. He knocked his hat off and threw his glasses onto the ground.And he ran.