[ No eggs...and not even egg custards! Gorgug's wary (honestly, teen-ish sulk, his tusks poking up through his grimaced mouth and brows furrowed close to his white pupils) expression doesn't lift away, but he doesn't hand the box back...even if there's a tinsy part of him wondering about tricks. But if Dazai didn't think about that joke on him, then maybe they're okay.
Still, he's not sure why the other brought them to him, and he looks back at the other. He's not a naturally suspicious person, not good at reading people. Did Dazai just happen to wander in and see him by chance? Probably, right? It's not like he'd seek him out. Why would he?
Gorgug's still wondering if to take a bite of one of the pastries--not out of caution, but awkwardness, but he sits the box on top of his open sketchpad page. ]
You didn't lose your head.
[ So there's that. ]
blanket cw for depression/death/grief/SI related topics likely throughout from here
[In literally any other circumstance, Dazai might have quipped that it hadn't yet hatched, though, so there was still time, his hopes weren't dashed quite yet. Except given the circumstances under which he's offering this olive branch of sorts, that isn't really an option at all. Contrary to appearances, Dazai does have some sense of propriety; he simply doesn't care most of the time. Honestly, he hadn't come here with the intention of talking about it. He'd meant to deliver the pastries, perhaps eat a couple together if the moment called for it, and carry on as though nothing had happened. A little left of an apology, more of an acknowledgment of his awareness that he had trampled upon some feelings. He hadn't anticipated those, either; Dazai has found existence burdensome and painful for as long as he can remember. He is so used to wanting to die it's just as natural as his traitorous lungs breathing in defiance of that desire, part of the natural background radiation of who he is. He puts it off, wants a reason to change his mind, and doesn't find one, and puts it off to keep looking. He has somehow reached twenty-two, in this fashion.
In one more year, he will be as old as Odasaku was, the last time that man breathed. It's unbearable, at times.
He doesn't talk about it, not like that. It's easier to joke about a ceiling beam being perfect to hang himself from, to be dismissed as an eccentric, than to try to be understood. People fear death, after all; it's like he told John. They fear the pain and the loss and so they treat it not as a natural part of the flow of life but as the enemy, give it a significance it doesn't truly merit. The ceasing of biological function happens everywhere all around them, constantly. One would go mad if they grieved every single ending, one hundred and nineteen a minute just in all-human worlds like Earth.
He doesn't talk about it. In some ways, he's perhaps not even able to talk about it, to explain the way those stupid little jokes, the thought of finally reaching an ending makes it easier to breathe when he feels like he's drowning. He's always struggled with that sense of detachment, the way emotions slip away from him when he tries to grasp for their proper shape.
The only person who ever tried to play that goldfish game with him, to hold the net steady, went on ahead and died without him.
He doesn't know how to talk about it with anyone else, and so he doesn't. At length, though, he does begin speaking again, though any trace of the usual playful singsong is gone along with his smile.]
Does it upset you, to think of people dying here, regardless of whether it sticks? Some might call our functional immortality a blessing.
[He isn't one of those people, of course, but it's undeniably a common theme, across the ages.]
There's been many a tale of men who went mad seeking even a pale imitation of what can be accomplished readily here, after all.
[ Gorgug blinks at Dazai. The expression already on him--that youthful uncertainty, sulkiness--doesn't entirely deteriorate: at least, not the confused part of it, since this topic. Because from his perspective, it's out of nowhere. Somewhat related to what he said, but he hadn't expected the other to take it where he does. There's a path here that he can't see, which isn't unusual for him.
He glances around with moving his head, an awkward motion, like he's wondering if this is actually going to lead into a prank or something else (he hasn't given up yet on being duped). Is there a serious answer here? Has he thought about death much?
Slow himself, Gorgug tries to answer: ]
...we can die and come back if you're lucky, where I'm from. I think the cost is bullshit when even we can do that, but you're some big super thing who can take anyone from any universe.
[ So it has to be deliberate, right? The cost. Even if there are other costs that Echo takes from undertaking this porject, but--that's Gorgug's initials thoughts.
...not that he's sure if it's the right answer? Did he answer it properly? ]
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Still, he's not sure why the other brought them to him, and he looks back at the other. He's not a naturally suspicious person, not good at reading people. Did Dazai just happen to wander in and see him by chance? Probably, right? It's not like he'd seek him out. Why would he?
Gorgug's still wondering if to take a bite of one of the pastries--not out of caution, but awkwardness, but he sits the box on top of his open sketchpad page. ]
You didn't lose your head.
[ So there's that. ]
blanket cw for depression/death/grief/SI related topics likely throughout from here
[In literally any other circumstance, Dazai might have quipped that it hadn't yet hatched, though, so there was still time, his hopes weren't dashed quite yet. Except given the circumstances under which he's offering this olive branch of sorts, that isn't really an option at all. Contrary to appearances, Dazai does have some sense of propriety; he simply doesn't care most of the time. Honestly, he hadn't come here with the intention of talking about it. He'd meant to deliver the pastries, perhaps eat a couple together if the moment called for it, and carry on as though nothing had happened. A little left of an apology, more of an acknowledgment of his awareness that he had trampled upon some feelings. He hadn't anticipated those, either; Dazai has found existence burdensome and painful for as long as he can remember. He is so used to wanting to die it's just as natural as his traitorous lungs breathing in defiance of that desire, part of the natural background radiation of who he is. He puts it off, wants a reason to change his mind, and doesn't find one, and puts it off to keep looking. He has somehow reached twenty-two, in this fashion.
In one more year, he will be as old as Odasaku was, the last time that man breathed. It's unbearable, at times.
He doesn't talk about it, not like that. It's easier to joke about a ceiling beam being perfect to hang himself from, to be dismissed as an eccentric, than to try to be understood. People fear death, after all; it's like he told John. They fear the pain and the loss and so they treat it not as a natural part of the flow of life but as the enemy, give it a significance it doesn't truly merit. The ceasing of biological function happens everywhere all around them, constantly. One would go mad if they grieved every single ending, one hundred and nineteen a minute just in all-human worlds like Earth.
He doesn't talk about it. In some ways, he's perhaps not even able to talk about it, to explain the way those stupid little jokes, the thought of finally reaching an ending makes it easier to breathe when he feels like he's drowning. He's always struggled with that sense of detachment, the way emotions slip away from him when he tries to grasp for their proper shape.
The only person who ever tried to play that goldfish game with him, to hold the net steady, went on ahead and died without him.
He doesn't know how to talk about it with anyone else, and so he doesn't. At length, though, he does begin speaking again, though any trace of the usual playful singsong is gone along with his smile.]
Does it upset you, to think of people dying here, regardless of whether it sticks? Some might call our functional immortality a blessing.
[He isn't one of those people, of course, but it's undeniably a common theme, across the ages.]
There's been many a tale of men who went mad seeking even a pale imitation of what can be accomplished readily here, after all.
no subject
He glances around with moving his head, an awkward motion, like he's wondering if this is actually going to lead into a prank or something else (he hasn't given up yet on being duped). Is there a serious answer here? Has he thought about death much?
Slow himself, Gorgug tries to answer: ]
...we can die and come back if you're lucky, where I'm from. I think the cost is bullshit when even we can do that, but you're some big super thing who can take anyone from any universe.
[ So it has to be deliberate, right? The cost. Even if there are other costs that Echo takes from undertaking this porject, but--that's Gorgug's initials thoughts.
...not that he's sure if it's the right answer? Did he answer it properly? ]