unlimited basil

“Certainly.  He understands you just as poorly.  Perhaps even less.  Between the two of you, only one sees his situation for what it is.  You may not know him yet, but you can at least understand that control, can’t you?  Do not wield this unfair advantage of yours lightly.”

Cyneden finishes the last of his tea and sets down his cup, frowning down at it in frustrated silence. 

He shuts his eyes, and lets out a sigh like weary, chipped porcelain.  “Forgive me, I believe I’ve caught myself acting overly presumptuous.” 

The legs of his chair squawk indignantly against the floor as the silver elf rises to his feet.  He floats off to the far end of the room, towards the back, near the waist-high divider walling the kitchen away from the rest of the shop.  With no small amount of ruckus he unearths a bulky travelling bag, about three times Haalija’s size. 

“It will not bother you overly much,” he asks, though a bit rhetorically all things considered, as he drifts this way and that through the myriad treasures, gathering them up into his arms as he passes by.  “If I work while we continue to talk?  I’m afraid your conviction has inspired me.”  

“I have this wretched habit of sitting on my hands.  My ward and I have decided to follow your example, and set out for St. Sholt ourselves.  It has been long enough.  And after all, you intend to– forgive me…” 

A mischievous, knowing smile flits across his face.  “To do exactly as this vev says, correct?” 

Very well, I shall be the judge of whether or not he is a celebrity. As you know, just because someone makes popular things does not always make them a true artist. 

[ Pink and yellow. Pink and yellow. He thinks he understands what Heike means, when the song is described in this way. Pink. He is in major key, because minor is too sad. Yellow. His touch is light on the keys, the way the sun would shine brightly on a field of green. Just as the character did… Yes, yes, he has it now. That’s the tune. ]

Pink and yellow enough, Mäuschen?

Roderich is surprised to see that Heike has a phone. Were they not circular enough…? He squints with glasses he does not truly need to get a better look at the image. Then, an exhale leaves him the same way that it leaves the organ.

“Badebomben! Oh, my students rave about them! They have been a part of their gift-giving for years. To take a bath in a pristine white tub, with them, why would one do such a…”

He could go on and on, but he’s starting to notice how expectant Heike looks. Bath bombs were harmless, just messy… much like many things in Roderich’s life, lately.

“… There are some in the cabinet under the bathroom sink. They gave it to me as an end-of-year gift, but I never used them. Use as many as you wish.”

Sure, sure. Whatever you say.

Nevermind. Go practice your violin.

I have a feeling we’ll be needing a performance very soon…

… Mäuschen? Do you believe that mass-murder is… art?

What on earth are you talking about.