Zhaya is the one to speak up. "Do you recognize anyone in this crowd? Or are they all strangers? I imagine it would be lonely in the future with no one you actually know there to support you!"Zhaya means nothing by the lattermost statement. It's a hypothetical, just as this future is; and yet, Ealhhere doesn't have to imagine, doesn't have to conceptualize. The crippling loneliness is theory. It's proven law and it's written into the very fabric of the universe—by his own hand and his very own blood, sweat, and tears—that it should remain that way. No amount of oppositional force can disrupt this unassailable fact.The hunter looks at Zhaya, as if confused by the question, or perhaps just surprised. "If ya don't want to answer that - what do you imagine you'll be most famous for?"
Does he recognize anyone in this crowd? Is there a smiling, enraptured face in that sea of dimly-lit heads that looks upon him in unconditional adoration? Who could have possibly tolerated all his grievances for long enough to see him at the theatrical stage that he hardly truly wishes for? Couldn't he have said anything he finds a true passion for? Why something as nonphysical as acting? Not wielding his spear, displaying his might (despite his dimunitive size, he knows he's not the largest Primal out there... !), his knifework in the kitchen— No, no, that betrays too much of his soft core.
His softness. He's been compared to a dragonfruit before. A prickly pear. Various Earth foods scarcely experienced by Sxriixians above- or belowground. Not for appearance, but that exterior that he grows to protect the tender sweetness within. No one can peel away that outer coating, never will for as long as he lives. Not again.
Kaede. There's one who can. The downward turn of his lips shifts into that of a broad, faux paus of a confident grin when he adds one to his mental tally; however cautiously optimistic he is about her level of tolerance and how many times she can stand to roll up her sleeves and deliver a quick kick to the cabbage when he acts out and attempts to lob metaphorical plates to the proverbial floor. Wouldn't it mean something good that Kaede came to show her support? That he managed to file down his teeth enough to a point where he can be considered someone to love and stay for and take time out of their day like he does no matter what, because that's love—
Oh. She's the equal and opposite force, isn't she?
And speaking on love: Wouldn't he love to have changed and to have made enough amends with Ruairi to make two for his list? To make company? To see his face over the edge of a stage, to see it at all and not want to affix every one of his own teeth and spines to him in a pointy horrid reckoning? To feel his name on a honeyed tongue that isn't laced with venom? It'd been so long since he'd last uttered "Ruairi" as a kindness and not bloodied, shattered glass spitting from his mouth.
Ruairi had helped make him. He could help remake him.
And there are his paramours, his obsessions, his dirty little secrets and pieces of envy that he keeps so, so close to his chest for fear of vulnerability. Zhaya lies at the peak.
Someone reaches for him. Earlhhere snaps a wing out, batting at the outstretched paw, much to Zhaya's twinned bemusement and confusion. (It's in the other Rixixi's eyes. She hardly emotes otherwise.) His own paws meet the table as he stretches to meet it, to balance his chin atop the heel of his palm and lean forward as if about to utter something deeply profound.
"Maybe the lone wolf finds his satisfaction in just owning his future and his work," is what comes out.
Bold-faced lying, as always. All that musing, just to pretend.
These are strangers, so who cares, right?