sirenspull | move two ♞ voice.

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move two ♞ voice.

I feel rather as though I have settled into a slump.

[A beat. Her voice is neutral in tone. Hannah is -- well, she is not on a downer, but she is not happy. ]

Would it be over-zealous of me to inquire if there is someone with recommendations for filling a void left by someone important? I have taken up knitting, but it only distracts me for a short amount of time. The process is soothing enough, but it does make one rather despondent when one realizes that there is no-one to wear the product.

[Another beat. ]

I should be most grateful for suggestions for a new pass-time, in short.

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I think once I sewed a quilt.

[She closes the pantry door after him. Lightening the stove, she glances at him, quite unsure of what to make of him exactly. An oddity, to say the least. She runs the tap afterwards, filling the kettle and then setting it onto the stove. ]

Do you have a tea preference?

[ Wave, wave. ]

Earl Grey is fine.

[ And now he's leaning back in his chair, his oversized boots on the table, with the biscuit tin in his lap. ]

Honestly - I'm surprised you're looking for a further occupation; I'd have imagined looking after the whims of the various people here would more than take up your time.

They are not as over-zealous as you think.

[It takes a minute for the kettle to whistle; by that time, Hannah already has some earl grey in the teapot and a strainer at the ready. She glances at break, eyebrow raised and the fills the teapot up. ]

I suppose that makes sense.

[ The distinctive aroma of bergamot fills the air. He inhales. ]

You've been here before...

[ He has made inquiries. ]

...so this is all old hat to you, hmmm?

I don't remember it.

[She's lying. ]

But adjusting has been easy. Piecing together the blanks hasn't been difficult. Taking up the duty has maid, however, is "old hat".

[She places the pot and cup onto a tray. After a moment of consideration, she places two custard creams onto a small plate alongside them. Her expression is carefully neutral as she sets it down in front of Break, pouring the tea with a heavy sort of silence. ]

Ha! Hence the desire for a new avocation.

[ A beautiful woman who moves like a shadow, who says she can run as fast as a car, who eludes his own peculiar version of "sight." She is right beside him, but he feels as if there's no "there" there.

... yes, being a servant must be indeed very dull for her. The question is, why is she here? He'd ask, but that heavy silence is heavy.

He waits for her to pour the tea. He finds the sugar bowl without much difficulty. In the heavy silence, he adds sugar lumps: one two three four five... And then, by accident, he discovers also the custard creams. The pads of his fingers brush across the whorled surface of the biscuit. ]

Well, that's not uncommon, not remembering.

[ He bites into it. Crisp biscuit and sweet cream. It's a small, kind gesture. Enough to make him ask a different question, one he'd been keeping away from: ]

But it's too bad, because I'd wanted to ask...

This "someone important" you spoke of earlier: was this person here with you, when you were here before?

[Once, Ciel asked her if she had a heart. She does; right now it is a fake, human imitation. It beats and it keeps her mobile and keeps the circuits in her head going. She may supernatural, but she is made-up by atoms too. Evolved, some would say. Old news, Hannah would argue.

Downgrading to simplicity suited her Father best. Hannah has never been simple.

She stands at his side dutifully, and she thinks carefully. ]

He was. He has a room, here. Every crevice of it has a lingering piece of him.

[She blinks. There is a twinge in her chest. Hannah Anafeloz lies. She is starting to wonder what is the point. (She doesn't want to admit that she left Alois and Claude behind). ]

You have remembrances of him, at least.

[ He has nothing. Neither a pen, nor a note. No little memorandum book, though Reim had dozens of them. Of all the little things Break loved to filch and pocket, he never took anything of his. What need, did he have, of souvenirs? He was always going to die and leave everyone else behind, right? This possibility he had never considered.

He sighs, bitterly. The years haven't changed him. He is, and always has been, a fool. He sets his teacup down. ]

To answer your question...

I don't think there's anything that fills a void.

I agree.

[Somewhat. There is Alois, she knows. If he would let her in, that is.

She wrings her hands together and then grasps onto her apron. It's a new habit, one she wishes she hadn't picked up. It tells too much. ]

There is nothing to fill the void except for what is missing in the first place.

The best thing to do is accept the fact...

That when something is lost, it's gone forever.

[ He won't tell the secrets behind her gestures: he can't see them. ]

But this place - it's cruel. It makes one hope.

It makes one hope because it has the power to deliver.

[Perhaps she sounds a little bitter. ] And if it does, it's often quick to take it away.

It might bring people back; but it can't--

[ Or maybe - it can. Hope! He feels it surge within him. The Core is very much like the Abyss. Perhaps, if properly controlled, it might be able to change what had happened, undo his failure, rewrite the-- ]

[ No. No. He's been down this path before. That way lies despair.

He stands up from the table, heavily. ]

What's lost is lost, whether the Core shows us remembrances of them or not.

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move two ♞ voice.

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