[ whether the answers that will come are honest or not, being given permission to ask is more like being told to ask. dextera winces at the invitation, briefly humbled as if he thought he was being subtle. he never is as much as he imagines. ]
…
[ people like to talk about themselves until they have to be honest. that’s the nature of a baroque. reality is warped around them until the only thing they can present is what they see, regardless of where they started or any objective truth. he can’t—at least shouldn’t—judge by the standards of his own world, but it’s the only map he has to use.
so, he’ll ask, and he can learn something. he looks down at his own hands, where his fingers occasionally twitch for reasons unbeknownst to him, and seems to settle on something suitably intelligible.
unable to couch it in any polite language, he’s aware that anything he says will come off direct; but he can’t help it any more than he can help anything else. without really meeting makoto’s gaze, he at least turns his face so his own eyes are visible, and he pokes one at the border between his lower lid and the sclera. only then does he make an instant of eye contact, like punctuating the question or offering an object. it’s simple enough—he just wants to know where makoto’s unusual eyes came from. ]
no subject
…
[ people like to talk about themselves until they have to be honest. that’s the nature of a baroque. reality is warped around them until the only thing they can present is what they see, regardless of where they started or any objective truth. he can’t—at least shouldn’t—judge by the standards of his own world, but it’s the only map he has to use.
so, he’ll ask, and he can learn something. he looks down at his own hands, where his fingers occasionally twitch for reasons unbeknownst to him, and seems to settle on something suitably intelligible.
unable to couch it in any polite language, he’s aware that anything he says will come off direct; but he can’t help it any more than he can help anything else. without really meeting makoto’s gaze, he at least turns his face so his own eyes are visible, and he pokes one at the border between his lower lid and the sclera. only then does he make an instant of eye contact, like punctuating the question or offering an object. it’s simple enough—he just wants to know where makoto’s unusual eyes came from. ]