Symposium Minor
Symposium Minor
Summary: Darling Willem and the Kissybear discuss literature and the nature of love.
Date: PHD144
Related Logs: Related Logs (Say None if there aren't any; don't leave blank)

Slumped somewhere at a table in a beaten-down, semi-comfortable chair is the figure of Wil, his duty greens jacket unbuttoned as he leans forward over — no, it's a classic. In the trashy paperback sense. He's Said table is somewhere between the 'classical literature' and 'fiction' sections. His nose is pretty much buried in the thing.

Matto has brought a book with him, finger keeping his place, a slim volume only a little bit taller than the finger itself, light reading if ever there was any. He trails on past the stacks, looking for a particular spot, head turning to look at Willem as he passes, leaning closer, "You're going to go blind reading that close to the book," he warns playfully.

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. The silent impact of his right boot gently tapping against the floor punctuates the shifting of Wil's eyes from line to line. Upon further examination, the book itself is titled 'The Jade Mouse', a surreal work of 'gonzo' style fiction, subtly parodying pulp detective noir novels of years past and littered with scathing social commentary. Perhaps it's not so trashy after all. Upon hitting a particular line, his mouth quirks up in a slow smirk. Matto's statement only intensifies said smirk as he looks upwards and catch's the man. "Aw. You were 4 words away from a terrible, cliched joke."

Matto turns and flops down in a chair nearby, not going into the stacks as he'd intended. "Oh. I didn't realize it was that kind of book," he chuckles, tapping his own little text on an uplifted knee.

"'N' That's what they say. Crime -always- pays.'" Wil intones softly in a deep, scratchy, exaggerated voice. "Unless, of course, you do it on some other poor bastard's tab.'" There's a hoarse chuckle at the end of this which is just a bit too grating to be all that funny-sounding as he delivers the next line a bit stiffly, in response to Matto's comment. "Nah. Then I wouldn't be sitting in -this- section." All the same, he delivers a goofy, if subdued smirk and inquires, peering at whatever the other man has. "What are you doing? Well, other than, y'know. Reading."

Matto repays the goofy smirk with a playful but warm smile, "I'm not doing that, either," he pronounces, "Just some of the poems in here reminded me of Martial and I thought I saw a big tome of his epigrams in here, I wanted to see if I could nab it," he shrugs a shoulder. "I like Martial, but I haven't read any of him in a while. I want to memorize more poetry, I figured Martial's good for some short ones to start me off with some instant gratification."

"That might be the case." Wil's tongue clicks as he considers the name and thinks back, probably to school. Then it hits him. "If I'm thinking of the right one, wasn't he a bit of a wiseass? Not that this is a complaint or a criticism. I respect and endorse the gadfly role." His nostrils flare as he holds in a brief little laugh. "Most of the stuff I've latched on to lately is more of a downer. Or just plain reflective. It's like you can very much tell something was written by a thousand year old sad bastard who just finally thought he understood life, practically on his deathbed."

Matto chuckles, "Less a gadfly than a rabbit, if we're to take his word for it," he says, of Martial, of course, "But yeah, he's funny. Like that one," Kissy tries to remember it in the original Scriptural, but can't, of course, "Hey, Paulinu, you want to take a piss off a speeding prow? Do it again, and you'll become Palinurus," he giggles at the end of it, obviously delighted. "I need to find that one. I hope our text has an index. And better late than never, I guess. I mean, when I go, I totally want to be in that sort of Heraclitic oneness with the universe, like, 'Wow, I totally get it now.' Even if I'm wrong. Just that feeling."

The initial response on Wil's part is another snicker. "Po-TAY-to," he begins, "po-TAH-to." the adage finishes, as he turns a page idly, still apparently paying attention to his own volume but shifting his head back over his shoulder to address Kisseus again with a bit of flash of his teeth in a very tight smile. "Eh. He tended to ridicule what he saw as the absurdities of the successful and powerful. Didn't he? If I'm thinking right? Uh. What was that one about — er. Lupercus? Or the slave who undercooked the rabbit? It's been a while." His nose twitches. "But as far as the 'oneness' goes, in these cases it's usually tinged with regret."

"I don't remember that one," Kissy admits. Well? There are a LOT of them. "But Martial makes it very clear that he's ridiculing the vices, not the people, and that even the most flawed individuals have a right to their dignity," he smiles. "Now, I guess you could say that he doesn't mean it— but he also doesn't use real names, as far as we can tell." "Regret? Like, if I knew then what I know now…?"

"In the eyes of most people, actions are -tied- to their perpetrators. History's often an unfair judge of that because we generally don't have a record of how they thought or felt." Wil says easily, with a bit of a shrug. There's some nominal agreement in his tone at least. "The only fair thing to ridicule about a person though, if you think about it, -is- one's vices, idiotic decisions, and the like." Mulling over the next detail, he adds, "Using psuedonyms when needling someone above you is also something of a self-preservation tactic." Another soft peal of laughter which sort of fades after a few moments is unleashed until he notes something else regarding the second topic. "Um. That kind of regret. It can be that, yes. Or just a simple lament of now something is here. Now it's gone. And only in its absence do I understand what it was." He snorts, softly.

Matto gets some idea that Willem is being elliptical again. Not that it's hard to suppose that, since Willem is very nearly always elliptical. So, "Like what?" he asks, trying to get more details filled in on the latter observation.

"Hmm. It's like this, I suppose." Wil notes. "Take a story of a man's life. A story of a man who meets his own double when he's young." Waving his free hand, he tosses out the obvious disclaimer, "And yes, yes, the rules of time and space are bent to create this situation. But the double's at the end of his own life and sees every mistake his young self made. But he cannot ever warn him away from doing those things because then he himself would cease to exist. I read a story like that once. Of course a reader could surmise that he could warn him away from all of the ones he -knew- about, thereby creating a situation where his younger self would frak up in all new, exciting, and possibly worse ones." At some point in this little rambling, even Wil realizes he probably is being as clear as mud and frowns a bit. "Uh. Yeah. I guess I'd call that fuel for regret or frustration on a cosmic level, only borne out of some kind of damn unattainable hope for perfection."

Matto watches Willem and listens with patience through the example, one leg lofted over the arm of the chair as he lounges comfortably. "Sounds reasonable enough," he murmurs, "So, assuming you're living on some sort of science fiction show where these manner of things can be conveniently glossed over, what would you warn Young You about? I mean, besides the whole Cylon thing?"

"I think this was almost borne out of that whole 'magical realism' school, even." Wil finally leans back in his chair a little, slumping downward and letting out a dry half-snicker. "Lots of things. Maybe not specifically say 'YOU MUST NOT DO THIS' but give more of a gentle explanation as to why something may be a bad idea down the road. I actually have this sort of dim view that warning about the Cylons at that point in time would have been too late. They were already made. The damage was done the moment some people decided that, in breathing life into a creation, the most obvious application would be to make war machines for lucrative cash deals. Then we bitch and moan when they start killing us. A tool only does what it's designed for." Uh oh. TANGENT. His face tightens a bit as he considers that, and then this next bit. "As far as what I'd tell myself though? Don't hold on to being angry with someone when you really shouldn't be, because you never know when you run out of chances to reconcile." His brow quirks as he moves on. "Maybe hesitate less when faced with a decision that you know has a proper response but just seems 'hard.'" His shoulders shrug lopsided. "Things like that. I don't even know if that would work though."

Matto smiles a little bit, "Things you already knew and ignored anyhow? And one more person telling you aboutt hem wouldn't have made any difference?" he chuckles. "Yeah, we've all been there, I guess. When we have bad ideas, know they're bad ideas, and we all just say 'Frak Plato' and do them any damned how."

"That's just it, though." Wil apparently grasps Matto's point of view as, at least in his eyes, the whole conversation comes full-circle. "We always think that the 'one more person' being us in that kind of situation would be somehow different. Maybe it's hubris." His right shoulder shrugs upwards as he twirls the book on the table's surface. "Self-absorption. Whatever. No, I basically agree with what you're saying here. Which is why that kind of reflection is nothing but…Mm. I don't know. Melancholic. Morose. I kind of plagiarized this idea in an attempt as a fiction writer my first year in college." There's a dry snicker on his part. It's probably self-directed.

"Well, I dunno. If I happened to come across myself and I had something rather important to tell me, I might be inclined to listen due to the sheer strangeness of myself being both deliverer and recipient of the message," Kissy shrugs. "If I were disguised or something… with no way to know that it was me? Meh, yeah, it probably wouldn't make any difference. Unless they were making a really good point, or told me something very, very specific," he considers the options, then squints at Willem, "You're not actually future me in disguise, are you?" he asks, suspicious, all of a sudden.

"Uhhhh. I don't think I'd want to insult you like that." First and foremost, Willem's reaction is a slight 'popping' sound as he barks out a laugh and his teeth flash, and head shakes from one side to the other. "First thing I'll tell you is, don't go for this color. This shit's impossible to wash out." He points at his hair lazily.

"Right, no go on the dye job," Kissy nods. "No one'd ever believe it was my color, anyhow," he scratches at th seemingly omnipresent bit of scruff along his jawline, dark brown-black like his hair. Not even mentioning the fact that he habitually wanders berthings nekkid. "I'm assuming in the future we have great disguise technology… or that I'm like, actually dead and have like taken over Darling Willem's body, or… am a ghost that can appear in different guises, like, you know, the gods do in the stories, or something."

There -is- that, true. No real physical resemblance. "It's that whole concept of, hm? I don't know. 'Possession.' Something like that. If the gods are thinking beings and not some unconscious force, I don't think they need to assume guises to come down and mess with you, however." Wil says, easily enough, holding on to good humor for all the implied weight this conversation may have.

Matto chuckles. "Yeah, probably not. Though I'm not sure that the question of divine intent really comes to anything, in the final equation. I mean, you can say your love life's in ruins because of a series of occurances that happened in accordance with the sort of things that tend to go on in the amatory sphere, or you can say that it's in ruins because of Aphrodite being a bitch," he shrugs, "The one just being code for the other. Whether you assign Aphrodite intent or just say 'this is the way Amor affects the universe,' well… it doesn't change the fact that it works the way it does." He scratches at his temple for a moment with the thought.

At this, Wil demonstrates that he is, for all his chattering, able to shut up and listen as he leans to one side, cupping his hand beneath his chin and knitting his eyebrows. "Maybe we, as an ancient people assigned concepts to personae. Or grafted them onto existing ones as a way to explain things we don't understand." His mouth quirks to one side. "Mind you, I feel that there's some kind of unquantified divine quality to creation to the point of which whether these Gods are literal or not, like you said, it makes no difference. But I digress. The whole point of what you just said. Do we even know how love works?"

"Some people have tried over the years to define it," Kisseus chuckles. "We study it like anything else… on psychological grounds, on physiological grounds, on grounds of observation and exempla from literature. Do we know how it works? No. But we have some guesses," he grins.

"Eh. I've found most of that stuff to be completely inaccurate or unhelpful. Even misleading." Wil inquires. "And, present situation excluded — I had a stroke of dumb luck. A series of them, which leads me to believe fhat if the Gods are taking an active role in this it might be better to order from Hermes' catalog." Grinning himself, he ventures a further question, "But that's. A digression. We have some guesses. Are any of them your guesses?"

"On what love is?" Kissy's brows both rise, "Are you sure you're not -Ivory- in disguise?" he asks, leaning to the side to peer. "I always figured that if there was a chart of emotions it would be at approximately equivalent position to hate, on the mirror side of the gap," he murmurs, "An extreme in attraction and repulsion, respectively. That which joins versus that which separates, down to the atomic level," he grins, "Though that last wasn't mine, that's Empedocles speaking," he laughs a little. "And just as hate is the extreme of interaction between people, so is love. And just as hate provokes the most dire of actions, so does love. An act of love is like a murder. As far as the repercussions can be felt. Taking a life in hatred transforms a man; so does taking a hand in marriage. One, I think, no less than the other, if one for the better and the other for the worse."

"Consider me the lower-rent version of Ivory. I'm the mid-grade whiskey version to his expensive wine. But you know how people rub off on each other, hmm?" Wil notes in a wry tone. Admittedly the two -have- been spending an awful lot of time together. These conversations probably get bandied about. "You're speaking of opposite ends of the scale. Wraparound. I mean, there's that whole 'Odi/Amo' dichotomy too and sometimes 'opposites' meet in horrible ways, supposedly." His grin fades a bit as he narrates, "I've seen that variety of love too, I guess. It sucks. I guess. I don't know anything. Are you about to congratulate me on my own execution now, by the way?"

Matto leans back in the chair, slouching comfortably, "Of course, the line 'od' et amo' wouldn't be so breathtakingly striking if it weren't paraprosdokian in the extreme," he points out. "But, yes, not everything is as clear-cut. It's a sliding scale, and when emotions run that high? When emotions run that high they can flip from one side to the other, like an electron under a bombardment of light," he muses, then looks to Willem with a grin, "And you and Persephone are going to be great, Darling. I know less about her than you, but— I can see how good she is. And how good she is for you. When I see you together… it makes me smile. Especially when there are cuddles involved," he grins cheekily.

"Heh. The little joys of wordplay." Wil says a bit wryly here, echoing your earlier statement. "I really have to wonder what those early conversations between you and Ivory must have been like. But anyway, I guess what you described is a practical application of physics." The smile turns a bit abashed here as he confesses, "I brought this up to Nadiv the other day, but I'm never really sure how to talk about this whole situation with, well, everyone. Feel like I'm lording a tiny bit of happiness in a generally miserable situation over everyone else stuck on this ship. Seems unfair. I mean, to me. I'm glad -she- is happy, though. All I'll say about our dynamic is each one of us brings a perspective the other lacks. I think we both notice what we wouldn't normally alone, with and through the other." And then he smiles again. "Complimentary."

Matto rests his cheek on the back of the cushy chair he's on, "I can understand feeling guilty about being happy," Kissy replies, "I mean, the world ended— what could there possibly be to be happy about?" he asks, rhetorically. "And I'm not saying you should just take your bit of pleasure and say frak the rest of them. But I think all of us need to find happiness where we can, or else we'll all go mad. And I, for one, am so happy for you. So many people seem… you know, just to be flailing. Trying to find someone to be in bed with for a little bit of comfort, no matter who or why. It's… really nice to see two people fall in love and devote themselves to one another."

"I could steal some time. A year or two, maybe. Maybe that's why I'm doing this. I heeded some of my own advice." Wil muses a bit, turning slightly red. "Hesitating less. If it just works, you do it. You know?" All the same, red aside he smiles lightly. "Y'know, I met her years ago, back home. I didn't remember at first and it was kind of inconsqeuential then but it got me thinking how much I'd changed. Apparently she did the same. So we were grasping for something familiar. It's what people do." This sort of vague story told, he leans out of his chair and asks. "Mind if I ask you something slightly nosy and inappropriate?"

Matto tries to follow the story through the unfathomable labyrinth of Willem's mind, but realizes on some level that Willem is telling the story for his own benefit rather than Kissy's. But then the train pulls into the station at the prospect of a nosy and inappropriate question. And as open with his feelings as Kissy generally is, he shows a little bit of hesitation. "… like what?" he does finally prompt Willem to go ahead.

"I don't know. I feel sort of bad even asking about this. But you just seem, I don't know. Generally affectionate towards people. Good natured. Easy to deal with. Someone who -likes- people. Since this whole mess started here, has anyone, y'know, found you? Or vice-versa? I know there's a difference between just gunning for someone's bed than actually caring, but if there's any justice it seems like you put out a Hell of a lot of good not to get any back."
Wil finally addresses the question with a few awkward pauses, clearly looking like he's not even sure if he should be -asking.

Matto looks a little confused during the first part of the question, then looks down, scratching the tip of his nose twice with his thumbnail before he looks up again, "That's really sweet of you to say, Darling," he offers, then, as if considering how to go about answering hte question, he looks aside to the check-out desk and the attendant there, asleep, as usual, then raises both his eyebrows, taking a deep breath in preparation for bluntness, "I'm seeing someone," he declares shortly, simply, "But it's not meant to be public knowledge." What, Kissy— frat? "He's not out of the closet to anyone but a very few people, and— well, I know where he's coming from, with that, so I'm not pushing him about it. We're… very happy, though," he smiles softly, then lifts both brows in a sort of gently warning look, "No more questions, okay?" he adds. He's obviously gone out on a limb to say as much as he has.

"All you had to say was 'no more questions.'" Willem says, faintly, a slight look of tension in his shoulders relaxing as he puts together the whys and whrefores of Matto's statement. He's not -such- a bullmoose that he'll dig deeper. He just chews on the words with, "I won't tell anyone anything. But for what it's worth? I wish you well." He lets the matter drop, fiddling with the destroyed paperback upon the surface of the table he's seated at. "So. Epigrams."

Matto looks down at the slight book resting on his knee, and he smiles, "Thanks, guy," he answers back, "Oh, and I also have to put together a party for Perz soon. My job and all, right?" he grins, "I should see whether Marty'll reprise his chubby chef act. Or I'll get him to read to them from the Priapeia. Naughty stuff, this is," he chuckles. "And, according to the author, a smash hit with les femmes."

"Never a problem. Never." Wil finally says a with a bit more ease. And he can't help but snicker and flat-out choke at the mention of Martin's little performance the other night. "I wonder at him digging into classic literature, though. Especially with that accent." He begins to say something more until the attack of the PROWLER(tm) catches his attention.

"It was -almost- ridiculous enough to work," Kissy replies. Attention unmoved by whoever's moving through the stacks, he opens up the text to the page where his finger rests, and he recites aloud, translating as he goes, "Though I'm a Priapus made out of wood, all wood my sickle and all wood my cock, I'll grab you, girl, and hold you down, and with it, huge as it is and harder than a rock… I'll thust until your seventh rib I knock." He pauses brifly, brow furrowed after the almost solemn recitation of the piece. Then: "AAAYYYYY?" Nevermind solemn.

"Speaking of ridiculous." Wil notes. He's not delicate. Too delicate, anyway, to appreciate the obvious absurd charm of this. "Bloody Hell, where did you dig -that- up? Nice rhyme on the translation." He ends with a series of snickers.

"Priapus had a thriving cult following in Thalattra, believe me," Kissy replies, flipping a couple of pages. "And thanks. I'm no Poet, but I try," he winks. "It sounds better in the original, though, of course: 'Commoditas haec est in nostro maxima pene… laxa quod esse mihi… femina nulla potest,'" he breaks apart the two halves of the pentameter into their jingling halves, enjoying the way the couplet progresses. Then, translated, but less playfully: "'This is the best thing about my penis: that no woman can possibly be too loose for me.'"

"That sounds like it could be made into a song. One that probably would have never slipped past the censors in recent years, but…" Wil ventures, more snickering. Snorting, even as he follows along. "Thalattra?" The mention of the place draws a querying glance. Doesn't seem familiar.

Matto flips through a few more pages, nose wrinkling in mirth at something spotted on a page, likely one of the illustrations accompanying the little poems. Then, looking up, "Thalattra? On Leonis? Right by Columella. Twin Cities?" he chucks a few more terms out there to see if anthing sounds familiar. Columella, at least, had the largest cult center of Aphrodite on the colonies. You know, back when there were colonies.

"Well. That's why I was asking." Wil says softly as his lips purse and he shakes his head a little bit, a soft chuckle emerges. "Just curious. I knew a few Leonitians in school, met a few here and there before, but not really a whole lot before I joined the Fleet. So they had something of a, err. Salon culture?"
He tries this term, blindly. Sort of pulling it out of a hat.

Matto tilts his head as the application of that term to Thalattra just… seems wrong in do many ways. But maybe he's got a different notion of what the term means than Willem does. "The Twin Cities were great. Great climate, not a lot of violent crime. We had Aphrodite's sanctuary by the sea in Columella. Thalattra was a great theatre town. It was sort of a refuge, y'know? For people who didn't quite fit the mold elsewhere. People whose parents wanted them to be lawyers when all they wanted to do was paint. People who wanted to be who they were instead of what other people wanted them to be." In other words, hippytown. "Also had one of the largest nudist populations on the colonies," he nods his head. Yup. Definitely hippytown. Suddenly Kissy must make so much more sense.

"One of those places where you can just disappear and let things go." Wiil says, apparently appreciative enough of the place to smile a little. It's a muted one, but it's there all the same. "I'm sorry they're gone. I'm sorry they have reason to be gone."

Matto returns the smile, quietly. "It was a good home. I'll never forget the time I spent there," he pledges, voice earnest, eyes lowering briefly. "Sadly, I guess there's a time for disappearing and letting things go, and there's a time for getting a real frakking job," Kissy chuckles. Which, I guess, explains guy in uniform here today. Well, off-duties, right now, but still.

"It depends what you're looking for." Wil notes, soberly. "Or were looking for. I think I could have gone for something like that once. A different 'kind' of adventure, I suppose. Now, well. This." Banishing the topic, he just says, plainly, "It's a career we've got. Isn't it?"

Matto laughs, "It -was,-" he agrees in part, "I'm not sure I'd call it just a career right now, though. It's… life as we know it, here, on this ship," he smiles, despite the dire situation.

"A career involves the prospect of retirement and advancement. Sometimes through attrition, I guess." Wil states, grimly. Maybe he's making inappropriate light of this situation too. "There's a built-in retirement plan. I guess. I think about that a lot."

"i always kind of thought I'd retire the normal way," Kissy smiles. "You know, the only guns on my boat are the ones the Marines carry, and I make sure they don't play with them inside the house," he chuckles. "But yeah, I'm not convinced by this notion we'll find someplace to settle down before the Cylons pick the last of us off," he admits.

"Proper safety -was- important. I don't know. For three generations of military my house wasn't particularly 'martial.'" Wil observes as he slings the book under his arm. "But that's a digression. I know. I'm guilty of -many- of them, Kisseus. You want to know the funny part about it all? Before the bombs fell, I don't think I particularly -liked- my job. Oh, I liked aspects of it. But I didn't -feel- it. I do now."

"I liked my squadron, I liked my CO," Kissy shrugs, "And I didn't have much outside of it, really. But you're right, we've all really bonded since the end of the world. I guess we have to."

"There's part of that. I mean, I'll miss some of those people back on Tauron. Python, Cornbread. 'Jack." Wil ventures. "Now I have Nadiv. You. Thorn. Ivory. Persephone. Case. Others. I'm doing well there. Strangely. I'm doing well. But I meant in the cockpit." He says, with a measured breath. "The idea that I'm breaking Cylons for a living? That I can live with."

"Oh," Kissy realizes. "Well. I haven't broken any Cylons, and likely never will," he smiles. "My job's basically the same. Fly straight, fly true, get people and supplies where they need to be and trust in Red Squadron and my backseater to keep me in one piece while I do."

"Indirectly. You ferry the guns to their location. I also speculate on what those hardpoints can hold and what they can do to the big targets." Wil says, straightening in his chair as he stands slowly and tucks the book under his arm. "When you contribute to the breakage, you break. I don't think there are really any 'non combatants' any more when the entirety of our people on this ship are under attack." He sighs. "Sorry. Didn't mean that in a bad way. But we'll get you there. Just be careful riding with Thorn. He smells funny."

Matto looks faintly affronted, "Thorn smells like a petunia," he claims. "… a little… funky thing of a petunia, but a petunia no less," he wavers in his support for a moment. "I'll carry guns anywhere they want to go, but none of them get fired on my boat, and none of them get fired by me," he lays down some ground rules where firearms are concerned.

"Heh. Aerelonian petunia. No. I adore the man. He's good people. For all the shit-talking. Which reminds me! He..still has my flask."

Pausing a moment, something that Kisseus says makes him stop in his tracks. "All right. I have another question if you don't mind. A different one. Do you have some kind of conscientious objection?" He pauses. "There's no disrespect intended if you do."

"I don't know how conscientious it is, but I object to guns, yes," Kissy smiles. "I also object to hitting, on the whole. Raising a hand in anger… nobody needs that," he gives his opinion.

"Not in anger. No. Usually just makes you look stupid." Wil says eagerly. "I avoid that whenever possible. But I don't have problems shooting Cylons. That's made all of this easier. That's what's made my job easier." Wheels in his head turning, he comments one last time. "You're a good guy, Kisseus. I think I just figured something out about you. And what I said before, if there's any justice? I think you deserve happiness if any of us do. If there -is- a 'deserve'."

"Everyone deserves to be happy," Kissy defers the compliment a little bit, resting his elbow on his knee and cheek on his knuckles. "What did you figure out— if I'm allowed to ask?" he wonders.

"Just that. I agree, in a way. By the way." Willem states, his forehead wrinkling as he steps away from the table. "Nah. I think you're blessed, in a way. Maybe not touched. Sullied by all this. Well you -are-, but it doesn't damage what you give back." He shakes his head. "I'm not making any sense. Am I?"

Matto draws his lips together a little, and returns the shake of his head, "Not… particularly," he draws it out, but grins at Willem no less, teasing him. "But that's okay, I love you anyway, dude. It sounds nice, whatever it is." He leans forward onto his knees at the side of the chair, arms open to offer a hug.

There's a faint look of maybe, well. Disappointment? No. Too strong a word. Resignment. Matto and Willem seem to both be who they are, and at least in Wil's case, he is quite comfortable with that. And why not? He hugs the man, gently as he steps forward. "It is. Maybe I'll explain it better one day. In any case? You? Be safe."

Matto squeezes quietly, "I'll try. You, too, okay? Give much snuggage to your girlie for me, eh?" he looks up with a bright smile, then lets go.

"Oh. I will." Wil says, brightening again. One more hug for the road and finally Wil inclines his head, stepping away. "I think I'll see if she's out of CIC now. Be seein' you."

"Later, Darling," Kissy settles down into the chair again. Well, less 'settles,' more 'flops.'

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License