New Life, New Body, New Plan

New Life, New Body, New Plan
Date of Scene:	18 March 2016
Location:	Nephrite's Palace
Synopsis:	Kunzite passes on one of Luna's presents to Nephrite, which invokes a lot of catch-up conversation about Kunzite's new body, Mamoru's hideous hoodie habit, Nephrite owning a crepe stand (what?), and what in the world they're going to be doing now. Surprisingly, Kunzite actually answers that last one.
Cast of Characters:	Nephrite, Kunzite

---

Kunzite has posed:
Their situation is improving, definitely. But improving by stages. There's no more need to hide, they can walk the real world whenever they like; but Mamoru's apartment hasn't yet been returned to a livable state, so in practice it's convenient to have somewhere else to sleep. Mamoru himself is certainly not recovered, but he's not liable to dissolve at any moment either, and is presently occupying himself somewhat gleefully with practical arithmetic in the form of figuring out what to do about Usagi's family's house. There's plenty of time to talk -- in theory. But they haven't taken time to get a practical way of reaching each other yet, not other than intruding on one another's palaces and seeing whether the place's master is at home and paying attention.

Fortunately, when practical matters are at hand, there is Makoto.

Sadly, the one stepping into Nephrite's palace and pausing for a moment, seeing whether there's any sign that Nephrite himself might take notice, is not Makoto at all.vSeeing Kunzite out of uniform and five years too young is probably going to be weird for a while, but it's even odds which half of that is the weirder part.

Nephrite has posed:
Weird is one way of putting it.

Seeing Kunzite lacking both age and uniform is like stumbling across photos of your teacher getting sloppy drunk at the bar. The previously well-constructed professional image is irrevocably shattered by a more complicated reality of an ordinary human being. The Kunzite that Nephrite knew in this life, the one he faintly remembers in his past one (altered by age and distance, as all memories are), lacked such human flaws as youth, did not seem capable of relaxing in something unstructured and capeless.

Still. It is Kunzite, and Nephrite senses his presence even if his eyes need time to adjust. He meets him by the side of that fated symbol, the blue sandstone insignia of Earth branded into the ground. "There you are," he says, casually leaning against a tree, as though they were merely friends meeting for coffee, as though days and not lives had not separated their last interaction. "You settled in yet? Counted your fingers and toes to make sure you've got them all?"

The sky, for once, is not resting at sunset. The sun sits on the opposite side of the sky, a fresh pink sunrise breaking through the trees.

Kunzite has posed:
'Relaxing.' That's an interesting word for it. He carries himself the same way that he would in uniform, did in another life (in other lives, really; the Dark Kingdom is if anything further separate from this existence than the Golden). Always balanced, always aware, standing straight as a blade. Almost more so: he's constantly aware of the lack of a layer of potential armor at his back.

That may be why he's doing this. Practice. Accustoming himself before he has to pass for something resembling a normal human being out on the street.

(Given the photograph Mamoru showed Nephrite, it's a good bet that he wasn't so good at that before everything happened, either.)

There. That tree. Kunzite alters course to meet him, lifting one hand to stretch and fold the fingers in question by way of demonstration. The only answer Nephrite gets out loud, though, comes a couple of paces later. "Catch."

It's an easy toss; the only thing that complicates it at all is that the object being passed isn't particularly aerodynamic. Something like a wristwatch, with a silvery-white band and a metal disc of muted gold where the dial might be. Marked with the same symbol they're standing beside.

Kunzite's wearing the match to it on the wrist of the hand he lifted. Well. One of the matches.

Nephrite has posed:
Lucky for Kunzite, the very counterbalance to rigid militarism is here in front of him, wearing a t-shirt that fits him like it was made for him, the waistband of his pink flamingo boxers (courtesy of Usagi) faintly visible when he stretches. He's settled perhaps a little too thoroughly into living in the woods on his own; the shadow of stubble on his chin seems to be becoming a permanent fixture.

He snatches the metal object out of the air with one hand and holds it up to the light. The gold crossed circle glints on the silver face. "For me? We're matching our jewelry now? Kunzite, I had no idea."

Kunzite has posed:
"Fortunately, Jupiter did." Kunzite taps the side of his with two fingers, careful not to set anything off. "Communicators that share a frequency with the Senshi's. She asked Luna to put them together for us. Endymion has his already."

There is no remark about Nephrite's present state. Possibly because, to comment, he'd have to admit the pink flamingo boxers exist.

Nephrite has posed:
Nephrite's eyebrows raise. "Really? We've reached communicator status? I know Mako said we should have them, but I expected a trial period or something first." He rolls it over in his hands, appreciating the way it shines in the sun, the way the cool metal feels. "Nice of them to put the symbol on there and everything."

He fixes Kunzite with his red-brown eyes again. "Alright, so answer the question. New life, new body, that's gotta be a weird feeling. How are you holding up?"

Kunzite has posed:
"Given how quick she was to warn me that the other three had better have a good reason for any explosions in the sewers this time? I suspect having an idea of where we are and what we're doing was a selling point." 'This time.' That's an incident that goes back a long, long way. Before the Dark Kingdom; before Beryl's name meant anything more than a distant figure at court. Nephrite might remember it, or might not.

Either way. Someone being wary of things they got up to when they were themselves -- that's an improvement, of sorts.

At the question, Kunzite glances down for a moment at the hand that he used to demonstrate all appendages being present. Things he is not about to say include it's good not to be suppressing the urge to tear off my own skin. "Mn. There are things I'm not used to. Getting tired, for instance. I'll need to watch that. But it's a definite improvement over the alternatives."

Hell, if they discovered some major malformation of a vital organ by his keeling over dead tomorrow, it'd still have been better than the alternatives.

Nephrite has posed:
For Nephrite's part, he cannot precisely recall an exploding sewer incident, but the unrepentant devilish glee that fills him says that perhaps he should. Or will. Either way, the prideful smirk shows on his face. "Somebody knows us too well. Do they come with tracking devices?"

He fiddles around with the communicator, pressing all the buttons indiscriminately. If somebody's wrist starts beeping somewhere, well, then they'll know it works, won't they?

"Oh man," he says excitedly. "You have to re-learn how not to be a robot, don't you? Hey, when's the last time you've eaten real food? What do you want your first meal to be? I can get into the city again, and I can get you literally anything."

Kunzite has posed:
Reminding Nephrite about needing a good reason would just inspire him to invent one. Kunzite opts to address the tracking-device question instead -- though really, the answer there is obvious; Kunzite is willing to let Endymion out of his sight this soon, and there has to be a reason. "Yes. Also with the ability for the girls to cut individuals off if necessary." He doesn't put the effort into pointedly eyeing Nephrite's prodding at the thing. The chime at his own wrist does half of that for him, anyway.

He does glance down long enough to confirm it is just Nephrite's experiment before he silences it, though. All they'd need would be something attacking Mamoru and Zoisite right then.

-- which gives Nephrite just enough time to get onto one of his favorite topics. It takes an actual effort, if a momentary one, for Kunzite to keep his expression entirely under control. Any hints of amusement or affection locked down to their usual near-invisibility. "In case you hadn't noticed," he observes, "I have actual feet now myself. I can also get into the city."

He gestures aside briefly, lets his hand fall. "Ten minutes, Nephrite. Ten minutes of actual conversation, and then we'll figure out where we're going." We? Some hint of voluntary sociability? Maybe they drugged the roses while they were regrowing him. "I missed a week. How has he been?"

He doesn't need to say who. Or to add the obvious clarification -- before he finally let himself fall apart on all four of them, for a little while. That'll change things. But Nephrite knows the baseline before that better ... and no matter how much longer Kunzite knew Endymion, before, there have always, always been things Nephrite is better at seeing.

Nephrite has posed:
Nephrite grins triumphantly at the sound on Kunzite's wrist, and finally stops poking at the thing to put it on instead. "I'd be slightly offended if that weren't a useful feature. And if some cat wants to watch my every move, I'll be happy to entertain them."

"You are slightly larger than pocket-sized now." Nephrite pushes off the tree and wanders closer, picking his way over the foliage. "But are you the owner of a five-star restaurant, two bars, and a crepe stand? You're not, are you? Also I have that pesky thing called money." He sticks his hands in his pockets, almost as if to reassure himself that it's still there. He was not entirely comfortable with spending weeks unable to buy anything for himself.

His eyebrow raises a little at the 'we' but Nephrite says nothing. Perhaps for fear that if he draws attention to it, Kunzite will decide he'd rather starve alone than seek out food together. Listens instead to the question. There is no hint of humor in his voice now as he says, "Honestly, if he hadn't broken down back there, I'd be worried. He's a little too good at compartmentalizing. Putting up nice little picket fences around every bad thing he doesn't want to deal with. And he's been kind of erratic and kind of brittle, and he really missed you a lot. Also he's been wearing that hideous hoodie all the time. No idea where he picked it up."

Kunzite has posed:
"Embrace the idea that drunken ramblings will remain opt-in." Kunzite observes Nephrite's approach with that particular flavor of alertness that he often uses in place of amusement. "Also, though I realize this may be difficult for you, the idea that this 'money' might be in the possession of more than one person on the planet." Granted, given the resources that one of Nephrite's abilities can bring to bear, Kunzite's approach zero in comparison. On the other hand, what he has at present is genuinely his own, predating the Dark Kingdom in this life. Whether that can be said for Nephrite's riches ...

... is a question for another time. Not now. Secure the new foundation before prying at the old one; even they can only handle so much disruption at once.

The crepe stand is also a question for another time. Because of all the things that that identity owns, calling that one out -- why did Nephrite even bother to know he owned it? It's not likely that it was part of some bizarre and improbable plan to play on Zoisite's weaknesses if the little trickster ever genuinely targeted Nephrite ... but still, that counts as one of the few things that Kunzite, at this point, does not want to risk having to know about. Just in case.

Besides, the actual reason is probably even less likely.

Then they're on to the real topic at hand, and Kunzite focuses in on what Nephrite's saying. Nods, brief and sharp. "Too long by himself," he says. It's a clinical evaluation; his tone implies neither guilt nor blame for the four of them. "He's not used to being able to let his guard down. Probably used to use keeping control over the area around him as an outlet, but he hasn't had that one for months, either. And he's giving that up voluntarily. Good sign in the long run, but there might be some incidents while he gets used to not being able to keep his spice rack alphabetized."

... literally.

The mention of the hoodie prompts Kunzite to glance away from Nephrite again, out over the quartered circle. "That should taper off," he says. "Let me know if it doesn't." As if he doesn't expect to be able to see if it doesn't, despite that it should be all too blazingly obvious. "For the rest -- as long as we keep catching him when he needs it, and don't treat him with kid gloves the rest of the time, he should recover. He knows he can lean on us. What he needs to remember is how."

Nephrite has posed:
Perhaps Kunzite, with his tactical mind, has difficulty imagining that the reason for the crepe stand's existence is actually much simpler than he presumes. Nephrite once bought a crepe stand because he felt like it. He, with all the resources as a dark general at his disposal, with Queen Beryl breathing down his neck, with the eminent threat of the sailor senshi or some other hero on one side and betrayal from one of his own on the other, did all sorts of things as Masato Sanjouin for the simple pleasure of doing it. He wanted a crepe stand because he likes crepes (and likely, because it would annoy Zoisite).

And perhaps that lends insight into the not-so-simple question of why he still carries in his pockets the wealth he accumulated under that name. Because Masato Sanjouin was as much of an escape from the Dark Kingdom as it was a tool of it. Because he lived so long under that identity, cultivating a life for himself that, tainted as it was by darkness, still occupied a space outside of it. Because there is no backpack full of memories of a lost life for Nephrite to go back to. But there is a wallet from a life that bordered on being real. There is a crepe stand.

But that is all much more thought than he is willing to give the issue right now. The wallet is in his pocket, and that is what matters at the moment.

"Huh," he says instead, at Kunzite's explanation. "After seeing the way he uses the planet like an extra limb, I'm not surprised he got into the habit of doing that."

A small grin spreads across his face at some private memory. "He wanted to practice teleporting while you were gone," he explains. "We figured out why it usually results in him tossing his cookies. Turns out he's so reliant on his attachment to the planet, being cut off from it is like losing his sense of balance and orientation on top of going blind. So that's a fun thing to be aware of next time you need to make a quick getaway with him. Make sure he aims somewhere other than your shirt."

Now that he is close enough to do so, Nephrite slaps Kunzite's back with a resounding thump. "I'll give you a daily status report on the ugly hoodie if you really want me to. Or you can keep an eye out yourself. It's not like you won't be around." His smile is still there, but there is a directness in the way that Nephrite's red-brown eyes match Kunzite's. "Right? You're moving in with us, aren't you?"

Kunzite has posed:
Or perhaps Kunzite simply has trouble remembering that people do things because they feel like it, for no reason other than that they want to. In the abstract, certainly: people of this general age group and location and economic class are likely to be attracted to one of these sets of objects or activities. In the specific, with preparation, even: this person likes pictures of cute baby animals; set a litter of stray kittens in his way and he will stop. But in the specific on the fly -- every mind, by default, takes as its automatic first assumption that other minds think like it does.

It's a blind spot. A mistake that he makes over and over again, that he's never been able to train out of himself. He and Mamoru are due for a talk about that; but that will come later.

In the mean time --

-- in the mean time, Nephrite's sense of self is a strength that Kunzite has come to appreciate far too much, lately, to risk asking certain questions. The life that bordered on being real will not be examined, not by him, until Nephrite is firmly settled in one that is real.

And for all Kunzite knows, they might turn out to be the same thing.

The extra-limb and teleportation story is listened to, and wins a faint visible hint of actual interest. "Huh. That's an unexpected problem. Thanks for the warning." Since it also isn't a problem that Dark Endymion had, for one reason and another. Maintaining some kind of attachment to the planet. There's a question, though not one Kunzite asks aloud: did they have the same problem the first time? Is that part of what contributed to the creation of the palaces? None of the memories he has access to offer a hint. "It seems like something we might be able to come up with a workaround for eventually. Not till after we figure out if he can build up a tolerance, though. He'll need it if we run into someone who can blind that sense."

Kunzite should probably not have said that as if 'if' meant 'when.'

Unlike their smaller brothers, Kunzite masses enough not to sway or stagger at the impact. The narrow-eyed look he gives Nephrite is once again utterly familiar, and has never managed to actually discourage their astrologer in the slightest "No. I'm relocating to Qatar instead, so that you'll only be able to annoy me long-distance. Of course I'm moving in."

Nephrite has posed:
"Well," Nephrite muses, "he does have an easier time of it when multiple people teleport with him. He says he can orient himself on them. That's something we could use, if it comes down to it." He shrugs. "He gave me a taste of what the world looks like to him. I don't think it would be easy for him to adapt if all of that were suddenly shut off. Good thing he doesn't have any ambitions about being an astronaut, huh? It would be really awkward to launch yourself into space, only to discover you're reliant on some magical connection to Earth."

The mental image is hilarious to Nephrite; an astronaut with a helmet full of vomit clinging to the nearest shipmate like a monkey. It's probably for the best that he snickers to himself about it rather than share. Kunzite would doubtlessly find it a little less amusing.

And of course, he grins even larger at Kunzite's narrowed eyes. And at the affirmation of his plans to join them, however dryly delivered. "Good," he nods, "I wouldn't want to deal with all the pouting faces if you decided not to grace us with your presence." He leaves it to Kunzite to decide which faces would be pouting.

Kunzite has posed:
"We'll have to figure out how many make a difference, eventually." Which will involve the joyous task of trying to convince Zoisite to join in the experimentations. That's going to go well for everyone concerned. At least it probably won't be Nephrite's problem, unless he decides to do something interestingly revenge-worthy between now and then.

And it is indeed probably for the best that Nephrite cradles that mental image safely in his own mind, because Kunzite's reaction is considerably more thoughtful. "Good point. That is new, at least to an extent." His frown is marked, for a moment.

Only for a moment, because 'frown' and 'glare' are two entirely different expressions, and only occasionally do they warrant combining. Discussion of the apartment is not one of those occasions. Which faces would be pouting ... well. That's really a question of which of them are emotionally manipulative and some combination of sentimental or insecure, and the answer to that comes distressingly close to being 'yes' on occasion.

No comment is made out loud, of course. Kunzite only shakes his head after a moment. "Anything else you've been worrying about unnecessarily?" he asks, in close to the same tone as the Qatar comment. As if it were self-evident that worrying related to him would always be unnecessary.

Nephrite has posed:
"It wounds me that you would consider anything I do unnecessary," Nephrite says lightly. This from the guy with the crepe stand.

But he shoves his hands into his pockets again, and although his size mitigates any efforts to look smaller, his frame does hunch slightly. "Yeah. So I don't really know what I'm doing?" His dark eyes sweep up at Kunzite's in a look that, were it anybody else, would read as don't laugh. He may not have much fear of that from Kunzite, but he would like to finish before the sarcasm comes, at least.

"We're back in Endymion's camp now, but we've never really talked about what that means. What we are to him now. I mean--" he smirks, "other than friends, roommates, and part-time teleportation trainers."

He shrugs, hands still in pockets. "I just want to make sure we're getting this right this time. And I don't fully remember all the stuff from before, and a lot of the things I do remember--I don't know how much of that is even relevant now, you know? The context is all different. It's not like we're training with a future ruler any more. But I know you've got a plan. Because you always have a plan."

Now he laughs, straightening. "You should have stuck with the food question. I handed you an easy one, and you passed it up."

Kunzite has posed:
Gray eyes glitter; teeth show briefly in something that's amused, but not a smile. It is not laughter, and definitely not laughter at Nephrite. Not with the admission that follows. "An actual plan would be good. All I have so far is one list of best guesses, and one of loose ends." Which undoubtedly, when put together, look remarkably like what anyone else would consider a plan.

"Don't discount that 'other than.' As far as Endymion's concerned, what we are to him is us. He needs friends; he needs the contact. So do we." There's a great deal encapsulated in those last three words. A thousand details of disconnection and damage that they both understand; a thousand more that are different for each of them, private losses, private hurts. (Private so far as Kunzite knows. What Mamoru and Nephrite were doing for him -- makes some of his own less private than he suspects.) "The most important things we can do for him right now are be present, and be ourselves. That second isn't guaranteed; it's going to take us time to recover, and to sort who we are from who we were. But if we make any effort at all, it'll be fairly hard for us to screw up the basics."

Nephrite especially. Nephrite has, in some respects, a sense of self that's more secure than any of them. A more secure foundation. Jadeite's is resilient, but easily shouted down; Zoisite's is bright and brittle and edged, a weapon that can turn against itself. Kunzite's a barren structure that depends on the rest of them to give it meaning and life. But the trees around them, the one palace that was already living and growing and intact when they came for it, speak as much as his survival of the labyrinth did for the strength that Nephrite has at the core of him.

It's how he's going to apply that strength that's the question; and answering that question is going to take time.

Kunzite steps back toward one of the trees himself; leans back against the trunk, the way Nephrite had, and folds his arms. Familiar pose; old habit. He's thinking, laying things into order.

"Taking most of the politics out of the picture is going to make things easier for a while. Not forever. He thinks in a healer's terms, now; for now that affects mostly his social circle and this city, but that will change eventually. Even if he's not in charge of the planet, he's responsible for it." He gestures, a movement of fingers and wrist and nothing more, indicating ... everything around them, really. The palace. The place. Their shares of that responsibility. "Our parts in that, we'll have time to figure out. Likely years before we have to make real decisions." ... the odds that Kunzite does not have a sketch of an idea, or several, of how those parts might fall out are pretty close to zero. Most likely several, and waiting to see which proves out best.

But that we, again, says something. Whatever they're going to be needed for -- it's not going to be the same things. Endymion needed men who could lead armies. Mamoru doesn't. Endymion gave orders. Mamoru listens. Whoever they're going to be, this time ... Mamoru isn't looking for soldiers. Kunzite said it before: he's looking for friends.

This probably bodes well for the pink flamingo boxers.

"That doesn't mean we have no immediate problems. Endymion's going to be a perennial target by virtue of who he is; even without the political role, he's still a seventeen-year-old idealist who holds the key to much more power than he knows how to access. People are going to continue to mistake that for weakness. So he'll still need us to watch his back.

"Worse, we have at least one set of enemies who are or at least were active, who we know nothing about."

Kunzite turns his head, giving Nephrite a level look. "There was a plan," he says. "We're a decade behind on it. There was an effort to find us. To bring us back in touch with Endymion when we were children. I don't know much more than that it existed, because everyone who knew about it died in the course of a day -- except Endymion himself, and he lost his memory. I don't think it was Beryl who killed them; she or any agent she might have used would have noticed the boy." And things would have gone much differently, and much more horribly, than they did.

"So. On the one hand, we have an unknown faction, acting for unknown reasons, that may raise its head again at any time. They're competent; the first sign we'll probably have that they noticed us is someone nearly dying.

"On the other hand, we had allies; we may still, somewhere. They had a plan, and a timeline, that they were working to. Something is coming that we're needed for. Within the next few years. Short of an unlikely run of good luck, you're the best chance we'll have for getting any warning of what or when. Likely not this month, maybe not this year; but you should know to watch for it."

(It's not that Nephrite didn't see the signs of Beryl's treachery. It's that he did, and didn't read them right; or did, and didn't speak of them. And that -- doesn't matter. They start over. Expect themselves to do better. Trust each other to. Trust him to read right what the stars are telling him this time, and to speak when he's sure.)

(And Kunzite ... is doing something that he would not have done, before. Telling Nephrite before Kunzite himself is sure. Admitting to uncertainty, to the gaps in his knowledge. Trusting him with that, too)

"But in the end, what we can do to prepare for those comes down to the same things Endymion needs from us right now. Be there. Watch his back. Be ourselves. And work on getting back on our feet." There's a faint tug at the corner of his mouth. "And figuring out what we're doing."

Ideally before the next crisis hits. But how likely are they to get that much time?

Nephrite has posed:
Through the entire length of Kunzite's answer, Nephrite keeps his mouth shut. He is reluctant even to react physically, his hands kept firmly in his pockets, in case he might break whatever spell has been cast. Kunzite is actually being verbose. And honest about limitations, about uncertainties, about unknowns. Thinking out loud, confiding in Nephrite.

The hunch in his back straightens imperceptibly as Kunzite speaks. The plan he lays out (and it does look an awful lot like a plan to Nephrite, albeit one with some as-yet unknown elements) is like a map falling into place around him. Responsibilities and timelines: things he can orient himself on. And that we, offering him a place in it. Even the gaps in Kunzite's information are like pins on that map: things that can be filled, that he can help fill. Puzzles he can solve, goals they can work toward.

"I'm going to remind you that you said that," he says with a grin, "when Endy and I get ourselves sent home from school for 'being disruptive.' I'm not a bad influence, I'm just being myself."

He's settled into a more comfortable stance now, rocking on his heels on the edge of that blue sandstone quartered circle. But it's not without some gravity that he says, "I will be watching the stars. For that, and anything else that comes our way."

Kunzite is right to presume that Nephrite did not miss the signs of their downfall once upon a time. The Nephrite of the past detected the pattern, felt the warnings pressing in on him like a closing fist. But somehow the warning was misunderstood. Somehow it was twisted against them, used to fracture them at a time when they should have been closing ranks. He shared the premonitions too late. Like the leader he followed, he would not admit to limitations, to incomplete information. Too much pride. Too little trust.

But now they have a chance to get it right. Without the politics, or with politics at least delayed, all they can be, all they have to be, is friends. Anything that follows can be founded on that.

He leans over, and gives Kunzite a soft punch on the arm. "So talking has occurred. Now do you want to come with me to enjoy one of the best parts of having a human body?"

Kunzite has posed:
Things he can orient himself on. Things that need to be done; some that need him, more than anyone else in the world, to do them. Things that will, eventually, demand certain things from Nephrite that he might prefer to put off -- but those are trials that each of them will have to meet at his own pace.

It's true that Kunzite hasn't shared every concern he has, every suspicion. But everything he has evidence for is out in the open, now, at least between the two of them. The rest are only nightmare whispers in the shadows, demon-haunted ghosts at the edges of thought. If they ever gain substance, they can join the others. If not -- then let them stay ghosts. They have enough nightmares to put behind them already.

By, for instance, arching an eyebrow to Nephrite's grin. Just being himself? "Accurate." He pities any teacher having to handle that classroom without mind control. (He doesn't pity any teacher trying to handle that classroom with mind control, because that teacher will get exactly what he or she deserves.)

Nephrite will be watching the stars. The rest of them will be watching Nephrite, to make sure he comes back from his watching -- or to make certain that Makoto has the space to draw him back into, and that she never for a moment begins to think that when he turns toward the skies, it might be her he's turning away from.

The same patterns orient in other directions, too. All of them have specialties they can lose themselves in, need to be drawn back from. They can watch for each other. They do, by a reflex strong enough that it showed itself even in the Dark. If they can keep pride and doubt and fear from interfering... they have that chance to get it right.

And Nephrite's already been working on making sure of that.

The elbow that answers that punch is precisely placed, but no stronger of an impact. Gestures, no more. "Not to anywhere you own, though. Not this time." Not when it might permanently wreck Kunzite's future standards for what food ought to taste like -- but that's the lesser reason. "We have a home, now. Even if there's still a few weeks till we can move in. Let's take a look at what's nearby."

And start building connections with the rest of the world again, rather than only with themselves. Before Nephrite forgets what it's like to have neighbors who aren't trees or gods.

Nephrite has posed:
There will undoubtedly be times when Nephrite has to be dragged back to civilization. When the cold and distant call of the stars commands his attention so long that he forgets what the world is like, forgets to be an active participant in it. But not today. Today it is his turn to remind Kunzite about those basic components of humanity that he may have missed out on. The taste of food, the sound of strangers' voices, the way the street looks while standing with feet on the pavement instead of hovering overhead.

He heaves dramatically at the elbow in his side and, laughing, drapes an arm around Kunzite's shoulders. A gesture that has not been familiar between them in this lifetime. Nephrite would never have dared in the Dark Kingdom. "You want to go exploring? Sounds good to me. Let's go meet the neighbors."

Awfully mundane for what amounts to a birthday celebration. But sometimes mundane is just fine.