It's a clear and cold day -- not as cold as it has been, there's no snow, and no ice threatening at the rim of the fountain, but the temperature's hovering close to freezing and there's enough wind to make it feel worse. A certain clutch of upperclassmen has been in and out of class. Mamoru Chiba missed the first couple of days this week, one of his cohort who'd previously been out for medical reasons for a couple of weeks bringing in his pile of essays due. Swapping out. And the one of that batch who's always there, the short-haired blond boy from Okinawa who can twist half his teachers around his little finger with an easy grin and a couple of clever jokes, has suddenly been calling out sick too.
("Chiba-san was out last year about this time, wasn't he?" "For months. All winter. It's why he had to quit track.")
Seth may or may not care about the gossip -- may be interested, apathetic, openly hostile -- but it's hard not to be aware of it. And it might be odd to think that he knows things about that particular clutch of people that most of the gossips are never going to.
When he emerges into the center of campus at the end of the school day, though, and finds one of those people scanning the crowd and then walking directly toward him... it's not one of the people from that group who actually attend the school. Black wool coat, long white hair, half a head or more above the rest of the crowd. He'd look too old for the campus if it weren't for the university students.
What Kazuo Takeba is doing looking for him is an excellent question.
An excellent question indeed, since Seth is not expecting to be approached by anyone at this hour. He's walking out, now that the day is over, wrapped in comfortably warm clothes from head to toe - yes, he has the school uniform underneath, but are you going to make him open that trenchcoat of his? -, complete with gloves and a wool cap. He seems a little lost in his thoughts, adjusting his school satchel to his shoulder and set it neatly against his side.
He looks up at the sky for a moment, and starts walking towards the front gate. He hasn't noticed the oldest of the Shittenou just yet.
In which case, the first that Seth registers of the visitor may be the voice. "Locke-san." There is no good-afternoon, or good-day, or any other kind of greeting. Mostly. "Still doing well?" ... that almost counts. Kazuo turns and falls in beside him, matching his pace at a reasonable conversational distance.
Seth Locke stops for a moment, looking at the source of the voice. "Takeba-san", the tone shows a bit more of proper. "I'll tell you once I get home and unfreeze myself in a warm bath." He opens and closes his gloved hands as fast as he can to keep circulation - and therefore warmth - going. Damn failing circulatory system.
"Can't help with that. Would tea help you to endure the journey safely? Or coffee, for that matter?" Kazuo doesn't look aside at him at the question, though certainly the motion of Seth's fingers is in his peripheral vision. Only scanning forward, in case of someone in front of them stopping dead in their tracks for no apparent reason.
Seth Locke hmms a bit, factoring things in head. Like, 'what's with this guy today?'. He could just outright ask him - the last time they met there was a bit of a quarrel, after all -, but a bit of diplomacy goes a long way. After a moment's thought, he nods, "Okay, I guess." He pulls his phone form his pocket, and starts typing in a message. "Any good place for tea, around here?"
"It's a school. There must be." Kazuo turns his head for a moment, frowning, then focuses on a particular group -- a little cluster of high school students, three girls and two boys. A year ahead of Seth, and a year younger. "Let's see where they go."
'Where they go' turns out to be a dessert place primarily, pastries and confections, but there are hot drinks all the same. Good enough. Kazuo pays for the order without a blink; his attention is more on Seth than on their interactions with the staff. Evaluating his expressions, what's visible of his face, how he moves -- what he can see of how Seth moves through the layers of clothing, anyway -- and contrasting it against their last encounter.
The american boy just looks... Affected by the cold, for the most part. Nothing that very special to look at. With his order on in hand, he heads towards a vacant table.
As he sits, he pulls the gloves off his hands, which he opens and closes repeatedly; then, he places his hands on the sides of the warm cup, to warm them up.
Then, waiting for Kazuo to sit, he pours some sugar on his tea. "So", he asks him. "'Still' doing well. That implies you were wondering, or expecting, that something might have happened to me."
"Given our last conversation, it seemed like a reasonable concern." Kazuo's choice is coffee rather than tea, and is stark black, unsweetened and unadorned. He holds it between his own hands in a similar manner, but without the initial prodding of circulatory system. "It was a concern of your own at the time, after all. One might hope it might have lessened, but only certain people do well by trusting such hopes."
"Oh, it's always one of my concerns", Seth replies. "And unfortunately, I'm not one of those certain people." He sips his tea, the warm liquid causing him to let a small breath escape.
"Well to be concerned, then." Kazuo studies his coffee, frowning a little down at it. "If it's gotten worse, it's concealing itself well. But that happens, from time to time."
"You still think I'm infected from... Whatever that was?", Seth keeps his voice down. "Can't these just be... I dunno, natural causes?"
And in his mind, he thinks, 'Please be natural causes, please be natural causes, please be natural causes...' on and on and on.
"I think that when I challenged you, you reacted in a way consistent with certain kinds of problems," Kazuo says, matter-of-fact. "That does not necessarily mean that you have those problems. But it means that I can't rule it out." He shrugs, even, still without taking his hands from the cup. "It could be natural causes. But responding to a challenge with defensiveness, belligerence, disproportionate agitation... sometimes that is natural. But when it's a marked change from general personality, it's often a sign of trouble. Long-term and subtle influence, if the miko you spoke with could not detect it or send it away."
Seth Locke shrugs, "I was never one to shy away from open accusations. I face my challenges, for better or worse." He adds, "And twice, count them, /twice/ now, I've had an ofuda thrown at my head to see if it sticked." He sighs, "But, I guess like they say back in the west, 'third time's a charm', so I guess I'm patiently waiting for someone to try to stick yet another ofuda on my head so I can get this behind my back."
"It won't be me," Kazuo says with perfect solemnity. "One thing that I guarantee I am not is a miko."
In case that weren't already blindingly obvious.
And it is blindingly obvious, even to Seth, so much so that his look gets wracked by surprise at that reply. "O-kay... Thank you for clarifying that, Takeba-san. I shall endeavour to seek a miko elsewhere."
And then, he changes subject, "So what things are you, if you don't mind my prying?"
Kazuo inclines his head to the question, letting the other topic drop away. "History student," he says. "Physics hobbyist. Runner. Tutor. Bodyguard, after a fashion, when necessary." Which may or may not include the answers Seth was actually looking for.
Seth Locke hms at that, again sipping his tea. Once the cup rests back on the plate, he replies. "Man of many talents. I expected to find 'demonologist' somewhere in there, with specialization in dark magical energy, or something." He shrugs, "But, titles... What do I know, right?"
"I suppose I'm a student, at least for the time being. And a brother. And a father figure; mother too..."
He omits the 'it might not last long, though'.
"I don't study demons, per se," Kazuo replies. "But certain types of monsters, yes, and I spent five years living in a body composed of dark magical energy, so there are some applications I'm reasonably familiar with." ... he says that in the same tone of voice that he said 'history student.'
There's a certain amount of considering Seth, at that last. "So you have a brother. But your father isn't around much? Early mornings and occasional Sundays?"
Kazuo's reply leaves Seth perplexed. "Wait, you mean like... A conjured up body?" After some moments of thought, he shrugs off the possibilities. "Not just a brother; a sister, too", he replies. "And my father is more like, 'never around, always working, doesn't bother'. My brother's his assistant, but at least him I get to talk to over the internet every once in a while."
Kazuo's tone turns drier yet, just for a moment. "Believe me," he says to the conjured-up body comment, "it wasn't my idea. Nor would I recommend it even for critical cases. Some rescues aren't."
He listens to Seth's litany of family, and inclines his head over his still-untouched coffee. "My father was like that," he says. "But there were no other children to take care of, so it was less unfair to me than to you. Your sister -- do you see her more often?"
"Everyday, since she lives with me", Seth replies. "As an older brother, I'm taking care of her, when nobody else can or doesn't seem to bother." He sounds protective, very much so. "I just hope I'm doing a good job..."
Aaaaaaaaand!, subject change, "You were... 'rescued'? I'm not following."
"At very least," Kazuo observes, "you are by definition doing a better job than certain other people in your family." That's a more neutral comment than it would have been from an American; sometimes, there are extenuating circumstances.
And also, some people are slightly broken, but that's beside the point.
At the question, Kazuo scowls down at his coffee, then drinks some of it and resumes his normal expression by the time he's looking up at Seth again. "By 'some rescues aren't,'" he says, "I mean 'tempting as it might be, don't think of that kind of construct as a potential solution for the terminally ill.' It isn't."
And the comment of 'terminally ill' is rattling Seth's mind at this point. You can actually see the irises in his eyes regulating as his blood pressure shifts.
"...The thought had never crossed my mind, up until you mentioning it." A long pause, people pass by, and Seth looks at his cup, still steaming from the hot liquid. "I guess it's a bliss, being blind to those possibilities." His voice struggles to remain steady.
"Mn." The sound Kazuo makes is not a word, no. He studies Seth for a moment, then shakes his head. "I'm going to spook you every time I talk to you, aren't I. Probably safer if I keep my distance, then."
"You're not the scary thing in my life", Seth replies. "I've seen scary. I revisit it just about every night. Every day, I see it still."
He pulls out two pills from a bottle, and gulps them down with some tea. "It's not you that spooks me. It's the resolution of what's past this, the step into the Great Unknown, the discomfort of uncertainty."
Kazuo's eyes half-lid, but he says nothing at those first words; nothing till Seth's taken that medication, and gone on from there. There's a brief tilt of his head, considering the other for a few moments. Taking time to choose his words, even for as simple as they prove to be. "Why would that frighten you?"
"Consider the possibility that you live your life to the best of your ability", Seth replies, "and then you find out it's not going to last much longer. You have people living for... Decades, really, and when it comes to you... Yeah, well tough!" He pauses there, "Even more, what if everything you believe in is a lie, and there's nothing out there? Is there something to go on for? Is all we do meaningless?"
He sighs, "Take your pick from there."
Kazuo regards Seth for several moments more. Saying nothing. Then, deliberately, drinks the remainder of his coffee, and sets the empty cup down, cradling it between his hands.
"Would you prefer it," he inquires, his voice and his inflections remaining polite and formal, "if someone murdered you tonight and spared you the rest of the worry?"
"Given how my last thoughts would likely drift away to what would become of my sister, I'd have to say better not", Seth replies. "I have a lot at stake here, too."
"Then you've answered your own fears," Kazuo replies. That tone never changes. "No matter what else happens or what else proves to be true, you believe that your life has meaning in its effects on others; you prefer life over nonlife, for at least certain others and for yourself, even with no guarantee on how long that will last. Flirting with the attempt to claim otherwise is fashionable, but ultimately a waste of the time you do have."
"And this is where the conviction of men is shown to falter into a paradox brought about by self-contradictions", Seth nearly exclaims. "Oh, philosophy, how I hate thee so."
"Then, why does it seem to me like this shouldn't be happening?" He touches his chest.
"Because it shouldn't." Kazuo's tone still hasn't changed, for the most part. Words a trifle more clipped. "Do not mistake an attack against you for the malice of the universe. An individual entity's malice or greed, negligence or despair, or even a group's, is not a coordinated attack on your person by the entirety of reality. It is rather an attack against our reality, or at least against our world, through your person."
Seth Locke takes in those words, as he finishes the rest of his tea. After he's finished, he says, "I'll, uh... I'll give what you said some thought, but I must go." He starts putting his gloves back on, "I need to meet up with my sister."
As he gets up, he comments, "I'm glad we talked, Takeba-san. Maybe we'll do it again sometime soon." And he starts headin out. "Until then."
Kazuo rises as well, steady and even. "Maybe," he says. "Good luck to your sister. And to yourself." There is no 'until then,' neither as promise nor as limitation.
But at least Seth's hands are perhaps a little warmer, under the gloves.