[L and the SQUIP are well-matched in some ways and an odd pair in others. The SQUIP always collected lovers, not perhaps a ridiculous amount of them but a significantly more than L has had over the course of his entire life. In fact, it really has been just the SQUIP, all the way back to his very first embrace. That doubtless colors his bias more than a little bit, and he realizes as much, but at that point dismissing it as a mere matter of the heart would be cruel, even for a man who would dismiss it himself as a knee-jerk reaction.
L listens, more receptive than he would be for most. His respect and admiration for Myr are open secrets at this point, to the point that even the SQUIP probably wouldn't be surprised to learn that they're conversing this way so soon after the kind of event that would absolutely shatter most positive rapport.
L's a different breed, though. Warped, twisted at the roots. Respect and admiration have nothing at all to do with one's willingness to inflict harm on another person; in fact, one's willingness and ability might actually contribute to it in his sad and very strange book.
His glance is furtive, quickly averted at the observation and the offer. Myr's right; it's not easy. But talking about anything that is not easy is something that immediately shuts L down, as the SQUIP ironically knows very well. Emotions are infant for L, incomprehensible and wailing. Their needs can be quieted through tender, attentive care or eventual cruel starvation, and it doesn't take a genius of his caliber to figure out which the years have favored in his unique, isolated situation.]
I'll... keep it in mind, thanks...
[The thanks, at least, are sincere, even if his intent to ever take Myr up on such an offer is uncertain.
He listens, glad and grateful for an immersive, if brief, escape from his troubles. He shrugs one shoulder, drawing his own mouth up in an awkward half-smile to mirror his companion's; he's often mistaken for being younger by at least several years.]
It's... customary to have cake. Candles, one for each year, balloons... friends bring gifts. I think that adults congregate for dinner and drinks, something like that.
[It's notable that he isn't actually sure.]
My birthday is... a date where it's customary to wear masks. Crime rates spike; the world goes mad for a little while. Why...
[He cringes slightly, feeling the chill again, realizing how close he's creeping toward danger and reigning back.]
no subject
L listens, more receptive than he would be for most. His respect and admiration for Myr are open secrets at this point, to the point that even the SQUIP probably wouldn't be surprised to learn that they're conversing this way so soon after the kind of event that would absolutely shatter most positive rapport.
L's a different breed, though. Warped, twisted at the roots. Respect and admiration have nothing at all to do with one's willingness to inflict harm on another person; in fact, one's willingness and ability might actually contribute to it in his sad and very strange book.
His glance is furtive, quickly averted at the observation and the offer. Myr's right; it's not easy. But talking about anything that is not easy is something that immediately shuts L down, as the SQUIP ironically knows very well. Emotions are infant for L, incomprehensible and wailing. Their needs can be quieted through tender, attentive care or eventual cruel starvation, and it doesn't take a genius of his caliber to figure out which the years have favored in his unique, isolated situation.]
I'll... keep it in mind, thanks...
[The thanks, at least, are sincere, even if his intent to ever take Myr up on such an offer is uncertain.
He listens, glad and grateful for an immersive, if brief, escape from his troubles. He shrugs one shoulder, drawing his own mouth up in an awkward half-smile to mirror his companion's; he's often mistaken for being younger by at least several years.]
It's... customary to have cake. Candles, one for each year, balloons... friends bring gifts. I think that adults congregate for dinner and drinks, something like that.
[It's notable that he isn't actually sure.]
My birthday is... a date where it's customary to wear masks. Crime rates spike; the world goes mad for a little while. Why...
[He cringes slightly, feeling the chill again, realizing how close he's creeping toward danger and reigning back.]
Why did you need to choose a birthday, Myr?