[STOP!! He does feel a bit stupid, but he truly isn't taking any chances, especially not with having his arms put out. He glances away, expression pinched like he got caught being cynical, then he looks back.
And wanders over begrudgingly, he guesses.]
Why? The graves? Hate to tell you this, if it is, I'm not stepping foot in there.
[He takes his hands out of his pockets finally so he can accept the flowers the old man is starting to hand him. Hilariously enough, he sort of holds them like...he's extremely worried they are somehow going to just snap in his hands?]
Yeah. Hate 'em. Doesn't matter if it's monument, a memorial, or a burial ground. Don't like 'em.
[He makes the exact face you make when an old man is being cryptic to you.]
Well, as spiritually poetic as you’re being, I think luck is probably in your favor there is some kind of waiting station here for the people who kick it.
Perhaps, perhaps. If there is such, we will have to wait to see when we gain knowledge of it.
[ . . . ]
Though I find it curious, that memorials exist only for those of us who have lost our lives here. The fate of their hostages does not seem so - literally, I'm afraid - set in stone.
[He peers at Mikazuki for a moment, mostly just watching the dude pick flowers idly, but also to watch his face for a second.]
On the island, we were supposed to die. Because we were already dead, and the game was purgatory. Our little holding cell while The Judge decided whether we'd go to heaven or hell.
It's not a far stretch to think this place is similar. Dying doesn't mean you're gone for good probably. You're... just in limbo until the game is finished.
And yet... a point was made to me. If we are to believe that our lives are not yet forfeit, and are kept somewhere else, what does that make of our hostages that we agreed to be here for? Even if our souls are safe, what of theirs?
[ . . . ]
Of course, questioning this point to the staff yielded little truth. Even now, it is difficult to discern whether the words on the screen fulfilled their promise or otherwise.
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No way. Not unless you tell me why.
[BOTH HANDS GO INTO THE POCKETS OF HIS JACKET...]
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mikazuki shall simply raise his own hand - holding a flower]
I desire assistance with the transport of flowers.
[you dumb untrusting teen boy]
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And wanders over begrudgingly, he guesses.]
Why? The graves? Hate to tell you this, if it is, I'm not stepping foot in there.
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Then you need only assist me to the threshold. Thank you very much for your help.
[ . . . ]
Do you dislike cemeteries?
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Yeah. Hate 'em. Doesn't matter if it's monument, a memorial, or a burial ground. Don't like 'em.
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Do you fear specters the same as Aikawa?
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Hah. Big Guy's scared of ghosts? That's hilarious. If I saw him, and I was a ghost, I'd astral project into the final afterlife.
Nah. Ghosts don't scare me. Just not a fan of holes in the ground.
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[he supposes that makes sense, in a way. mikazuki smiles faintly at that]
... I suppose it is simply how I am choosing to make do, until our paths cross with either of them again.
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[He glances away from the flowers.]
What makes you think you'll see them again?
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[he smiles faintly, and almost to himself]
Ercnard Sieghart also appeared confident - and so, as a friend, I would like to carry his confidence forward.
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Well, as spiritually poetic as you’re being, I think luck is probably in your favor there is some kind of waiting station here for the people who kick it.
Maybe.
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[ . . . ]
Though I find it curious, that memorials exist only for those of us who have lost our lives here. The fate of their hostages does not seem so - literally, I'm afraid - set in stone.
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On the island, we were supposed to die. Because we were already dead, and the game was purgatory. Our little holding cell while The Judge decided whether we'd go to heaven or hell.
It's not a far stretch to think this place is similar. Dying doesn't mean you're gone for good probably. You're... just in limbo until the game is finished.
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[ . . . ]
Of course, questioning this point to the staff yielded little truth. Even now, it is difficult to discern whether the words on the screen fulfilled their promise or otherwise.
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[...]
If you want to read the fine print your old man brain forgot, you should ask. It's possible.
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And might I inquire what the fine print said? Or is it unique to your contract?
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Very well, very well. Then I suppose it shall be a matter for later comparison.
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[jason: HUGH SWORDS
also jason: why are these swords not trying to murder me]