[ without a hint of shame or modesty: ] Of course you would.
[ he's smug about it, but he's plainly glad, too. even the most begrudging compliment works on a creature as vain as Tomoe.
he leads Akechi up the front stairs of the shrine, past the offering box and the suzu bell; he opens and closes the doors for him with the proper grace of a host, both hands bracing the frame as he slides it and his head bowed as his guest steps inside. the look he gives as Akechi passes is playful, though. he takes off his geta in the entrance and waits while Akechi removes his own shoes, and then leads him down the hall. ]
I have never been homesick before now, you know. [ never had reason to be. he would never have left Japan, given the choice, and the youkai side never changed, like a world encased in amber. ] And yet, with you, and with Ren... It irritates me not to have access to this world. That I lack entirely the option of an evening sitting on the engawa, dressed in yukata, drinking sake under the full moon.
[ there is no circumstance in which he wouldn't be aware of that absence. but when he's with those two, who share with him the culture that Tomoe should be a permanent fixture of, he always expects those things to be in reach. it seems obvious that they should be there. that feeling won't fade; he won't adapt to this world. that isn't how youkai are supposed to live. they don't change, or move on, or evolve. there's no way he can keep up with it, and even if he could, he doesn't want to lose anything.
it was lonely in the two decades that Mikage abandoned him, but in that time, Tomoe had the shrine, and he had a world he knew well, a world that knew his existence well. he had himself, unchanging. none of that remains. he thinks that if— if Ren and Akechi are his only two anchors in this wretched place, then he would tether all he has to them.
he stops in front of a shouji door and opens it to a tatami floor sitting room with very little furniture inside; a room for receiving guests, though it hasn't been prepared for company now. Tomoe goes to a cupboard along the wall and retrieves two zabuton, dropping them into place on the floor opposite each other with less of that mock-deference he played around with at the front door. ]
Though I should warn you, I did promise Ren that I would get you both more traditional attire.
no subject
[ he's smug about it, but he's plainly glad, too. even the most begrudging compliment works on a creature as vain as Tomoe.
he leads Akechi up the front stairs of the shrine, past the offering box and the suzu bell; he opens and closes the doors for him with the proper grace of a host, both hands bracing the frame as he slides it and his head bowed as his guest steps inside. the look he gives as Akechi passes is playful, though. he takes off his geta in the entrance and waits while Akechi removes his own shoes, and then leads him down the hall. ]
I have never been homesick before now, you know. [ never had reason to be. he would never have left Japan, given the choice, and the youkai side never changed, like a world encased in amber. ] And yet, with you, and with Ren... It irritates me not to have access to this world. That I lack entirely the option of an evening sitting on the engawa, dressed in yukata, drinking sake under the full moon.
[ there is no circumstance in which he wouldn't be aware of that absence. but when he's with those two, who share with him the culture that Tomoe should be a permanent fixture of, he always expects those things to be in reach. it seems obvious that they should be there. that feeling won't fade; he won't adapt to this world. that isn't how youkai are supposed to live. they don't change, or move on, or evolve. there's no way he can keep up with it, and even if he could, he doesn't want to lose anything.
it was lonely in the two decades that Mikage abandoned him, but in that time, Tomoe had the shrine, and he had a world he knew well, a world that knew his existence well. he had himself, unchanging. none of that remains. he thinks that if— if Ren and Akechi are his only two anchors in this wretched place, then he would tether all he has to them.
he stops in front of a shouji door and opens it to a tatami floor sitting room with very little furniture inside; a room for receiving guests, though it hasn't been prepared for company now. Tomoe goes to a cupboard along the wall and retrieves two zabuton, dropping them into place on the floor opposite each other with less of that mock-deference he played around with at the front door. ]
Though I should warn you, I did promise Ren that I would get you both more traditional attire.