[ Ashitaka had a certain way of speaking that Ryo finds familiar – a separated, parceled sort of cadence. Ryo had not long ago adopted it, after the advent of his father’s death, the legacy he left behind. He doesn’t sleep as much these days, as much as he dreams restlessly and finds himself half-awake in bed, the scent of gasoline and charred skin permeating the thoughts he has in-and-out of consciousness. If there’s any interruption, it’s rarely kind to him – any pleasant dreams have become sore in profound absence and the ones that have haunted him since he could remember, those bright and full of light, left him even less likely to sleep than before.
But still, there’s a sharpness that resembles his own in structure – the blade different, but the composition seems a curious parallel, one that he notices when Ashitaka confirms his suspicions that no one else would likely care as much as they chose to. It’s something that comes only with an understanding of the true nature of humanity, of all living things.
Yet, as Ashitaka reveals more about his own home, there’s something Ryo’s expression that comes through at the edges. It’s something unknown, untouched. He has no cognizance of it while Ashitaka talks, but the distance between where he is and where he seems to be is almost incalculable. Whatever it is in what Ashitaka says, it hooked in him something almost instinctual, primal. He’s always felt at home amongst the nature that spanned on around him, but he never understood why it was that he did. It was something ineffable, ingrained deep into his skin – into his flesh and bones, the very chemical structure of him. There was something to be said for the concept of “genetic memory” – individual ontogenesis. There were some things he was not capable of understanding, some things that were bound to destroy him if he did. But, the appeal in the knowledge and the odd feeling of being bereft seems to go as soon as it floods in. Like stars dotting out under sunlight, too dim to be seen whenever it rose to the forefront again.
And Ryo, as he becomes more present, is just like that.
In an odd pause, Ryo's knuckles go whiter, only briefly, before he lets out a laugh. Unable to keep it in, it’s a tight, nervous sound – painful in its origin. He can’t look up, but under the dark of his lashes, his eyes are almost too blue against the dim. It’s almost too on the nose, he thinks. It’s something that he probably should have thought a long time ago. ]
If that’s what you’d like to call it, [ he says, at once soft and sardonic. A terrible inheritance would have been more apt, but – finally, he lifts his gaze from the ground beneath their feet. He doesn’t look so much at Ashitaka as much as he looks past him, unseeing. ] A curse, an inheritance, ill fortune – what do you name something that inevitably touches everyone? [ Whether he means it is something exclusive to his world or not – himself or not – he doesn’t specify. He doesn’t even let go of the lapel of his coat, only breathes out after a long moment. ] There’s a reason you’re asking me this.
[ Ryo might not care for many, but there’s something to be said for what he does know about humans and how they work. He doesn’t form a question around what it is he says, but the question exists in the speculation. It does not expect, but it lingers nonetheless. ]
no subject
But still, there’s a sharpness that resembles his own in structure – the blade different, but the composition seems a curious parallel, one that he notices when Ashitaka confirms his suspicions that no one else would likely care as much as they chose to. It’s something that comes only with an understanding of the true nature of humanity, of all living things.
Yet, as Ashitaka reveals more about his own home, there’s something Ryo’s expression that comes through at the edges. It’s something unknown, untouched. He has no cognizance of it while Ashitaka talks, but the distance between where he is and where he seems to be is almost incalculable. Whatever it is in what Ashitaka says, it hooked in him something almost instinctual, primal. He’s always felt at home amongst the nature that spanned on around him, but he never understood why it was that he did. It was something ineffable, ingrained deep into his skin – into his flesh and bones, the very chemical structure of him. There was something to be said for the concept of “genetic memory” – individual ontogenesis. There were some things he was not capable of understanding, some things that were bound to destroy him if he did. But, the appeal in the knowledge and the odd feeling of being bereft seems to go as soon as it floods in. Like stars dotting out under sunlight, too dim to be seen whenever it rose to the forefront again.
And Ryo, as he becomes more present, is just like that.
In an odd pause, Ryo's knuckles go whiter, only briefly, before he lets out a laugh. Unable to keep it in, it’s a tight, nervous sound – painful in its origin. He can’t look up, but under the dark of his lashes, his eyes are almost too blue against the dim. It’s almost too on the nose, he thinks. It’s something that he probably should have thought a long time ago. ]
If that’s what you’d like to call it, [ he says, at once soft and sardonic. A terrible inheritance would have been more apt, but – finally, he lifts his gaze from the ground beneath their feet. He doesn’t look so much at Ashitaka as much as he looks past him, unseeing. ] A curse, an inheritance, ill fortune – what do you name something that inevitably touches everyone? [ Whether he means it is something exclusive to his world or not – himself or not – he doesn’t specify. He doesn’t even let go of the lapel of his coat, only breathes out after a long moment. ] There’s a reason you’re asking me this.
[ Ryo might not care for many, but there’s something to be said for what he does know about humans and how they work. He doesn’t form a question around what it is he says, but the question exists in the speculation. It does not expect, but it lingers nonetheless. ]