diadem inbox.

[unquiets]

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Voice — Text

"You've reached David. Leave a message after the tone."

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[carmesi]

( there's other colors? she just grabs at a few boxes that show an image of cereal topped by strawberries. she doesn't actually think there are real strawberries in the box. should she get him, like, a toy or surprise for each box?

hmm... )

Do you have milk or yogurt with cereal?

[unquiets]

Milk.
Please don't get skimmed.
Do you eat your cereal dry?

( perhaps he should establish what cereal she does eat before asking that question. )

[carmesi]

I don't like skimmed. I'm getting normal milk.
I have it with yogurt and honey. Fruits if there are any.

[unquiets]

Thank God.
"It"?

1/2

[carmesi]

( hey )

[carmesi]

Muesli?

[unquiets]

( immediately— )

Oh, so you liked eating paper as a child.

[carmesi]

Sometimes paper was all we had to fill our stomachs.

1/2

[unquiets]

[unquiets]

That's cheating.

[carmesi]

Maybe, but you won't know if it's true or not.

[unquiets]

( mm. )

You wouldn't lie to me.

( :) )

[carmesi]

So, you think that me eating paper as a kid is funny. That's very mean, David.

[unquiets]

( ugh. )

That's not what I meant.

[carmesi]

Got you.

( her feelings are not hurt. he's fine; sometimes you gotta be able to joke about the worst time of your life. )

We didn't eat paper, for the record. We always had food even if it was very little. If you share your frosted flakes, I will try them.

[unquiets]

That's mean.

( punctuated by a pause, a break in his thoughts. he knows it's not something he can relate to — the scarcity, the fear, the ever-present threat.

and so, for now, he doesn't linger on it. )

We've got to find them first, me or you.
But if you like muesli, you're not gonna like them.

[carmesi]

It's not.

( he'll live. )

I might not, but I can also figure that out when I try. I didn't find a frosted flakes one, but I found some cereal with a lot of sure. You can try it out whenever.

[unquiets]

You don't like "too sweet".

( the wine. the accompanying thought is almost entirely unbidden, tangential. )

You mean, the morning?
Unless you're saying you think I eat breakfast for dinner.

( he can, will, and has. )

sugar* wheeze

[carmesi]

Thanks for remembering.

( she doesn't see the problem? she can not like her wine 'too sweet', but she can enjoy other things being slightly sweeter.

hopefully, david can feel the roll of her eyes. )

I'm not saying that, but I now also think you do.

( did david not notice that they literally only had breakfast the day before, then gummies, water, and (too sweet) wine as sustenance for the rest of the day? it's not like wanda has a better relationship with food at this time. )

You could wake me up at three in the morning telling me that you wanted to eat a bowl of sugary cereal and that would be alright. I don't know when you're getting back.

I also took your car for the groceries.

( btw and fyi )

[unquiets]

( david did notice, but not in any real way that struck him as especially unusual. sometimes you just have a busy day and all you really eat is breakfast, right? right. )

I'm not waking you at three in the morning, that's not okay. Not even a little bit. Especially not for cereal.
Anyway, I'll be back before then.

( what did he say about not being a child? )

Okay? I wasn't using it.

( that is Fine, wanda. )

[carmesi]

( david draws some hard lines about hypothetical things, it's a little funny. wanda also knows that he's not a fan of driving, but normal people do ask for permission or at least tell each other about using someone else's property. suppose that the okay? answers that. they're very much not the conversation type when figuring out what works or doesn't, brute-forcing it first and then talking about it.

wanda's response is a pretty quiet but dismissive yeah, okay almost veering into whatever territory by sentiment alone. you could almost picture her rolling her eyes.

some time later, she sends him an image of her own. a book amidst a nicely-kept shelf of books, turning it over in her hand so he can see the back, too. there's an excited thrum in how she shares this, a bit of a chime𖥔 ࣪ ˖ as it were, before it fades to black.

she goes back to something he said— )

—you can't create Frosted Flakes? You changed the apartment.

[unquiets]

( he picks up on the eyeroll, and he ignores the eyeroll. it was an implied 'she can use the car whenever she wants' — or rather, whenever david's not using it — because he's not that precious about things. personal belongings aren't something he's ever had much attachment towards, part necessity, part... that's just how things have ended up. it's not like anyone bothered with ideas of mine in (his) englightenment house. it's not like it matters. it's about — helping each other. not being selfish.

later, when she sends through that excited image of a book, it's met with what amounts to a laugh, fond, bright. surprised. and then a quick— )

Studying?

( before— )

I can't make food.

( can he? in truth, he's never tried. he's turned one thing into another — inanimate object into inanimate object — and then there's the vapour, but food? no. not in any real way. the tea at the house, he could do that, but it wasn't really real. it was the perception of real, and though that's arguably the same thing, in terms of nutrition—.

hmm.
food for thought, as it were. )

I can't heal. I can't create life. I can't time travel. If you're happy with eating an illusion, a projection, then sure. I can make Frosted Flakes. Your brain will think its eating, and your body might too, right up until it realizes it hasn't actually got anything from whatever bowl you've just eaten.

Changing the apartment was just... rearranging things. Perception and interpretation. What something is matters less than what your brain thinks it is.

[carmesi]

I'll know more than you in no time.

( she won't, not really. it's this easy tug of back-and-forth playfulness disguised as competitiveness that she enjoys. end of the day, it's not about besting david; in time, wanda will also come to figure out that he isn't precious about what is his and what isn't. because he doesn't care about it, he doesn't care to explain his sentiment, so wanda's left to figure it out. she prefers the sharing, too. it's what worked best in the orphanage and the years after that.

but, well, suppose david can't create everything. )

I think I get it. But I guess that means we won't be eating Frosted Flakes any time soon.
Have you tried doing any of those things though? Healing, creating life, time travel? Maybe don't try to create life. Sounds like a lot of responsibility.

[unquiets]

Oh, yeah, soon I'll be drinking too much wine in a field and having you tell me all about the meaning of the sky above us.
Can we diarize it?

( but as for the rest of it— )

How do you think I know I can't do those things? I get hurt, I bleed or whatever. Time travel's an outright no, I wouldn't even know where to begin. Seems like it's something you can either do or you can't, which—.

( is super fucking annoying, actually. you would think he could, and yet. )

And creating life? I don't want kids.

( well—
—he's never really thought about it, actually. maybe kids would be nice, but that'd require a life that isn't the one he's lived. )

[carmesi]

Obviously. There's a reason I got us notebooks.

( she is playing along— anyway.

hm.

wanda knows that this isn't about prodding or anything, but through this connection, it's a little hard to miss the tones and shifts. the super fucking annoying is there, which wanda shakes off with a shrug of her shoulders. it gets under her skin, sometimes, how easily it is to feel david's emotions. she doesn't shrug off, though, that beat of a sentiment. maybe kids would be nice, but it's not for the life that he leads. reminds her of something they talked about the night before.

she doesn't pick on that (she has thought about it herself, but— the sentiment remains: requires a life that isn't the one she's living). )

I meant more like a butterfly or a small bird. You don't need your powers to create kids. There so happens to be a way it happens in nature, you know.

( eh, the humor doesn't land. it's awkward, but wanda's not — it's a weird topic suddenly. )

I didn't know I could heal before I did it. I don't know that I can do it again. Maybe, under pressure...

( her thought drifts off, now distracted by something else taking place irl, most likely. )