Hana "Hannah" Sato (night_yen) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-11-18 11:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | laura james, sato |
A long marriage is two people trying to dance a duet and two solos at the same time.
Who: Hana Sato & Laura James
What: War stories
Where: ...^_~
When: Wednesday, late afternoon.
Why: "It is we who are left behind. Always."
There were a number of things Sato should've been doing instead of dining Laura James. Searching for Alex, searching for Elpis (while reinforcing the measures keeping Mischa off of the god-child's radar), avoiding Death, searching for Allegra--it'd been a truly, truly miserable sort of month.
Truly.
Unfortunately, the Baku had realized (with much reluctance) that there was nothing more she could at the moment. She could not find Alex. She could not fight Satan. She could not deny Elpis. She could not restore Allegra. And Mischa, her precious Mischa, was probably thinking Sato had gone insane and would worry determinedly as a result for a week.
It was times like these that Sato felt very worn, and very old, and very, very, very alone. Even in this city, this kingdom brimming with divinities and demons and supernatural personages of every flavor, even here immortality felt like a solo act with no intermission.
It wasn't fair except, of course, it was.
You can't keep it with you when they go...or something like that.
Laura's words had struck an unexpected chord. Stopgap, she'd said. Was Sato guilty of similar thinking? Sato could accept her efforts resulting in short-lived solutions--but only in terms that nearly all she experienced was deemed "short-lived" relatively speaking. To judge those same efforts a mere salvage effort--
...he was only interested in taking care of his loneliness...
No. Sato could not accept thinking of things so, not without reducing it to a cheap score or a vanity print.
"That's the house. Pull up." She leaned close as Ilya parked the car. "Keep the car running, please; we'll be down shortly."
"Yes, Madame."
Good man, Sato thought, patting her the Russian's shoulder before turning to slide out of the car. She'd inherited the boy--man, now--from his grandfather. He was rather wasted in his current stint as a driver, really, but Sato hadn't the time to replace him with someone equally reliable--and discreet.
At the door, she knocked firmly and waited. The Baku made an incongruous picture in the daylight, her gold edged dress a flagrant disregard to the hour.