#also somebody tell me why Soleiel refers to Hae-Geon by his full name because I myself would not be able to tell you why IT JUST--

[mythvoiced]

@theimpalpable​ | "I don't often get the chance to talk to someone like you." (Maybe for...Hae-Geon and Soleiel? IF YOU THINK IT'S FITTING, OF COURSE, IF NOT, FEEL FREE TO DISMISS UwU) 400 RANDOM DIALOGUE PROMPTS

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The intricacies of Soleiel’s mind are not for them to explore.

The mere acknowledgement that they’re indeed a possessor of wits that would qualify for the descriptive mind is perhaps already beyond the limitations of what a being of their calibre, of their essence, is supposed to busy themself with, but there’s a lot here that a handful up above might consider so truly and utterly beyond what Soleiel is meant to achieve on Earth, that this would be the least of the things mentioned on a list Soleiel is as aware of as they’re unwilling to vocalise.

It wasn’t their intention, they’ll be truthful in these regards, and in most others as well, not only because they understand the power of words intimately enough that they feel their touch on layers of their being nothing should be given access to, but because Soleiel simply wouldn’t lie to Hae-Geon. And that, too, wasn’t their intention.

Angels aren’t allowed favourites, they’ll make this clear for as long as they can, because it is safer to claim universal truths over and over again and let them defend your stance, rather than uncover the reality they’re hiding, and face the consequences that not even Soleiel can foresee. But as they do with places and colours, as they do with snow and sun, mountain and beach, up and down, left and right, they reclaim universal truths with meaningful stares and a gaze that won’t quite waver, deeply set on the back of Hae-Geon’s head as the tailor moves within his world in a way the angel imagines only he is truly allowed to.

Little crevices hidden within the vastness of the universe, how can Soleiel not be curious to uncover their little nooks and crannies? How can they resist, when something never seen before rounds the corner and smiles inwardly at the type of remarks that usually prompts strangers to issue demands that somehow always end with the entitlement to ask for the angel to claim and state things subconsciously meant to defend their existence before the stranger who has exceeded how far they can take their wits and allow them along for the unpleasant journey that is a conversation with none other than the angel of discordance themself?

Conundrums are their favourites, and novelties come in close second, Hae-Geon had made up a bit of both, beautifully private and surprisingly willing to engage only as far as he may, non-argumentative but a strong debater, a mind that have seen things if only that look in his eyes is anything to go by, the kind difficult to find within a being that hasn’t lived nearly twenty lives, metaphorical or literal as that statement may be taken.

He speaks as though he knows exactly what you want from him, as he’s spoken with enough people and knows his position in the world, the role he’s played in it, well enough that he won’t allow anyone to trick him into defending nor negating it. Which is just wonderful for Soleiel, who usually demands all of this and more, but finds themself wanting nothing in particular from the tailor.

Another problem.

This.

And how angel’s aren’t supposed to have favourites. And how perhaps they’re meant to pull out more truths and dig up more lies rather than spending their time here, getting acquainted with the insides of Hae-Geon’s parlour, with his hands as he sets to work and uses them, perhaps subconsciously perhaps not so, in all those characterising mannerisms that make up being, human or not as it may be - hell, they have been told to have some of them themself.

The problem of wasting time, the problem of talking for the sake of talking, of sitting on this stool as they don’t intend on being anywhere else, the problem of tilting their head at the first opportunity of eye contact with the one they’re forcing their status as guest upon - although, perhaps ‘forcing’ is not the right word, if the atmosphere elicits that line out of the other.

The problem of smiling, unblinking and unbothered, the epitome of still waters of an ocean for once not intending to take lives and corpses as deep into its depths as they may go.

“Is the vagueness of that sentence meant to serve a purpose? How I may interpret it as I find most fitting or as insecurities most demand of me?” The problem of sitting every chance they get because they can’t get enough of being at eye-level with him, the problem of placing both their hands between their thighs, holding onto the edges of the stool to lean forward, as if their siblings haven’t always wrongly referred to them as amongst the stiffest of them, firm, eerie, unmoving. “You could easily fool someone into a false sense of security like this, Shin Hae-Geon,” they lean back, it’s not a game, nothing is, but it can sure delight like one, the same way you can be delighted by a flower while knowing someone had to pluck it out of its home to leave it there in a vase for you to see. Inappropriate smiles to life as they know it, the pure and raw delight of speaking into the space of someone who will engage, and ask right back, while knowing, secretly, how they will always, inevitably and unavoidably, say hurtful things.

“‘Someone like you’ tends to make people still, have you ever witnessed this? The way they will freeze minutely, the smallest frown, as they begin to wonder what ‘someone like them’ means. All their flaws and virtues flashing through their mind, at varying degrees of accuracy, influenced by their own perception of the inherent goodness of their being, or lack thereof, the fear of the self-loathing, and the arrogance of the equally blind self-adoring ones. But you used ‘chance’, opportunity, the possibility to achieve something, never heard it used for working towards a loss considered as such.”

A chuckle. A slight shake of their shoulders, the scrunching of their nose into their features, the shutting of their lips, as if their body was readying for a flinch, the motion of someone with broken ribs trying to hold in a cough, lest they must endure more pain than being earnest is worth: they’re not used to laughing. “I do hope this is a positive assessment. One that insinuates you’d rather get more opportunities to talk to someone like me,” their smile fades into something softer, less trembling at the edge of their seat. “Although you’ll find conversations with someone unlike me are easier to hold. That’s what I’ve been told, at least. For what it’s worth, I don’t often get the chance to talk to someone like you either, Shin Hae-Geon. And I spend quite a lot of time talking to quite a lot of someone’s. I can’t often say, though, that I do it for the purpose of actually talking to someone. In earnest. And for nothing but the joy of talking. Of company.”