#* chiyo.

there’s no reaction similar to one’s stomach turning, and no grimace to sour her face. whatever reservations she might have are set aside quite easily, to be dealt with later or not at all. she steps closer, reaches for the cloth as though she’d like to take it, take over this part --- arrow’s done enough --- but stops, unwilling to grab at anyone without a great deal of permission. it might look like fear, but chiyo’s not programmed to be afraid. she’s programmed to be polite. 

she almost feels bad about the inevitable interruption her existence is causing.

it makes little difference to her, in the long run.

in the short run too, if we're honest.

"i have no natural inclination toward politeness. human-enforced social structures are not an inherent part of my existence."

"it is only a feeling."

she says it so easily, so certain. still, with such gentleness.

a bird sings somewhere nearby. sunlight streams in through the open window. leaves rustle, and a light breeze reaches them inside. chiyo is thankful for the time, albeit expecting it to end quickly; she's grateful to have life inside her home.

nothing's ever that simple.

it's difficult for her to reconcile with the idea that tadao has ever done anything that might be considered bad. daichi thinks tadao is bad. but that's because daichi is bad.

right.

she deflects.

a history of impossible places

don't judge yourself by impossible metrics.

a history of wild places

a history of wild places

they've both been standing here long enough for it to be uncomfortable for anyone who isn't her.

the rain refracts the light in an interesting way, like each little water droplet has crystallised into a prism with hard edges. chiyo could watch nothing at all for the rest of her life and be perfectly content. but it's nice to be amused.

area x (probably) can't hurt her. maybe that's why they brought her here.