Mist appeared, forming her own image. Sirpa kept it in view for a moment, then looked away. She repeated this with the image of Jay---looking just long enough to see what was there, then averting her gaze.

Sirpa sighed and sat silently, letting the creature's words stew in her brain. She decided it was right and, as uncomfortable as it felt, she probably had more in common with Jay than she'd wanted to admit. That was the point. But it was okay.

It was okay.

It was okay.

The creature's voice echoed in her head. She didn't want it, but she allowed it. No, accepted it. She didn't push it away. Was she being open, or was she finding new ways to make herself uncomfortable?

"...something they know how to live with." That one stuck out. She'd thought about that before. She wanted to know how to live peacefully, and with grace, for more than a day or two. But what if she didn't really want that, and she instead wanted to hurt? She didn't really want to hurt, did she?

The beginning of a spike of anxiety was interrupted by the creature's gentle hands on hers. A tad unsettling visually, but otherwise comforting. Sirpa looked up to meet the creature's gaze as it spoke to her, her frustration from minutes before mostly pacified. She took a deep breath.

The lights in the room gradually brightened to their original state and the people around her started to move and look alive again. Sirpa looked from Jay to the creature and back again. She forced herself to speak.

"Sorry," she said, her gaze holding Jay's for a moment and then darting away. She paused to gather her words, lightly fidgeting with the blanket. She spoke in a measured tone. "Yeah, I just meant that out of all the places you could go, why choose here? It's..." Unpleasant? No, not really. The coffee shop was quite cozy, actually. "...odd here." She looked up at Jay again, awaiting an answer.

Good thing Silver Blade seemed to have something in mind after they took her hand. Because Jay certainly didn’t. They’d been about half a second away from two strangers just... holding hands. Staring at each other. Waiting for someone to do something.

Silver Blade escorted them back to the circle like a proper gentleman.

Now came the logistical problem of where to sit.

Specifically: how to avoid seeing Sirpa’s expression. Disappointment was hard enough when it was aimed at you directly. Catching it in glances, over and over—that was its own special kind of torture. Jay was scanning the available chairs and running calculations when Sirpa spoke.

“Sorry.”

Jay blinked.

“I just meant that out of all the places you could go, why choose here? It’s...odd here.”

It didn’t actually have to be here specifically; it could’ve been anywhere. The answer was about to leave their mouth when another thought cut across it:

That’s not entirely true, is it?

She was right. There were plenty of other places Jay could’ve gone. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t thought about it.

“Because.” Jay took a breath. Let it out. Took another. “There’s a chance the people I mentioned will see this.”

Part of them wanted those people to see this. They also really didn’t. Not that they’d look anyway. Jay couldn’t even see their names without their gut souring. Why would they be any different? Easy, you never mattered to them.

They picked a seat, left one empty between themselves and Sirpa. When they looked up, the Moderator was sitting directly across from them. She’d been next to Sirpa a moment ago. Hadn’t she? Must’ve glitched.

Jay fidgeted with their fingers.
Interlaced them.
Pulled them apart.
Repeated.

Was it okay to just... start? It seemed like it might be. But what if Jay had barged in on something? They’d just have to trust the others would say something if there was a problem.

And then the intrusive thought invited itself back:

What? Like how you trusted them?

Jay closed their eyes. “How do you know someone’s your friend? Like... what makes them a friend and not just... someone you know?”

"Nice to meetcha, Stylus," Damien said with a large grin. He took a sip of his coffee and looked across the table at the wyrm when he spoke.

"Silas." Vicis had dragged the name out as if he were tasting it, a tease of an appetizer before the big meal. But the twinkle in Damien's eyes dimmed when he spoke again.

"Damien rose here from the depths of Hell to sample their beverages." It still made him chuckle, just a small and silent one. If only it were as simple as that. I'm here because I wanted to be dead.

Another sip of his coffee. A quick glance away while he pushed back the thought. Then, he looked at Silas, curious to hear what he had to say about his arrival at the strange bar.

"See this?" What did that mean? Sirpa looked around the room. There was Jay, the creature, Silver Blade, herself... That was it. There were other people earlier, right? But that felt like a hallucination, a daydream that cleared. She looked back at Jay. Who would be there to "see this?"

“How do you know someone’s your friend? Like... what makes them a friend and not just... someone you know?” Jay looked awkward as they spoke. Not in posture, but in their demeanor. Sirpa understood. It was an uncomfortably weird question to ask. She knew how it felt. She had asked it before, herself.

"I think it's someone who you enjoy company with, and they enjoy it too," she offered. "You look forward to seeing each other and you talk about things other than work or school, and you hang out outside of those things." Sirpa repositioned herself in the armchair to sit more upright. She took her mug from the side table and held it close. Somehow, it was still a perfect temperature.

“Right, no, yeah.”

But it wasn’t quite the thing they’d been trying to ask.

Jay rubbed the back of their neck. “I guess what I meant was—how do you know the other person feels the same way? That you’re not just... someone they tolerate.”

Jay smirked at Silver Blade’s answer. Because she was right: you don’t know. You can’t know. That was the whole problem wrapped up in three words.

But then Sirpa suggested they could just ask, and the smirk dimmed.

“Does an answer like ‘asking means you don’t trust me’ count as being weird about it? Or saying they ‘feel a kinship’ instead of just… saying we’re friends?”

It used to be easier to tell. Jay had always been better at reading people in person. There were cues in the voice, in the body language, in the half-second pause before a laugh that told you whether it was real. When they were younger, they could even feel the moment it happened. A spark, a buzz. Something that lit up in the chest when you knew you were on the same wavelength.

But that was harder to do through a screen. And whatever social instincts Jay used to have had gone down the drain during the pandemic. Not that their social skills had been great before all that, but they’d been better than this. Functional, at least. Now every interaction felt like trying to read a book in a language they used to speak fluently but had half-forgotten.

“I think—” Jay paused, trying to find the shape of what they meant. “Okay, this is going to sound weird, but I think there are… levels? To friendship?”

They winced a little, already hearing how that might come across. Too late now.

Other cultures seemed to get this. Acquaintance meant one thing. Friend meant another. Americans just crammed everyone under “friend” and hoped for the best. Peach culture, they call it.

“I have plenty of people I’m friendly with, but I’d only call a handful of them actual friends. Even fewer close ones.”

Jay exhaled.

“Friendship matters to me. A lot. When I call someone a friend, I mean it. I take it seriously. It’s not just my word for ‘someone I’m not enemies with.’”

Looking around at the others, Jay asked, “Do you guys have friends?”

“Does an answer like ‘asking means you don’t trust me’ count as being weird about it? Or saying they ‘feel a kinship’ instead of just… saying we’re friends?”

”Well, yeah,” Sirpa said. ”Someone who’s your friend would care about how you felt. Would you want to be friends with someone who was weird about you sharing your feelings? A real friend would want you to know they’re your friend.”

Sirpa watched Jay as they appeared to juggle their thoughts. Then,

“I think— Okay, this is going to sound weird, but I think there are… levels? To friendship?”

”Yeah. You could be acquaintances, friends, best friends,” Sirpa explained. ”You’re also allowed to be friendly without being someone’s friend. And it’s not lying to do that. It’s just being nice—and nice to be around—if that’s your vibe.”

There was some more discomfort on Jay’s behalf that Sirpa did not shy away from.

“Do you guys have friends?”

“I have friends. Not as many as I did in high school, necessarily, but a handful. Granted, people from my childhood that I don’t talk to but I’d be happy to see are still friends in my book. Just not…” She thought for a moment. “…active friends. Like, I wouldn’t invite them all to my birthday party, but if I ran into them or if I see their post on social media, I’d happily talk to them and enjoy catching up. In my daily life, I’d say I have like three friends. Sometimes that bothers me and sometimes it feels lonely, but that’s also the stage of life that I’m in right now.”

Sirpa paused and twiddled her fingers. Her last sentence surprised her. She hadn’t expected to say that. It was true. But that didn’t make it feel any better. For now, though, she’d lean into the facts. The things that were visible. Making friends as an adult is hard, especially when you’re introverted and don’t drink or go clubbing. That was just a fact.

‘Subpar conversation’, Silas has to resist rolling his eyes at Vicis’ clear displeasure of his lack of more intelligent speaking. Literally, why does it matter? They can understand each other, is it really that bad? He can never understand these types of people.

He has half a mind to say something distasteful until Vicis hisses, a disturbing sound that echoes in Silas’ ears and makes him tense up again but accompanied with a sudden thrum of pressure in his head akin to a migraine peaking during a wave of pain until it just… Feels like a dull chill that makes him blink hard a few times, a rather satisfying buzz over the initial throbbing headache he had going on.

Whatever that was, he isn’t one to refuse a free painkiller, he feels much better actually. His grip on his glass was tighter than he realized when it happened, so he relaxes his hold with a small exhale.

However, was it Vicis who did that? Surely not. If he was does he thank him? Should he?

Silas decides maybe not, Vicis seems like the kinda guy to mutually dislike doing 'good' for others and have it perceived like he's doing it out of the good of his heart.

Instead, Silas just goes with pretending the moment mostly didn't happen and sips on his glass for a moment. Then he speaks with less of a slur to his voice and glance to Damien casually, "So. Since I'm a 'subpar' conversationalist, y'got anythin' more interestin' to say than me so Vicis doesn't hiss at me again? He said y'were from Hell? Let's talk about that, hm?"

He'd feel bad for putting Damien in the spotlight but also no he doesn't, he does feel the Hell thing is much more interesting than a fuck-up of a human talking about his miserable life currently and he's certain Vicis feels the same.

In this Catharsis [+]

Silas head feel better :)