"Leila, you'll be expected to keep track of all the information while the conversation's flowing. Look of any signs, verbal and movement-wise."
Those were the commands given.
Leila had always found Hakuren to be one of those who had the characteristics of a leader - confident and certain, and the right mix between knowing what he was doing and admitting he had no idea what he was doing. Some would say Hakuren had a questionable attitude towards certain things, perhaps, but it seemed that Leila was rather unconscious of that.
She was given the task of collecting information. She was not sure how to feel about it. Collecting information was what she had been doing for as long as she could remember: piecing fragments of data, trying to find patterns and rules to explain and predict. One should think she was, as well, rather good at it.
Yet the task this time involved one specific type of information. “signs, verbal and movement-wise”. The kind she felt the most uneasy with - the ones that involved ‘meanings’, that involved complex isomorphisms between numerous systems. A word can mean this and that and everything only makes sense within context, which is only then comprehensible through some meta-context which is the entire environment, and the events preceding and not yet arrived. She admired those who mastered the art of conversation because she believed they were those who had the window that provided a clear view of the human soul. There might be a few in their lot, but Leila did not consider herself one of them. Hakuren himself, perhaps? Or the newcomer, Leon? “This is where fifteen years of playing the lovable, welcoming host”, the boy said.
The weirdest thing about reading people is the fact that you need to be able to read people to know whether they’re doing it themselves.
Sigh.
Collecting information being a task also meant requirement of concentration. No attention floating away, thoughts wondering, train of thinking going off rails. She had to focus on one type of information and to force herself to become indifferent of the others.
An absolute pain, she considered that.
Yet she decided to aid the investigation. Not that much of an urge to solve a mystery, nor a craving for knowledge - as some would imagine. Unlike Harper, she didn’t particularly mind going on stuck in this place, however nice home would be as well (Speaking of harper, Leila gave a halfhearted attempt at waving the other group goodbye as they departed). Instead she felt like she was doing this for another reason - however weird it is to think she would do anything for any reason at all - and she even felt somewhat ...obligated to do so?
A cultivated snail with an awareness of responsibility would, of course, be an anomaly.
To collect information. “I’ll try.” She spoke, in response of the instructions of the leader of their little group.
Leila walked along the unpaved path, behind the other members of the group, southwards, as she continued to think about the topic of conversations, signs, and meaning.
A few quicker steps ahead she caught up with the others - Hakuren, Mado, and Leon. All of the three seemed to be going about their own business at the moment as well. And then, it occurred to Leila one simple-minded, yet the most absurd little piece of reasoning.
Perhaps some things are better, or, even, can only be, understood through practice.
How exactly do you tell someone you’re talking to them if they aren’t expecting an answer, again? Just start speaking? Poke them? Pull the cat ears, like Mado just did?
Of course, none of the three people in front of them had cat ears.
It wasn’t exactly a poke either - it was a physical notification akin to a pat on the shoulder, yet the simplest and least significant form such a notification could take: a scrape on the shoulder, possibly only the on the slightest level noticeable through the layers of clothing that boy was wearing.
Leila proceeded to poke Hakuren.
The most trivial form of practice, of course, was mimicry.
“What...” she started, “do you think the Siren’s song might actually be?”