[ open ] birthday time!

[picky]

WHO: Marcille, Ryoji, and YOU!
WHAT: A party for the April (and May) birthdays!
WHERE: LILICO Game Center in Akihabara
WHEN: April 20th
WARNINGS: TBA

No matter who you are, you receive a text early in the morning from Ryoji (memors):

Good morning! Did you know it's a special someone's birthday today? Actually, we have several birthdays to celebrate, so join us today at the LILICO Game Center! There will be cake! Lots and *lots* of cake. Hope to see you there!

This is an open log, so feel free to tag out or top level or respond to the prompts below. Have fun!

Comments

[icyspicy]

I mean just that. Two hundred years. Far beyond the lifespan of a normal human, but as I'm only half-elf, I don't share their full longevity.

[ The absolutely tragic way she's throwing back her drink and carrying on gives him some clue as to why she's asking, so he decides to take a shot in the dark. ]

Long-lived yourself, are you?

dungeon meshi spoilers

[picky]

[ She stares at Winter, this time with eyes as wide as saucers. ]

You... You're a half-elf too?

[ She blinks and the corners of her eyes are red-rimmed, glossy with tears. Normally she would be over the moon to find another half-elf, especially when that half-elf is Winter, but all of that mirth drained out of her in an instant. ]

And you only have to live two hundred years?

[icyspicy]

[ You know, even with alcohol involved, that's not a reaction he expected. ]

Only... have to? Marcille, what are you talking about?

[picky]

[ That invitation to talk makes her chest twist a little. She must look so weird to him right now, drunk and bursting into tears. She blinks hard, feels tears rolling, and quickly mops them up on her sleeve. Quietly: ]

Sorry. I'm sorry. Just one second...

[ She sniffs, sits up taller, straightens her neck. With her hands in her lap and her voice a little more nasally: ]

It sounds like it might just be different in my world. [ She wipes the edge of her eye. ] So it's not like this anymore, but in ancient times, all of the races on my world used to live until they were around one thousand years old.

[ She holds up two separate fingers ☝️☝️ and brings them together. ]

When you mix the blood of a long-lived race and a short-lived race, it makes the— [ give her a second to drunk person buffer and remember her words ] —the average lifespan of that person revert to how it used to be.

[icyspicy]

[ He doesn't find her weird in the least, and there's a gentle curiosity to his demeanor that hopefully dulls the sting of whatever she's feeling. He just wants to know more, as is his wont (and that of his patron), not judge her for anything. ]

Does that make your lifespan longer than most elves of your world, too?

[picky]

[ She slowly lowers her hands and gaze back down to her lap. The moment of silence that follows is probably answer enough, but she quietly responds, her voice wavering in her throat. ]

Elves... They live somewhere around- 'round four hundred years. Me... People like me...

[ She sniffs hard, wipes her eyes. Her voice is tight, kept between the two of them. This bar is filled with mostly Outsiders, but even drunk, Marcille is trying to keep her Deep Lore to herself. ]

I'm going to-... to live longer than all of them.

[icyspicy]

I see.

[ There’s a bit of a pause, if only because Winter is trying to decide how familiar is too familiar with her. Eventually, he settles on resting a hand on her shoulder. ]

I’m sorry. Even the couple hundred years I get seems like too much in some ways. Too little in others. I can’t imagine how you must feel.

[picky]

[ Even with Winter's hesitation, the careful and comforting hand on her shoulder almost does her in. She purses her lips, feels her chin rumpling. A few tears fall in her lap as she squeezes her eyes. Despite every reassurance given to her before her arrival here, Marcille is still reconciling with the truth of her situation. There are others like her in the world but they're few and far between, born barren and lonely to parents who will always pass before they do. (It's likely that Marcille's parents didn't understand the repercussions of having a mixed-blood child until it was already too late. She assumes so, anyway. Who would purposely subject their progeny to a fate like this?)

She has time to seek them out, but she'd hoped to implement another solution to this problem. Here, though, she has nothing but her birthday, the promise of going home when LILITH deems her duties done with, and Winter's warm hand on her shoulder.

At least that momentarily distracts her from her despair. Her swirling thoughts come back to the present as she wipes her eyes, sniffs, and looks back at Winter with her red face and puffy eyes. Her eyes well up again. ]

And now... [ She gives a small sob, pressing one eye into the heel of her hand. ] Now I look like a mess in front of you, of all people... And you're being so nice about it!

[ She was already never going to ask Winter out, but this just clinched it. She'll remember doing this tomorrow and never want to leave her room. ]