( closed ) life like the unplumbed sea;

[transmit]

WHO: Elysium & friends(?)
WHAT: This is now just a catch-all for everything
WHERE: Everywhere
WHEN: 2024
WARNINGS: Blanket warning for possible explorations of dark themes in general, please tread at your own risk. I will, however, endeavour to include specifics in headers if applicable.

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[transmit]

[ He isn't used to feeling anger, not really. He isn't used to feeling one thing or another particularly strongly, his fingers curling painfully into his palm. Until Sampo lifts his hand, the tension within it dissolves nearly all at once. The marked fondness isn't fair—a kick when low.

But at the end of the day, his anger isn't directed at Sampo. Gaze faltering, he slips into a quiet resignation before he's once again burying his face into Sampo's shoulder, hand at his chest dropping to circle around his torso. ]

Sure. [ It's lame, muffled, mirroring Sampo's own lack of enthusiasm back then. He feels nauseous, the culmination of all the disregard he had for every alarm bell coming to a head. Even still, he picks up where they left off in the script, the page dog-eared and kept in pristine condition despite their best efforts to throw it into the shredder and sink it beneath the sea. ] Here to make the most of it. Sink or swim.

…

What's Elysium when I have my cielo right in front of me?

[ And that simple declaration, in itself, holds more weight than any bold or dramatic proclamation, doesn't it? That's how it is. That's how it will be.

Whether his pants are still in his free hand or waylaid onto the floor, Elysium will be back to his nonchalant self, picking himself up to pluck it out wherever it may be. It might feel like nothing's changed—but everything has, even if he's nondescriptly changing into them. ]