[Unspoken premise: you don't have to be good at something to do it. Most things are accomplished by people who are not good at things. Action is real and worthy by default.
....
BUT IT'S HAAAAAAAARD]
That could be fun. [Pants-shittingly terrifying! But fun!] Chitose could sweet-talk all kinds of things out of people, and that was always...you know, came in handy. I think it's something you can learn. Like cooking. You'd get better with practice.
[Erika lifts her head and looks off to the side, towards the musical mishaps at the back of the tavern. It's easy to talk about how every person is a world, up in space, away from the noise and action of normal life (or normal...fantastical life). Harder to be prepared for the real thing when it's in your face. What's opening up and finding balance with one or five or ten people, in a prison of under a hundred, next to the impossible work of being a world in constant collision, every moment of every day spent in the company of strangers?
And it's not that Erika resents them. She wants to be good at this, less the clumsy effort it takes to get to the point of "good". The root concerns are gone, leaving years of rust to work off. What will it feel like to have the rust off? The devil is dying to know.
But
it's
haaaaaaaaard.]
...
[(frustrated noise)]
How do you even start?
[First you have to find someone, then you have to approach them, and have something to talk about and auuughdsfkj]
no subject
....
BUT IT'S HAAAAAAAARD]
That could be fun. [Pants-shittingly terrifying! But fun!] Chitose could sweet-talk all kinds of things out of people, and that was always...you know, came in handy. I think it's something you can learn. Like cooking. You'd get better with practice.
[Erika lifts her head and looks off to the side, towards the musical mishaps at the back of the tavern. It's easy to talk about how every person is a world, up in space, away from the noise and action of normal life (or normal...fantastical life). Harder to be prepared for the real thing when it's in your face. What's opening up and finding balance with one or five or ten people, in a prison of under a hundred, next to the impossible work of being a world in constant collision, every moment of every day spent in the company of strangers?
And it's not that Erika resents them. She wants to be good at this, less the clumsy effort it takes to get to the point of "good". The root concerns are gone, leaving years of rust to work off. What will it feel like to have the rust off? The devil is dying to know.
But
it's
haaaaaaaaard.]
...
[(frustrated noise)]
How do you even start?
[First you have to find someone, then you have to approach them, and have something to talk about and auuughdsfkj]