[ on the other side of the confessional, sein believes he might have just had a miniature stroke. logically, separately, he knows what all those words mean. and yet suddenly, when put together in this specific context, he finds himself completely blanking on what any word means, ever, in all of time.
slowly, his gaze crawls up towards the top corner of his side of the booth, where a small, rectangular device peers down at him. he can see its shiny lens from where he sits, and he is familiar now with the concept of cameras that he knows there is most definitely someone somewhere somehow able to view him, which means someone somewhere somehow must be seeing the utterly blank yet helpless look on his face.
in that long and painful stretch of silence that meets keita's confession, and nobody bursts into the set to say they have to start all over again, sein comes to the mildly horrifying conclusion that he's actually meant to respond to this. and that seems like such a herculean task, when you don't really trust you know how words work anymore. ]
(ᇴ‿ฺᇴ)
slowly, his gaze crawls up towards the top corner of his side of the booth, where a small, rectangular device peers down at him. he can see its shiny lens from where he sits, and he is familiar now with the concept of cameras that he knows there is most definitely someone somewhere somehow able to view him, which means someone somewhere somehow must be seeing the utterly blank yet helpless look on his face.
in that long and painful stretch of silence that meets keita's confession, and nobody bursts into the set to say they have to start all over again, sein comes to the mildly horrifying conclusion that he's actually meant to respond to this. and that seems like such a herculean task, when you don't really trust you know how words work anymore. ]
...Was the octopus consenting?