Sync likewise scours the maps memorized in his mind and… no. There wasn’t a Texas in Auldrant. He doesn’t inquire further, simply because it doesn’t seem important. Asking what sort of environment it was, what enemies could be found there… such information wouldn’t lend them aid here. They are all far detached from wherever they came from.
Especially when Maurice’s question veers into uncomfortable territory. There isn’t much of a change: Sync’s posture stiffens ever so slightly, and his voice lowers into something colder when he speaks.
“What do you think?” It isn’t an invitation so much as a warning. Rude, maybe not, as he’s used to people being curious on that front, but it was dangerous territory.
The way Sync says it is flat, yet his head tilts slightly, almost as if he’s trying to comprehend the question. Or maybe the why. Then again, most people had foods they preferred, didn’t they? In that case…
“Something prepared is preferable to field rations.”
Which doesn’t narrow it down by a lot. He debates for a moment before parrying that question back. “What about you?”
Maurice had mentioned vampires… and something about getting sustenance from the kitchen here? Did that mean the other had a limited diet?
His brows knit together in concern. Food is not just food! This makes him wonder what kind of place Sync comes from. What must have happened to him to think such a thing.
But the question returned eases his worries. At least Sync was willing to keep talking. "My mom makes the best spaghetti in the entire world and I miss it so fucking bad."
Well, Maurice wouldn’t be the first person to wonder that. Really, it was more nurture than the nature of the world Sync came from… but he wasn’t willing to divulge that.
Talking about theoretical food was easier.
The little snippets of useful information he gleans from the other’s words - he has a mother, they seem close if he’s willing to cherish her meals - slides easily into his mind.
“She must be a fairly decent chef then, if it is.” Not that spaghetti might mean the same exact thing between their worlds - and Sync is not so naive to actually think Maurice has tried every variant of the meal before - but it’s easier than talking about… relations.
"Of course she is, look at me." He manages a laugh. But then he...feels a little guilty. He wonders if Sync has a mom. And if he misses her. He's just a kid! Or he thinks he is, by his voice. The mask makes it hard to tell.
And honestly it's kind of hard to tell anything in this place.
"I'll have to make it sometime and you can try it."
Sync couldn’t feel any emotion akin to ‘missing’ like Maurice thought. At least… he’d never had an equivalent to compare his roommate’s situation to. Maybe that empty ache was both better and worse, in the sense he didn’t know what exactly he was lacking in regards to a family situation.
(It still aches. To watch others have what he couldn’t, shouldn’t, attain.)
“…it’s alright. It would be wasted on me.”
Not that he couldn’t actually eat it, and if Maurice actually made some and had Sync sit down with it… and he determined it wasn’t poisoned or something… then Sync could try. But any sort of enjoyment Maurice might expect out of that would be better saved for someone else.
(He’s never had someone share before, not in a way that mattered. Not in such a wholeheartedly good-natured way, something that wasn’t degrading or dangling positive feelings in front of his face.)
Maurice stares at Sync, his brows furrowed--not in an upset way, more so in a way like a person who was seeing a word in a language they almost understood would. And then it clicked and those brows drift up. Oh. OH no.
He's never met somebody who hated themselves the way he did--and said it.
"Oh, God. No...no, it wouldn't. I mean it dosen't."
It was interesting, watching confusion shift to understanding on Maurice’s features. And then the fervent denial.
Odd.
Sync lets out a soft huff. “Deny it all you want. It doesn’t make it any less true.”
He’s used to people attempting uplifting speeches and heroic persuasions when he says such things. In a way, Maurice’s reaction really wasn’t all that uncommon.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
toothaches) wrote2025-03-23 03:07 pm
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Especially when Maurice’s question veers into uncomfortable territory. There isn’t much of a change: Sync’s posture stiffens ever so slightly, and his voice lowers into something colder when he speaks.
“What do you think?” It isn’t an invitation so much as a warning. Rude, maybe not, as he’s used to people being curious on that front, but it was dangerous territory.
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Why? Sync hadn’t wanted Maurice to pry, so this should be ideal.
Except, when you share a room with someone, it’s a lot harder to simply walk away from the emotions his barbed comments leave in their wake.
So the teen lets out a half-huff, half-sigh, one leg propped on his bed. “Ask something else. Not too personal.”
Unless Maurice wants Sync prying into all of his uncomfortable secrets.
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"Uuuuuh, what d'you like to eat?"
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“Food is food.”
The way Sync says it is flat, yet his head tilts slightly, almost as if he’s trying to comprehend the question. Or maybe the why. Then again, most people had foods they preferred, didn’t they? In that case…
“Something prepared is preferable to field rations.”
Which doesn’t narrow it down by a lot. He debates for a moment before parrying that question back. “What about you?”
Maurice had mentioned vampires… and something about getting sustenance from the kitchen here? Did that mean the other had a limited diet?
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But the question returned eases his worries. At least Sync was willing to keep talking. "My mom makes the best spaghetti in the entire world and I miss it so fucking bad."
God, Maurice is so precious XD T.T
Talking about theoretical food was easier.
The little snippets of useful information he gleans from the other’s words - he has a mother, they seem close if he’s willing to cherish her meals - slides easily into his mind.
“She must be a fairly decent chef then, if it is.” Not that spaghetti might mean the same exact thing between their worlds - and Sync is not so naive to actually think Maurice has tried every variant of the meal before - but it’s easier than talking about… relations.
aw thank you!!
And honestly it's kind of hard to tell anything in this place.
"I'll have to make it sometime and you can try it."
He's happy to share his mom.
<3 /cries “He’s happy to share his mom” T.T
(It still aches. To watch others have what he couldn’t, shouldn’t, attain.)
“…it’s alright. It would be wasted on me.”
Not that he couldn’t actually eat it, and if Maurice actually made some and had Sync sit down with it… and he determined it wasn’t poisoned or something… then Sync could try. But any sort of enjoyment Maurice might expect out of that would be better saved for someone else.
(He’s never had someone share before, not in a way that mattered. Not in such a wholeheartedly good-natured way, something that wasn’t degrading or dangling positive feelings in front of his face.)
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CW: self-deprecation implications(so sorry Maurice T.T)
(Even if the honest curiosity that Maurice is looking at him with irks him. He keeps it out of his tone, flat and true as his words form.)
“Sharing something precious with trash just degrades it, doesn’t it?”
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He's never met somebody who hated themselves the way he did--and said it.
"Oh, God. No...no, it wouldn't. I mean it dosen't."
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Odd.
Sync lets out a soft huff. “Deny it all you want. It doesn’t make it any less true.”
He’s used to people attempting uplifting speeches and heroic persuasions when he says such things. In a way, Maurice’s reaction really wasn’t all that uncommon.