2023-10-16: Everytime We Say Goodbye

• Log: Everytime We Say Goodbye
• Cast: Kaworu Nagisa, Mari Makinami Illustrious
• Where: Alba City, Mars
• OOC - IC Date: October 16, U.C. 0097
• Summary: Kaworu lingers on the fringes of Mars' jazz club scene, content to stay at the edges. A certain, bespectacled Evangelion pilot decides otherwise, however. A discussion is had over somber melodies, of two people's failures, mementos -- and promises still to be kept.

---

<Pose Tracker> Kaworu Nagisa has posed.

        A ballad has played to its logical conclusion. It's debatable whether it turned out poorly or not. Spike is still alive; Lucine and Faye were safely rescued; Anosillus was freed from the sway of that fell piano, and Anosillus II saved. However... has the tone of that melody truly changed?
        
        It's not for Kaworu to say. Even if he were inclined to change the fate of someone outside the scenario to which he's bound, it's not his place.
        
        What, then, of those who are part of that scenario? What of Shinji, Rei, the Second? Kaworu is generally aware of their current fates... and he is unable to do anything about it.
        
        He accepts that. Nonetheless, it's vexing.
        
        He stands again outside one of Alba City's many jazz clubs, his back on the brick wall as he gazes up at the gray skies. One can just faintly hear the music within; it's louder, momentarily, as people leave and arrive. Kaworu doesn't enter. He simply remains where he is, on the edges, eyes on the heavens, seeking out a distant blue planet.
        
        Even so, he quietly hums along, hands dangling at his sides. There are no pockets in a plug suit, after all.

<Pose Tracker> Mari Makinami Illustrious has posed.

Jazz defines much of the life of Alba City, and perhaps life across the struggling, wounded cultural landscape of Mars; a style of music so adaptive and improvisational that it constantly defies definition, its origins are as rooted in grieving and loss as it is in celebration and dance. To try to pin it down to a specific description of style and affectation, an expression of joy or sorrow, is to invite frustration.

Jazz can't be boxed in, and yet, it has the simplest definition of all, if you just accept all its complexities:

        'It's all music.'

And that's why Mari loves it.

The vibrations of that music are thrumming at the wall Kaworu Nagisa leans against as someone passes by. They're hardly the first. They're not even the -only- person walking by Kaworu at this very minute; eyes heavensward, it might be easy enough for them to just slip right past his notice. Not the first, not the last.

But they ARE the only one who reaches out to snag Kaworu's dangling left hand as they pass.

It's casual, the way that hand reaches for Kaworu's. And if it secures his grasp? With a single, equally casual tug, it seeks to peel him from the wall -- and towards the club doors.

Mari Makinami Illustrious, dressed in an off-white jacket draped over her shoulders, a black, long-sleeved shirt decorated with the logo of an ancient ban known only as 'THE BEATLES,' a pair of pink capri pants and black strappy high heels, only offers the briefest, passing look over her shoulder and the smallest glimmer of a smile as she looks to nonchalantly drag Kaworu along with her. She spares no words as she tugs along and pushes those doors open with her free hand; at least, not yet.

Mari, after all, is on a mission:

To toss a Tabby Cat into the heart of all that music, not just on its fringes.

<Pose Tracker> Kaworu Nagisa has posed.

        It is all music. That infinite variety, that style and rhythm that spans the rainbow of the human experience, sometimes gentle, sometimes intense, always heartfelt--jazz could be said to be the pinnacle of music, which is itself the pinnacle of Lilim culture. While Kaworu more often plays what's often lumped together as classical music--Bach, Chopin, Mozart--he does like to listen to jazz.
        
        For all that, he isn't totally unaware of Mari's presence. He isn't as keenly aware of her as he is, say, Shinji, but she is important to him too--or rather, she's make herself important to him as of this time around--and so he does make a note of her approach. Not the first, not the last, but special nonetheless. It might not seem that way outwardly, as he doesn't look at her. However, that's because he expects that if she happens to be here for him, she will make her presence known.
        
        What he doesn't expect is how she would make her presence known.
        
        A hand clasps his and pulls as if her gravity would inevitably draw him into her orbit. She isn't wrong, either. Kaworu offer no resistance, though he does offer wide, startled eyes and a single, "oh," as he turns with her. Mari heads down into the jazz club, and Kaworu inevitably follows her.
        
        They're an odd pair, on the outside. Kaworu in a full-body pilot suit; Mari in stylish street clothes that suit the Martian music scene well. Nonetheless, here they are, together.
        
        Once they secure a table and have a seat, Kaworu regards the live band playing up on stage. For a moment, he shuts his eyes and nods along to the beat, humming along so softly as to be nearly inaudible. Then he looks over at Mari.
        
        "I take it you have something to say," he remarks.
        
        It could be a serious matter; it could be something light. Either way, there's a faint glimmer of a smile on his lips too, now.

<Pose Tracker> Mari Makinami Illustrious has posed.

It's like a superficial study in opposites; Mari, who blends right in to the music scene of Alba, and Kaworu, who stands out starkly.

It hardly does the nuances of either of them justice, but there's something to be said for strength in visuals.

If nothing else, Mari does have a gift for fitting the culture like a glove, just as much as she has a tendency to be the square peg approaching the round hole. Once she and Kaworu are inside, she chats up the club staff for a little bit, all vivacious bright eyes and full of musical trivia no one her age should rightly have unless they're -that- committed to the Martian jazz scene.

The end result sees them getting respectable seating: the table isn't front and center, but to the discerning ear -- there's few places in the club where the acoustics are so clear as they are right here.

It's an unspoken gift, from Mari to Kaworu. You don't need to be front and center to truly enjoy the show.

For a while still, though, Mari doesn't speak to Kaworu. She just enjoys the music as he does, eyes shut, hands tucked into the pockets of her capris and one long leg hooked over the other, foot bouncing to the flow of the music. It's only when Kaworu speaks that she cracks open one bright blue eye to look sidelong at him, considering his observation. That eye shuts again.

"Spot on, Tabby Cat, spot on," she announces, full of her usual friendliness. "But then I saw you lingering outside, with a barrier between you and joy, and I thought, 'someone should do something about that!'"

She nods once, firmly.

"So you can see how I got distracted."

Not all barriers ought to be destroyed. But some should.

She falls silent again, as if to take a few moments longer to linger within the Martian-flavored strains of Coltrane's 'Everytime We Say Goodbye' before she speaks again.

"I guess neither of us managed to get what we wanted this go around."

At least, as far as this chapter goes. (Almost) everything went as written.

There's no point in trying to qualify it, in Mari's eyes.

<Pose Tracker> Kaworu Nagisa has posed.

        Kaworu is content to let Mari do the speaking. She's highly knowledgeable, so it's actually quite interesting to listen to her chat up the staff, and the results speak for themselves. He trusts that she has something in mind, and even if she doesn't, it'll still be interesting to see how it all unfolds. Like the study in contrasts they create, perhaps, or the acoustics in their non-front-and-center table. Kaworu's ears certainly pick up on the difference--even if he's used to being in the back while taking in the show.
        
        "Hmm... So this was you getting distracted?" he muses. "Either way, it's very much like you." His faint smile turns wistful. "...And I appreciate the thought."
        
        After all--
        
        I guess neither of us managed to get what we wanted this go-around.
        
        "Yes," Kaworu confirms, resigned. "I failed."
        
        Resigned, because you can accept what's happened without being happy about it. And 'I,' because... ultimately, he's only speaking for himself.
        
        The barrier between him and joy is far, far greater than a simple brick wall. But he really does appreciate the thought.
        
        "I heard from our support staff that you went took a trip back to Earth just before take-off," he continues, leaning his elbows on the table and his chin on his folded hands. "Did you accomplish what you desired?"

<Pose Tracker> Mari Makinami Illustrious has posed.

It's not a bad thing, to accept the unacceptable.

Nor is it, to yearn for something more.

The bounce of Mari Makinami's heel through the heat-suffused air of the club comes to a slow stop as Kaworu's resigned words accompany the melodic percussion of a piano's somber strings.

He failed, he says. A soft "hohm" slips past Mari's lips.

"'I have tried 99 times and I have failed,'" quotes Mari. "'But on the 100th came success.'"

Eyes crack open into little slivers of bright blue as she allows herself a bittersweet sort of smile.

"It's a terribly true symbol of humanity. But knowing that never manages to lessen the sting very much."

Success. It's an ongoing process. Just as finding Kaworu's joy, too. But if nothing else...

Mari Makinami Illustrious is nothing if not horribly incorrigible when it comes to defiling boundaries.

"Mm," the bespectacled young(?) woman exhales as Kaworu asks that critical question: did she accomplish what she desired?

Memories of Toumi, painted with gore and desolation, drift past her thoughts.

"No," she answers honestly, her smile enduring despite the sadness that tinges it. "Not what I really desired. But... I did what I wanted, with the time I had."

Her gaze lingers on the band. "That's all any of us can really do."

But gradually, that gaze drifts back towards Kaworu. She considers him for a moment, even as pulls her right hand from her capri pocket.

"Our place has probably already been gone over with a fine tooth comb, but it's okay. Some things can't be erased so easily." If nothing else, Mari got there before Section 2 could. If nothing else... she could preserve at least some memory of 'Rei Ayanami'. A second passes.

"I bumped into Puppy Dog on the way out, y'know."

'Bumped into'; 'lied in wait for'.

To Mari, these things are synonyms.

<Pose Tracker> Kaworu Nagisa has posed.

        Over his many times, Kaworu has learned how not to accept the inevitable--to fight fate for the happiness he desires. But, ultimately, it's in his nature to be accepting. Even with a desire to change the fate that binds them all to the scenario, it's still so difficult for him to not fall back into his old ways.
        
        When he tried to fight back with regards to Unit-03, he accomplished nothing. Arguably, he made things worse. That doesn't mean he's going to give up, but it does weigh heavy on him. His only recourse at this point is to accept what's happened, for he can't afford to mire in unhappiness. Shinji will be doing enough of that on his own, and Kaworu can't be there to comfort him.
        
        "True," he says of failure and success, his faint smile bittersweet. "On both counts."
        
        He will try and try and try again.
        
        He has no other choice but to try and try and try again.
        
        "I see," he says to what she accomplished. "I suppose by the time you arrived, it was too late to achieve what you desired, anyway."
        
        He turns his gaze back to the band. They're skillful musicians, and their playing soothes the heart. But some wounds are too deep for a balm to fully salve.
        
        "Probably so," he agrees, thinking of their shared apartment. Preserving the memory of the Rei they knew is one thing, but those exist in their hearts. The little pieces of physical proof that they lived--that they lived together--are far more easily broken. He wonders if the little ornaments and gifts he's accumulated over the past two years or so are still there, or if Section 2 has confiscated or wrecked it all. It's impossible to know, even for him. Not until they return.
        
        If they return, of course. But Kaworu has no plan on dying somewhere without Shinji.
        
        Speaking of whom--
        
        Kaworu's attention inevitably returns to Mari when she mentions having met with the Third Child. "Oh?" he prompts.

<Pose Tracker> Mari Makinami Illustrious has posed.

I suppose by the time you arrived, it was too late to achieve what you desired, anyway.

"Alas," Mari concedes, her voice, if still warm, a more subdued thing than it typically is.

"A world away when her highness needed me."

It's cold comfort that she knows she's failed Asuka before when they were infinitely closer; distance hardly changed a thing.

"All I can do now is fight back universal judgment so I can at least make it back to her when she'll need me most."

It's an absurd statement, on the face of it. But it's one she says with a painful sincerity of someone who knows what they want to dedicate their life to. In the end, she and Kaworu are both the same in that regard. Even if the people they wish to get back to seem, at first glance, as different as night and day.

Asuka will survive. On that, they can both likely be certain. But even so...

Mari isn't one to wallow, though. Her failures are something she'll keep with her as closely as her successes -- but it's Kaworu and his other side of the coin that she chooses to focus on now. She offers up a single nod, even as she reaches back with her hand, pulling her draped jacket a bit closer so she can stuff that hand into its pocket as she speaks.

"Mmhm. Outside the train station. He made the decision to leave Tokyo-3." Even if he was ejected from NERV -- ultimately, the choice to cut it off entirely was a choice only he could have really made. "I thought it was best he made it out, so I stuck around long enough to make sure he did. There are some things you shouldn't take back. ... There are some things a puppy just has to see and do. Especially when they're hurting."

It's like she told him...

It's okay to run away.

"I don't know where he ended up," she preempts, after a moment, fingers slipping into her jacket pocket to rummage. "I didn't have that much time, and besides... I think it's for the best. This is a journey he needs to take. I don't want to interfere. In the end, sometimes the best thing you can do for a person is to give them the space to find their own two feet again... even if that means you can't be there to guarantee they won't stumble again."

She pauses in her rummaging; she looks towards Kaworu, and offers an apologetic smile. That she couldn't - didn't - wait to see where Shinji ended up, perhaps.

"... I left him something to remember Vanilla Bean by. I thought it was only right to."

<Pose Tracker> Kaworu Nagisa has posed.

        It is cold comfort--for her, and for him. Yet that's what they have. Cold comfort... and each other.
        
        He made the decision to leave Tokyo-3, Mari says, and Kaworu's faint smile gentles.
        
        "As always," he says with rich affection. Zeruel usually comes right away afterwards, but... it seems that won't be the case this time around. That's good for the world. Perhaps it's good for Shinji too. This means his decision to leave will get to stick.
        
        As she goes on, though, he raises his chin and lowers his gaze to his crossed fingers. His palms, as ever, are hidden from view.
        
        "It's good that you did. Rei has always been very important to him," he says softly. "They and the Second were the original trio. I'm sure he's in a great deal of pain right now."
        
        He truly wishes he could be there to soothe it. Shinji had come to him while he'd been in detention--told him there was something he walked to talk to him about. Whatever it had been on Shinji's mind, they won't talk about it for some time now.
        
        "...even so, he is not alone. Whatever journey he takes, we will always be bound together... and he has many more who care about him besides," he continues. "However gravely his heart may be wounded right now..."
        
        It seems almost like he might finish that sentence, but he doesn't. He simply tilts his head and stares off into the middle distance, as though he might see Shinji there even though he's actually millions of miles away.
        
        Eventually, he focuses back on Mari. "I'm glad you had a chance to see him. Your presence is a comfort, and I sure you had thoughtful things to say," Kaworu says, smiling slightly again. "Whatever you gave him, I hope he finds comfort in it."

<Pose Tracker> Mari Makinami Illustrious has posed.

The original Children of Destiny.

There's something to be said for originals. For the first who create the tradition that endures.

There's also something to be said for those who come in from outside it, and change the ways things ought to be by their very presence.

For her fellow outsider, Mari offers a conciliatory glance.

However gravely his heart may be wounded right now...

"... it never has to be lonely," she adds to that thought, lingering unfinished.

There are people who care for him. Kaworu is bound to him. And besides.

"He'll meet many more people. Have the chance to see many more things. Some of them will be good, some of them will be bad..."

But they'll each bring him that much closer to realizing just who he wants to be, outside of the oppressive expectations of Gendo Ikari.

A soft exhale spills from Mari's lips after she lets her own words trail and linger. She pulls her hand from her jacket pocket, and then--

"You're right to think so," she proclaims, as to her ability to be a comfort. "I'm as comfortable as a fluffy blanket, or a smooth sax solo~." Even now -- Mari must be Mari.

"I bet I wasn't the person he was most hoping to see, though."

And as she speaks, she gently, indulgently drapes her upper body across the table space that separates them, until her hands once again find his. They look to tilt hidden palms, separate them --

And then slip something cool and plastic in between them, before looking to guide his hands to clasp around it.

"I gave him a gift with meaning, and I'm sure he'll find his own in it. He left one for me too, though I don't think he saw it that way. It's something I think he wants to be as far away as possible from right now, but I couldn't stand to see it lingering alone and discarded."

And if Kaworu opens those palms up again, he'll see it clearly.

"It's weighted in memories for me..."

Shinji's SDAT.

"... but I think it's better off with you. A memento, right? Something to hold on to, and cherish."

Still resting on the table, Mari's gaze focuses on that old player -- and everything bound up inside of it.

"I also made him a solemn vow -- 'No matter what, I promise I will never let Kaworu Nagisa be alone.'"

No matter what, she'd make sure he finds happiness, she also promised, but does not say aloud. Some things, after all, are easiest to manage when people aren't aware of them.

"So I suppose you're stuck with me, your tenacious and stylish barnacle, to the end of the line. I am a woman of my word!"

She offers the slow bloom of a smile.

"At least, until the day I can deliver you safely back into your Puppy's waiting arms."

<Pose Tracker> Kaworu Nagisa has posed.

        Kaworu hadn't trailed off with the intent to have Mari finish his sentence. Even so, when she does anyway, his smile deepens a hair or two. "Yes," he agrees.
        
        No matter how far apart they are, Kaworu will always watch over Shinji, looking forward to the day they meet again... whether that's this time around or next. And if it does end up being next time--as he told him, next time he'll do better.
        
        "What he needs most is peace of mind and a place to belong. If he can't find those things in Tokyo-3, then it's good for him to broaden his search until he finds it," he continues. Or until Shinji realizes where it was all around--after all, he might always leave NERV, but he also always comes back. Their fates, and the Evangelions... they're intertwined. Kaworu can't imagine a fate without them, for it's because of them that any of them exist at all. (That, perhaps, is his limitation.)
        
        His gaze turns to Mari's hand as she pulls something from her pocket. "Probably not," Kaworu agrees, though he doesn't assume that Shinji wanted to see him most of all--and anything else he might say gets cut off when Mari drapes herself on the table and puts something in his hand. He can tell what it is before he sees it, but even so, he uncurls his hand to reveal what she placed there.
        
        A gift... His SDAT. It's been his for so long that it's ended up a hand-me-down from his father--a tie binding him ever more tightly to his kin.
        
        But it's not just a bond between father and son. Many times over, Shinji and Kaworu have listened to this music together, a bud in one ear and a bud in another, the two of them sitting close together as they listen.
        
        She says it's weighted in memories for her, but Kaworu's no different. He pulls it closer and caresses its edges. "A memento... Perhaps," he murmurs, red eyes nostalgic. "A premonition of something different."
        
        When has it ever ended up in his possession, after all?
        
        Even so, he'll keep it safe. In the same way, when Mari shares the promise that she made with Shinji--or at least, her side of it--Kaworu raises his gaze to meet hers, red eyes on blue. His smile is still bittersweet, but it's also that much more fond now. "You promised him that, hmm?" Which doesn't necessarily mean that's what Shinji wants, but...
        
        Somehow, the way Mari says it, those feelings come across just fine.
        
        "...Thank you, Mary," he murmurs, clutching the SDAT to his chest. He takes her at her word; if there's anything left unsaid, he doesn't suspect it. And that's just fine, because this is enough for him right now. Thus: "Then let's both do our utmost to return alive, so Shinji-kun can look forward to that day."
        
        So that he can look forward to that day himself.