This sure is happening, isn't it? If Steven can say one thing, it's pretty much that. Jorgmund is happening. The shock collar is happening. The jumpsuit, that's happening. He learned what a vaccine is and then he got about a million of them. And now this. He exists here now.
His father told him once that he would learn to appreciate all pizza, even square, and he's left wondering if that rule applies to all cakes. Even, uh. Stale. But maybe he's just spoiled by the Beach City quality he's used to.
Honestly, he doesn't feel as out of his depth in this moment as he was before it started. The party is nice in a well-meaning, performative way that reminds him of the Diamonds. He can't fault the good intentions of what's happening in this room when there's work to do. Not because of it not being perfect. It's all about pushing through.
He will deal with the implants and conscription and everything it entails on his own time, like a professional. (So probably never.)
Steven stands to one side, picking at his cake with a plastic knife he chose in the hopes of gaining strength from the novelty of eating that way. More than a small amount of time on his agenda is sort of hollowly looking down at it. In so many ways, the cake is also just. Here, existing like this.
Still, eventually he can't help but wonder: ]
Since when did singing become bad for morale?
[ Forget the ice-breakers. This is important, because it's where he's landed. ]
no subject
This sure is happening, isn't it? If Steven can say one thing, it's pretty much that. Jorgmund is happening. The shock collar is happening. The jumpsuit, that's happening. He learned what a vaccine is and then he got about a million of them. And now this. He exists here now.
His father told him once that he would learn to appreciate all pizza, even square, and he's left wondering if that rule applies to all cakes. Even, uh. Stale. But maybe he's just spoiled by the Beach City quality he's used to.
Honestly, he doesn't feel as out of his depth in this moment as he was before it started. The party is nice in a well-meaning, performative way that reminds him of the Diamonds. He can't fault the good intentions of what's happening in this room when there's work to do. Not because of it not being perfect. It's all about pushing through.
He will deal with the implants and conscription and everything it entails on his own time, like a professional. (So probably never.)
Steven stands to one side, picking at his cake with a plastic knife he chose in the hopes of gaining strength from the novelty of eating that way. More than a small amount of time on his agenda is sort of hollowly looking down at it. In so many ways, the cake is also just. Here, existing like this.
Still, eventually he can't help but wonder: ]
Since when did singing become bad for morale?
[ Forget the ice-breakers. This is important, because it's where he's landed. ]