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[ The look on Thomas' face is lazy, heavy with disinterest not out of boredom but out of being preoccupied with the things inward than outward -- the current state of things has hardly changed anything about him. He taps his own temple with a single finger (mind over matter, Didi). ]

All life is suffering, [ Thomas intones, as if that's a good enough answer as any. ]

[ Thomas is not the only one whose face finds itself slack with disinterest more often than not. Even when Didi fights (fist against muscle, bone against concrete) there's something lackadaisical about it, like he can only muster so much effort to do one thing at time, irregardless of whether it's smoking or talking or or even curb-stomping some wayward creep just because Neal tells him to.

Whenever he looks at Thomas, though, some of that blankness subsides. What it's replaced with is too understated to claim to be much of anything at all, but if one were to search for a word, the closest approximation would be curiosity. On a good day, maybe even bemusement.

With a hand, he reaches up and taps Thomas' temple as well, mimicking his gesture. (His hand is surprisingly light when he does it; surprising given the things that it's done in the past.) ]

Ours more than others, [ he says, though his look counters this with a mild I know, I know. ]

[ He smiles, then, a thing that looks like it's born out of poor effort but in actuality is just the way his mouth curves. There's something a little soft about it and Thomas lazily swats at the air where Didi's hand used to be, response time purposefully slow.

Where Didi finds curiosity, Thomas finds a steadiness scholars of old once found in rivers and cold mountains -- a kind of it just is. It's not something he awards a large slice of his attention if only because some things are more embraceable than others, in the same way the void settles easily to one on the cusp of sleep. ]

The suppression of suffering can be achieved. [ It's not optimistic, exactly; whether it's meant as a reminder is up for debate, but his tone isn't unkind. ] Nothing in the world but the mind itself.

[ Didi's eyes narrow almost imperceptibly -- a slight pinching at the corners, a lowering of his brow. Despite the detachment that colors most of his interactions with other people and things, he can be a good listener (he has to be; Neal wouldn't expect anything less). Whether or not Didi extends this courtesy to one person or another, however, is a completely different matter. But Thomas earns it perpetually, if only in the fact that Didi isn't certain what else he could possibly contribute to the conversation beyond listening.

It's been twelve hours since his last cigarette and Didi can feel the prickles begin to itch at his palms, a dull ache in his temple. He curses again, quietly, under his breath. ] Y'still actually believe that, [ he says for what may be the dozenth dozenth time since their lives first crossed paths. Didi stares at Thomas for a long moment and then looks away, exhaling his incredulity. ] Somethin' not right about you, Thomas.

[ It would be fondly said if Didi were a fond person, but he isn't, so it sounds more or less matter-of-fact. ]

[ The look on Thomas' face is lazy, heavy with disinterest not out of boredom but out of being preoccupied with the things inward than outward -- the current state of things has hardly changed anything about him. He taps his own temple with a single finger (mind over matter, Didi). ]

All life is suffering, [ Thomas intones, as if that's a good enough answer as any. ]

[ Thomas is not the only one whose face finds itself slack with disinterest more often than not. Even when Didi fights (fist against muscle, bone against concrete) there's something lackadaisical about it, like he can only muster so much effort to do one thing at time, irregardless of whether it's smoking or talking or or even curb-stomping some wayward creep just because Neal tells him to.

Whenever he looks at Thomas, though, some of that blankness subsides. What it's replaced with is too understated to claim to be much of anything at all, but if one were to search for a word, the closest approximation would be curiosity. On a good day, maybe even bemusement.

With a hand, he reaches up and taps Thomas' temple as well, mimicking his gesture. (His hand is surprisingly light when he does it; surprising given the things that it's done in the past.) ]

Ours more than others, [ he says, though his look counters this with a mild I know, I know. ]

[ He smiles, then, a thing that looks like it's born out of poor effort but in actuality is just the way his mouth curves. There's something a little soft about it and Thomas lazily swats at the air where Didi's hand used to be, response time purposefully slow.

Where Didi finds curiosity, Thomas finds a steadiness scholars of old once found in rivers and cold mountains -- a kind of it just is. It's not something he awards a large slice of his attention if only because some things are more embraceable than others, in the same way the void settles easily to one on the cusp of sleep. ]

The suppression of suffering can be achieved. [ It's not optimistic, exactly; whether it's meant as a reminder is up for debate, but his tone isn't unkind. ] Nothing in the world but the mind itself.

[ Didi's eyes narrow almost imperceptibly -- a slight pinching at the corners, a lowering of his brow. Despite the detachment that colors most of his interactions with other people and things, he can be a good listener (he has to be; Neal wouldn't expect anything less). Whether or not Didi extends this courtesy to one person or another, however, is a completely different matter. But Thomas earns it perpetually, if only in the fact that Didi isn't certain what else he could possibly contribute to the conversation beyond listening.

It's been twelve hours since his last cigarette and Didi can feel the prickles begin to itch at his palms, a dull ache in his temple. He curses again, quietly, under his breath. ] Y'still actually believe that, [ he says for what may be the dozenth dozenth time since their lives first crossed paths. Didi stares at Thomas for a long moment and then looks away, exhaling his incredulity. ] Somethin' not right about you, Thomas.

[ It would be fondly said if Didi were a fond person, but he isn't, so it sounds more or less matter-of-fact. ]