[ The last thing she remembered of Earth was the morning after Christmas. December 26. The wee hours of the morning. How many days since then did it all finally end? How many hours? How many minutes?
Her mind is a tangled knot of too many unanswered questions and one too many speculations. Even now, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, slowly and methodically chopping a vegetable that may or may not be a carrot, Misato is thinking about the nature of living souls and how she might bring individuals back from a collective consciousness, never once entertaining the thought of leaving it be. Chop. One can experience nothing without being a self. Chop. One can't know oneself without others to shape the boundaries. Chop. A singular mind just isn't right, shouldn't be--
She nearly slices her own thumb, her entire attention drawn to the paused moment, knife held in the air, the potential motion nearly palpable, the aftermath so clear in her mind. It lasts one, two beats, before she sighs, and sets the knife away. ]
WILDCARD!
Her mind is a tangled knot of too many unanswered questions and one too many speculations. Even now, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, slowly and methodically chopping a vegetable that may or may not be a carrot, Misato is thinking about the nature of living souls and how she might bring individuals back from a collective consciousness, never once entertaining the thought of leaving it be. Chop. One can experience nothing without being a self. Chop. One can't know oneself without others to shape the boundaries. Chop. A singular mind just isn't right, shouldn't be--
She nearly slices her own thumb, her entire attention drawn to the paused moment, knife held in the air, the potential motion nearly palpable, the aftermath so clear in her mind. It lasts one, two beats, before she sighs, and sets the knife away. ]
It's a terrible idea to make me help you cook.