[ Today is officially the worst day of Kaveh's life. The worst day, to be more specific, in thirty years, something he would much prefer to forget— something he hasn't been allowed to forget: between clients somehow being informed of the fact in the days leading up to the event, his friends planning a blowout of a party for him, and even the Traveler somehow remembering to send him a card, he's overwhelmed and exhausted, and the day has barely begun.
He can't exactly blame anyone; in the years leading up to this, he's always celebrated his birthday, enjoyed the greetings and the blowouts, the presents and the free drinks in such copious amounts that he would invariably wake up the next day hungover and miserable. (That part was less fun, but it was a pain forgotten in each following year.) He can't blame them for not being able to read his mind— but he's miserable about it nonetheless.
Which is how he ended up here, face-down on one of the divans, face in a cushion as if he's trying to drown in it, groaning loud enough for his voice to be heard clearly through the stuffing and the layers of fabric. ]
I don't wanna go tonight, [ is the complaint between his frustrated whines. There are still hours to kill before the party— it's not even mid-morning— but he's dreading it nonetheless. ] Can't you just tell Tighnari I'm sick?
[ (He's not even sure Alhaitham is still around listening to his tantrum, but just in case, he talks as if he is.) ]
Turning th— thirty is nothing to celebrate. I won't do it, Alhaitham, I won't!
[ He had so many plans for his twenties, and he's succeeded in approximately none of them. Worse than that, he's still broke, living in someone else's house, single (and worse still, pining after the person on whose kindness he exists). And now he's officially no longer in his twenties, and his whole plan is a mess and he has no idea what he's meant to do now. ]
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sempiternals2023-07-10 11:35 am
a mid-life birthday crisis
He can't exactly blame anyone; in the years leading up to this, he's always celebrated his birthday, enjoyed the greetings and the blowouts, the presents and the free drinks in such copious amounts that he would invariably wake up the next day hungover and miserable. (That part was less fun, but it was a pain forgotten in each following year.) He can't blame them for not being able to read his mind— but he's miserable about it nonetheless.
Which is how he ended up here, face-down on one of the divans, face in a cushion as if he's trying to drown in it, groaning loud enough for his voice to be heard clearly through the stuffing and the layers of fabric. ]
I don't wanna go tonight, [ is the complaint between his frustrated whines. There are still hours to kill before the party— it's not even mid-morning— but he's dreading it nonetheless. ] Can't you just tell Tighnari I'm sick?
[ (He's not even sure Alhaitham is still around listening to his tantrum, but just in case, he talks as if he is.) ]
Turning th— thirty is nothing to celebrate. I won't do it, Alhaitham, I won't!
[ He had so many plans for his twenties, and he's succeeded in approximately none of them. Worse than that, he's still broke, living in someone else's house, single (and worse still, pining after the person on whose kindness he exists). And now he's officially no longer in his twenties, and his whole plan is a mess and he has no idea what he's meant to do now. ]
I don't want to go.
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