Taking pleasure in his pleasure, Hal clapped his hands together with a delighted smile. It waned a little with his next words, but very obviously he didn’t let himself be bothered by it at the moment. “Mutie convinced me that there’s equal value in nonsensical poems, even if the only thing to be valued is the prowess necessary to say something, yet nothing at all.” Everything, yet nothing, the child, Hal chose now to actually skip along just to meet him at the archway. It looks like something out of a commercial, if only the scenery matched the tone. He takes a moment to look at it, at his companion, before continuing on.
He’s quick to match Tartarus’ pace, quieting the skip to something of a bouncy walk. Undeterred and childish joy to make his movements less dull, if nothing else. “I’m nothing if not adaptive, but sure.” Hal rubs his hands together thoughtfully, gaze traveling along the walls. “There’s very little that I can’t do, but there are some things I dedicated more time than I thought I would. Such as cooking, although you had a first-hand experience with that. I find any art form that works with molten glass to be particularly entrancing, And… hm.”
Almost as if he has nothing more to say, he leaves that topic there. “You don’t have to light anything up. I see very, very well in the dark. But, I do admit that it’s a very pretty sight.” He raises his hand up to pay better attention to the way the light reflects off of his skin, twisting and moving it around for a few moments. It’s almost eerie the level of detail that even his hands have. Indistinguishable from a human’s unless you had time and a very, very good knowledge of skin structure.
“And yourself? Hobbies, I mean, of course. Surely you grew tired of idleness or thought to pursue some passion.” A sidelong glance, “unless you mean to tell me immortals don’t act up because they get bored too?”
“Mutie?” He echoed, brows arched with a keen look of curiosity. This was, perhaps, among one of the first times he’d heard Meus drop a name. References were frequent, names less so. There was a lull in his gait, brows drawn together for a fraction of a second. He looked as if he would say more, mouth parting before settling into a thin line. Neutral.
Tartarus led him through the hallways. The walls were made of varying material, sometimes stone, sometimes concrete, sometimes tile. They shared the same hues, however, painted with midnight and glowing lavender freckles. As he walked he tipped his head upward, looking as if he were searching the dark space above for the answers to share. “It would be a rather obvious lie to state that immortals do not act up because they are bored. In fact, I daresay they do so on a daily basis, whether they are bored or not. I am sure you are familiar with the mythology, most dilemmas are instigated through such means.”
“As for me, well,” He fell silent once more, humming thoughtfully. The sounds of shoes against tile filled the air for a good long while, seeming almost as if he’d forgotten he was going to say anything at all. When he spoke it sounded more like a suggestion. Like he were just learning the information he was about to share as well. “Writing. Record keeping, as I understand it to be labeled. Though quite suitable, the storied my lands sing to me have been long forgotten to the world. Thus, I have taken to writing.” Another deliberate pause. Steps slowed to a halt before yet another doorway, the metal slab sliding open of its own according, inviting them in.
“Ah, yes. I have taken quite the affinity to architecture as well, among other things." He stepped inside, almost flippant in his mannerisms. His fingers when the tug on a loose strand of hair, turning to Meus and nodding towards the interior of the room. “My planetarium.”
