Friendships, in Lavi's experience, are a balance of lies and skimmed truths. Social contracts that obligate one to uphold the niceties with that much more attention to detail than you might afford others.
So in the same way that Ginshu never asks too much about the callouses between his digits or the way he scans a room for every viable exit strategy before he enters it, Lavi never presses the point about the other man's excursions, either. Maybe he's doing missionary work, maybe he has a nasty jakk habit--whatever it is, it's none of Lavi's business, even if his truths always ring a little hollow on the ears.
"It's hit a bit of a roadblock, actually," he sighs, slipping into the nearest seat with a sprawl. He studies Ginshu for another moment before he cracks another grin, moving the book out from under his arm to hold it out for his 'friend'. Inside, he'll find an old copy of Hijikata Toshizou's terrible poetry. Not a first edition, no, those have long since disappeared, but one of the oldest renditions still in existence.
"But all pursuits worth following often do, no? I thought I'd clear my head and try going over some of the source material again." He doesn't really mean books, but the people here--their social functions, how they interact with one another--that's another side of history for him to record, another angle to pursue.
"Looks like you guys finally got some sweet Aunts in here, too," he whistles, though he speaks low, mindful that his humor isn't the sort to broadcast here, "You sure it was Westerley that has you so tired, Old Man?"
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So in the same way that Ginshu never asks too much about the callouses between his digits or the way he scans a room for every viable exit strategy before he enters it, Lavi never presses the point about the other man's excursions, either. Maybe he's doing missionary work, maybe he has a nasty jakk habit--whatever it is, it's none of Lavi's business, even if his truths always ring a little hollow on the ears.
"It's hit a bit of a roadblock, actually," he sighs, slipping into the nearest seat with a sprawl. He studies Ginshu for another moment before he cracks another grin, moving the book out from under his arm to hold it out for his 'friend'. Inside, he'll find an old copy of Hijikata Toshizou's terrible poetry. Not a first edition, no, those have long since disappeared, but one of the oldest renditions still in existence.
"But all pursuits worth following often do, no? I thought I'd clear my head and try going over some of the source material again." He doesn't really mean books, but the people here--their social functions, how they interact with one another--that's another side of history for him to record, another angle to pursue.
"Looks like you guys finally got some sweet Aunts in here, too," he whistles, though he speaks low, mindful that his humor isn't the sort to broadcast here, "You sure it was Westerley that has you so tired, Old Man?"