Kenna had a good feeling about this meeting. She was one of the few who believed in Fate anymore, truly believed, and she saw Fate's hand at work. She knew the question from Kip sounded challenging, but she knew it meant his interest had been piqued. It was good. These men thrived on interest - it was their life force. They did not do work that bored them, talk to people whom presented no challenge, nor did they ever speak of something that they could not talk about for hours on end. They thrived on passion, on invention, on unanswerable questions. Kenna was not the thinker they were, but she was passion, was invention, was an unanswered question, and this was why she belonged.
She remembered one night when all the others were occupied and she asked Yuri, the man who her heart seemed to be so fond of, the one her favor lingered upon with no real definition nor cause, why he was apart of this group. He was the eldest, outliving them all by a decade at least, and he did not have the same outward vigor they all had. He did not raise his voice. He did not move quickly. He watched, he listened, and he felt. He did not even find much cause to instruct nor challenge. He was apart of their environment, algae on a rock that the ignorant but mobile fish rubbed against without much thought. He was the enigma, and Kenna just had to know why it was he had settled with a group of such unsettled people.
He had answered with a quote from an author Kenna had little interest in, an author Yuri had adored in his youth. Kenna only knew this quote, but it came to her often, and she knew it letter for letter. 'The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.'
They were mad. They were spiders. They were roman candles. They burned, burned, burned.
Kip saw the burning in the girl. He thought he did. He was not one to invest in others. He believed in coexistence, not codependence, but he believed that there was a marked difference in those he found to be interesting and those he found to be uninteresting. His friends were interesting. He was not certain this girl was, yet, but she was not uninteresting. He hoped she would not prove him false, but he would not be horribly diappointed either. It was a disappointment that happened often. It was an acquired taste.
Her eyes were bright. He was they could reflect anything, so bright and clear they were. Fabulous roman candles could explode in bright eyes such as these in a spectacular fashion, he was certain. It did not strike him that her eyes were close to his own hue, for he did not pay much attention to himself. He noticed on occassion, but not often enough to draw the connection. It had not been lost on Kenna, though. Nor Yuri, who found he could not help but look at this newcomer's eyes. And he was not one to look at others, if he could help it. Yuri caught Kenna glancing at the young girl, who was looking at Kip. Yuri fiddled with his record player.
Kip waited patiently. Finally she spoke. He stared for a moment, as though he were passing judgement. He was not, though. He tilted his head. "Funny. I would have said anything. They're the same though, aren't they?"
Her question was better than her answer. Questions typically were better than answers though. He could always tell someone was clever by the questions they asked rather than the answers they gave. "No," he said. "It doesn't have to do anything. But isn't it more interesting if it does? The good thing is there are no right answers. There are wrong ones, though."
"Amen," Remy said, as though Kip were speaking gospel.
Holy truths.
"Wouldn't you rather it be anything?" Kip answered. "You see the difference, right? They're virtually the same, except in a few small ways. Do you see the difference?"