[A laugh at the black-and-gold comment. He definitely wouldn't mind more splashes of colour. More texture and character. Something that speaks of deeper things than wealth and opulence and the discipline of adhering to a theme. A lived-in feeling that the manor lacks with its airs of perfection and control, imprisoning for how the child Verso sometimes felt like dust in his own home, something to sweep away while company is over, or else to make presentable.
Talk of Verso's soul joining them surprises him a little, but in a good way, quieting and softening and heartbreaking. A new kiss lands on Clive's temple, and several more flutter after it, a yes, a thank you, an I love you that he feels like he can't express clearly enough.]
We can set up a music studio upstairs. Sort of a central place. Us on one side, him on the other. We'll give him a room with big windows looking out over the gardens.
[More colour, more character, more texture. All the things he'd woven into his drafts as far as the eye can see. Realistically, Verso knows that'll never happen even if they do succeed at everything they set out to accomplish. The world is far too small for them to occupy so much of its space. But it's a dream. It can be be bigger than life.]
Oh, and we'll need to get a dog or two. Maybe a cat. And some birds. A whole aviary of them so we'll always hear them singing. Though you might have to convince me to get out of that bigger bed, first. [He taps a finger against Clive's heart. Rhythmic like a heartbeat at a slightly quickened pace.] Birdsong's nice and all, but I prefer the way we make music.
[ His childhood home had been a bit like the Dessendre mansion. Less roomy and less obscenely opulent, but with the same air of curated (ha) sterility that spoke to the space being something to be preserved instead of one that could weather time along with its inhabitants. In contrast, Cid's ramshackle apartment complex― 'the Hideaway', he'd called it, though he wasn't exactly hiding anything but his questionable behavior― had been a mess of half-constructed bric-a-brac in cluttered, chaotic rooms. Lived in, in every sense of the term. Mornings would begin with Midadol's footsteps thundering over rickety stairs, with Gav's fussing with Edda and her newborn, with Vivian and her exasperated sighing about someone having stolen one of her books.
Life, uncomplicated and interwoven. Clive knows that he's changed far too much to slide back into that domestic chaos once again without it feeling overwhelming; he has not mentioned Joshua being here for precisely this reason, and also because his brother deserves to shack up with that nice girl Clive only met fleetingly before he had to leave (Jote, he thinks her name was).
At any rate, cats and dogs and birds sound a bit more manageable in the moment. Cats and dogs and birds and, of course, Verso. The boy and the man, though the latter takes up most of Clive's present attention. (Then again, when doesn't he?) ]
So you say. [ A light huff, warm and amused, as he tips close and dots kisses under Verso's chin, along his jaw, against his earlobe. ] You might get tired of me making you sing all night.
[ Easy flirting, drawing on fantasies that Clive has already had on restless nights. Maybe he shouldn't speak those into existence― at least, not until he's finished the wine.
One more dotted kiss to Verso's hair, and Clive pulls back enough to reach for his glass and drain it before he can do something to knock it over. ]
...If we change something about this manor while we're here, will the changes remain?
[Maybe he would tire of it after awhile. Not just the freedom to topple into a warm and comfortable bed at the end of the day and exhaust each other to sleep, but the whole experience of enjoying an easy existence as well. It's been decades since Verso lived in anything resembling a house, never mind being situated near civilisation. Everything he's done has been off the land, everything he knows is this nomadic, lonely, bloodied life where he feels most a part of it when death pretends to loom around the corner.
That's another problem for future Verso, though. This one lets out a little chuckle that softens into hum that itself shifts into a sigh of faux longing (not that there is anything faux about his brand of longing) when Clive creates those few inches of distance. Verso follows suit with a slighter sip of his own wine, still not sure whether he wants to stay here in the warmth or take it further into that pleasant buzz. Either way, he steals more of the taste of it from Clive's lips, just a peck so as not to be greedy.]
Good question.
[For all the time Verso's spent in the manor, he's done next to no redecorating. He's only really noticed that it tends to shift back to a state of perfection each time he's left and returned. Books find their ways back to shelves, and linens seem to cycle with the sun, and any other little messes he's made get cleaned. Little things like that. But then, the food and the alcohol doesn't restock, and there's still that dead Gestral in the basement, so he doesn't know.]
We could always test it out, if you have something in mind.
[ Clive will have to work up to his buzz again, but that's fine. He can get drunk enough on the feeling of Verso's lips, which remain the sweetest and most intoxicating item on offer in the room.
Another refill. The contents of the bottle start to dwindle, but it's fine; the afternoon stretches on, and they can go downstairs for a refill if they really want to be foolish about how they spend the rest of the day. After the startling revelation regarding the boy-shaped prisoner paying the price for all of their sins, it seems somewhat earned.
Speaking of foolish, though: ] Well. Back in Cid's apartment, the children often used to hang drawings on the wall.
[ They drew a rather adorable picture of Clive that he hung up on the apartment's announcement board, even if it didn't much look like him. Just another way to make the space feel more like a home, and for the fostered children to feel seen and acknowledged.
A sip of wine, and a reach for more salami. The furnace of Clive's body does require a healthy amount of food to keep it going. ]
...They even occasionally drew directly on the walls themselves. An 'act of rebellion against authority', they called it. Probably something Cid taught them.
[Verso looks at the walls. Sternly, they look back as if in warning. Never has a child across any of the manor's realities took paint or ink or anything else to its walls, which were to be as respected as anything else that cost a significant amount of money. Meaning that the only things on-limits for expressions of creativity were the various canvases stored away in one atelier or another, and that the though of changing those walls in any way – even if only to doodle a Gestral in a tucked-away corner – never really occurred to any of the realities of Verso.
Thus, at first Verso looks away from the walks and to Clive as if he suggested vaulting a train in through the master bathroom window.It passes fairly quickly, though, and soon that impish gleam returns to Verso's eyes, curious and intrigued. Idly, he wonders if the children had ever drawn pictures of Clive; less idly, he tries to imagine how they might have looked. He considers, too, whether Clive would still be wearing his hair the way he had in the portrait Joshua had given him, or if it was part of the before, another piece of him buried by the rubble of his childhood.
The gleam in his eyes flickers for a moment but his smile never falters.]
Hmm. [Verso lifts a finger, taps his own cheek as if there's anything to contemplate.] I could be... convinced to join a rebellion against authority. Show me your vision.
I don't have much of one. [ Double because― ] I've never held a paintbrush in my life.
[ No music, no art. Not for him, anyway. Joshua had been confined inside, and was thus exposed to more art-adjacent activities that could be done from the safety of his room; his brother had tutors, while Clive had sparring partners. Two very different lives under the same, austere roof.
So, like the piano, this particular act of rebellion-expression is new to Clive. It isn't very characteristic of him either, as someone who likes to respect space (especially someone else's).
But he's also learned the importance of coloring outside of pre-defined lines, so to speak. His mentor has told him that nothing important gets done by following pre-established rules; everything is static until someone has the courage to do something different. And Verso deserves 'different'. ]
But I think that wall could do with a bit of color. [ Gesturing towards the wall opposite them, where a framed landscape (painted by Clea? Aline?) hangs rather imperiously across half of the space. It's an artfully rendered piece, no doubt, but a bit too dour to be overlooking a playspace. ] A bit of... 'Verso flair'.
[ Whatever that might be. Sketches of Gestrals included. Clive's smile warms, and he takes another swig of wine for liquid courage (stupidity). ]
[There is something Verso could use to help Clive better envision what Esquie looks like, but Verso doesn't feel like the truth that Esquie is based on a stuffed animal is his to share. While he and Esquie have never talked about how Esquie feels about his nature – and though Verso's never picked up on any inklings of existential angst from him – he can't say for certain what that means for his big bestie. He can only look to Monoco and the questions he grapples with about his loyalty and other such traits and use his wooden bestie's feelings to guide his approach. Which is one of silence.
Besides, the thought of Clive drawing Esquie from memory is uniquely charming.]
Now, how could I resist that?
[He can't. It's fundamentally impossible. Verso rises to his feet and takes a step back, the artist he grudgingly is gazing upon wall like the canvas it's about to grudgingly become. Painting is, of course, a fraught topic with Verso still, but it's not that he hates it entirely. In not-his memories, he liked drawing as a boy, and he has to assume that his other enjoyed making this canvas world. And as a man – his own man, post-resurrection – he had dabbled when he could do so without pressure. Usually in his apartment and without his parents and Clea knowing. Alicia sometimes peeked in, though, and she'd join him in the imperfection of creating just because.
And that's what this would be about, marring perfection with something greater, so it's with genuine interest that Verso gestures Clive towards the first door.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
flamebrand) wrote2024-09-08 02:07 pm
no subject
Talk of Verso's soul joining them surprises him a little, but in a good way, quieting and softening and heartbreaking. A new kiss lands on Clive's temple, and several more flutter after it, a yes, a thank you, an I love you that he feels like he can't express clearly enough.]
We can set up a music studio upstairs. Sort of a central place. Us on one side, him on the other. We'll give him a room with big windows looking out over the gardens.
[More colour, more character, more texture. All the things he'd woven into his drafts as far as the eye can see. Realistically, Verso knows that'll never happen even if they do succeed at everything they set out to accomplish. The world is far too small for them to occupy so much of its space. But it's a dream. It can be be bigger than life.]
Oh, and we'll need to get a dog or two. Maybe a cat. And some birds. A whole aviary of them so we'll always hear them singing. Though you might have to convince me to get out of that bigger bed, first. [He taps a finger against Clive's heart. Rhythmic like a heartbeat at a slightly quickened pace.] Birdsong's nice and all, but I prefer the way we make music.
no subject
Life, uncomplicated and interwoven. Clive knows that he's changed far too much to slide back into that domestic chaos once again without it feeling overwhelming; he has not mentioned Joshua being here for precisely this reason, and also because his brother deserves to shack up with that nice girl Clive only met fleetingly before he had to leave (Jote, he thinks her name was).
At any rate, cats and dogs and birds sound a bit more manageable in the moment. Cats and dogs and birds and, of course, Verso. The boy and the man, though the latter takes up most of Clive's present attention. (Then again, when doesn't he?) ]
So you say. [ A light huff, warm and amused, as he tips close and dots kisses under Verso's chin, along his jaw, against his earlobe. ] You might get tired of me making you sing all night.
[ Easy flirting, drawing on fantasies that Clive has already had on restless nights. Maybe he shouldn't speak those into existence― at least, not until he's finished the wine.
One more dotted kiss to Verso's hair, and Clive pulls back enough to reach for his glass and drain it before he can do something to knock it over. ]
...If we change something about this manor while we're here, will the changes remain?
no subject
That's another problem for future Verso, though. This one lets out a little chuckle that softens into hum that itself shifts into a sigh of faux longing (not that there is anything faux about his brand of longing) when Clive creates those few inches of distance. Verso follows suit with a slighter sip of his own wine, still not sure whether he wants to stay here in the warmth or take it further into that pleasant buzz. Either way, he steals more of the taste of it from Clive's lips, just a peck so as not to be greedy.]
Good question.
[For all the time Verso's spent in the manor, he's done next to no redecorating. He's only really noticed that it tends to shift back to a state of perfection each time he's left and returned. Books find their ways back to shelves, and linens seem to cycle with the sun, and any other little messes he's made get cleaned. Little things like that. But then, the food and the alcohol doesn't restock, and there's still that dead Gestral in the basement, so he doesn't know.]
We could always test it out, if you have something in mind.
no subject
Another refill. The contents of the bottle start to dwindle, but it's fine; the afternoon stretches on, and they can go downstairs for a refill if they really want to be foolish about how they spend the rest of the day. After the startling revelation regarding the boy-shaped prisoner paying the price for all of their sins, it seems somewhat earned.
Speaking of foolish, though: ] Well. Back in Cid's apartment, the children often used to hang drawings on the wall.
[ They drew a rather adorable picture of Clive that he hung up on the apartment's announcement board, even if it didn't much look like him. Just another way to make the space feel more like a home, and for the fostered children to feel seen and acknowledged.
A sip of wine, and a reach for more salami. The furnace of Clive's body does require a healthy amount of food to keep it going. ]
...They even occasionally drew directly on the walls themselves. An 'act of rebellion against authority', they called it. Probably something Cid taught them.
[ Clive's brow hikes. ]
What say you? Are you feeling rebellious?
no subject
Thus, at first Verso looks away from the walks and to Clive as if he suggested vaulting a train in through the master bathroom window.It passes fairly quickly, though, and soon that impish gleam returns to Verso's eyes, curious and intrigued. Idly, he wonders if the children had ever drawn pictures of Clive; less idly, he tries to imagine how they might have looked. He considers, too, whether Clive would still be wearing his hair the way he had in the portrait Joshua had given him, or if it was part of the before, another piece of him buried by the rubble of his childhood.
The gleam in his eyes flickers for a moment but his smile never falters.]
Hmm. [Verso lifts a finger, taps his own cheek as if there's anything to contemplate.] I could be... convinced to join a rebellion against authority. Show me your vision.
no subject
I don't have much of one. [ Double because― ] I've never held a paintbrush in my life.
[ No music, no art. Not for him, anyway. Joshua had been confined inside, and was thus exposed to more art-adjacent activities that could be done from the safety of his room; his brother had tutors, while Clive had sparring partners. Two very different lives under the same, austere roof.
So, like the piano, this particular act of rebellion-expression is new to Clive. It isn't very characteristic of him either, as someone who likes to respect space (especially someone else's).
But he's also learned the importance of coloring outside of pre-defined lines, so to speak. His mentor has told him that nothing important gets done by following pre-established rules; everything is static until someone has the courage to do something different. And Verso deserves 'different'. ]
But I think that wall could do with a bit of color. [ Gesturing towards the wall opposite them, where a framed landscape (painted by Clea? Aline?) hangs rather imperiously across half of the space. It's an artfully rendered piece, no doubt, but a bit too dour to be overlooking a playspace. ] A bit of... 'Verso flair'.
[ Whatever that might be. Sketches of Gestrals included. Clive's smile warms, and he takes another swig of wine for liquid courage (stupidity). ]
And... I could try to draw Esquie from memory.
[ Bad idea. Very bad idea. ]
no subject
Besides, the thought of Clive drawing Esquie from memory is uniquely charming.]
Now, how could I resist that?
[He can't. It's fundamentally impossible. Verso rises to his feet and takes a step back, the artist he grudgingly is gazing upon wall like the canvas it's about to grudgingly become. Painting is, of course, a fraught topic with Verso still, but it's not that he hates it entirely. In not-his memories, he liked drawing as a boy, and he has to assume that his other enjoyed making this canvas world. And as a man – his own man, post-resurrection – he had dabbled when he could do so without pressure. Usually in his apartment and without his parents and Clea knowing. Alicia sometimes peeked in, though, and she'd join him in the imperfection of creating just because.
And that's what this would be about, marring perfection with something greater, so it's with genuine interest that Verso gestures Clive towards the first door.]
Come on. We'll go get the good stuff.