[ 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.]
[ A part of Clive understands that the act of painting must come with its own share of baggage. The fact that they're all made of colors bending under light is part of it, but even setting aside the matter of their physical makeup, Verso― painted and unpainted― comes from a family of godlike entities who wield power using brushes and palettes; just the act of standing in front of a canvas might be somewhat fraught.
But there's strength in reclamation. Or so Clive thinks. Or so Clive hopes, though he supposes that this act isn't his to reclaim. Mostly, he wasn't lying when he said that the manor is too funereal for comfort; it could do with a bit of a human touch. (Ha ha.)
Back onto his feet he goes, after nabbing a few more bites of cheese to keep him fueled along the way. He returns Verso's sweeping gesture with his practiced bow, mirroring the one he gave Verso when he came into the room, then maneuvers through the bedroom and out into the labyrinthine hallway with its rows and rows of gilded frames.
Instead of holding hands this time, he offers Verso his arm. Playing the part of the knight escorting his lord again, even though he has no idea where 'the good stuff' might be. ]
Will I finally get to see Renoir's hallowed atelier? Or is it off-limits to outsiders?
[ He remembers the last time it was mentioned in conversation, which was in a much raunchier context; recalling it makes Clive chuckle under his breath. He'd been so desperate to have Verso back then, to find a way to keep Verso from slipping between his fingers. The urgency of that sentiment has lessened somewhat, but it persists. Maybe it'll never truly go away. ]
[Happily, Verso loops his arm over Clive's, leaning in at first, a boop of shoulders, before stopping in the hallway. Of course, he knows where to go on the far simpler level of procuring the goods, but the mention of Renoir's atelier introduces a complication Verso hadn't been thinking of, along with another truth, perhaps, that should be spoken, even if it's minor compared to all the others.]
Is this where I admit I've never actually been there?
[In this iteration of the manor, anyway. He has Verso's memories of the real Renoir's atelier, and his own memories of his father's, but something has always kept him out of the one here. Namely:]
It's... locked. I think I know where the key is, but getting it in place, well, that's complicated.
[For more than the one reason, like so many things are. On the one hand, it's a portrait of the real Verso's family – of course, that's strange to deal with on an emotional and psychological level. But on the other, and more importantly if Verso's being honest, he worries that the portrait gives him away. Renoir right there. Alicia in colour. Verso with pitch black hair and no scars over his eye. And while people could just assume it was from before the Fracture, that itself opens up questions that Verso has never really wanted to answer about the other woman, his missing sister and the one who created the Nevrons, his missing mother and the one who everyone wants to kill.]
If I'm right, it's a portrait the real Dessendres had painted of themselves. Finding it'll be no problem, if you don't mind the detour. Or, we can raid the storeroom. Up to you.
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flamebrand) wrote2024-09-08 02:07 pm
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.
no subject
But there's strength in reclamation. Or so Clive thinks. Or so Clive hopes, though he supposes that this act isn't his to reclaim. Mostly, he wasn't lying when he said that the manor is too funereal for comfort; it could do with a bit of a human touch. (Ha ha.)
Back onto his feet he goes, after nabbing a few more bites of cheese to keep him fueled along the way. He returns Verso's sweeping gesture with his practiced bow, mirroring the one he gave Verso when he came into the room, then maneuvers through the bedroom and out into the labyrinthine hallway with its rows and rows of gilded frames.
Instead of holding hands this time, he offers Verso his arm. Playing the part of the knight escorting his lord again, even though he has no idea where 'the good stuff' might be. ]
Will I finally get to see Renoir's hallowed atelier? Or is it off-limits to outsiders?
[ He remembers the last time it was mentioned in conversation, which was in a much raunchier context; recalling it makes Clive chuckle under his breath. He'd been so desperate to have Verso back then, to find a way to keep Verso from slipping between his fingers. The urgency of that sentiment has lessened somewhat, but it persists. Maybe it'll never truly go away. ]
no subject
Is this where I admit I've never actually been there?
[In this iteration of the manor, anyway. He has Verso's memories of the real Renoir's atelier, and his own memories of his father's, but something has always kept him out of the one here. Namely:]
It's... locked. I think I know where the key is, but getting it in place, well, that's complicated.
[For more than the one reason, like so many things are. On the one hand, it's a portrait of the real Verso's family – of course, that's strange to deal with on an emotional and psychological level. But on the other, and more importantly if Verso's being honest, he worries that the portrait gives him away. Renoir right there. Alicia in colour. Verso with pitch black hair and no scars over his eye. And while people could just assume it was from before the Fracture, that itself opens up questions that Verso has never really wanted to answer about the other woman, his missing sister and the one who created the Nevrons, his missing mother and the one who everyone wants to kill.]
If I'm right, it's a portrait the real Dessendres had painted of themselves. Finding it'll be no problem, if you don't mind the detour. Or, we can raid the storeroom. Up to you.