[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.]
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flamebrand) wrote2024-09-08 02:07 pm
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.