[ Thank god that Joshua's faith remains intact. The story of Final Fantasy XVI might have ended with Clive throwing himself off a bridge because his baby brother (he is 28) said he was lame.
How Joshua will find Clive, instead: leaning moodily against a wall on the outskirts of Martha's Rest, gaze cast sideways into the gloom of distant marshes. He tenses when he hears footsteps approaching, but the hawklike appraisal (despite the alcohol rampaging his system) softens when he realizes who the footsteps belong to. ]
Joshua. [ He raises a hand in greeting. Sways a little. ]
[Joshua approaches at an unhurried pace, the night air gently brushing against his slowly flushing cheeks as he comes to stand before his brother. His steps falter only briefly when he takes in the sight: Clive, leaning as if the weight of the world rests upon his shoulders. Shoulder? Singular? Maybe that's the better descriptor if his brother's pose is anything to go by.]
[Regardless, he smiles with ease, that innate boyish charm displayed clearly on his young face (he is 28...).]
Clive.
[His tone softens as he tilts his head, studying Clive’s sway with a touch more earnestness. After a pause, Joshua reaches out, steadying his brother with a hand at his elbow—gentle, unobtrusive, but firm enough to hold.]
Tell me, do the marshes whisper better counsel than your brother?
[ The hand at his elbow should shame him; it does, a little. Joshua, who has so much to bear already without the additional weight of his tipsy brother and his poor late-night decisions. Clive tries to right himself as best he can, heels digging into well-trodden dirt, and returns the smile with one of his own. ]
Not tonight, [ is a light joke. Suffice it to say, the nighttime rampaging of an Adamantoise will never ring as clearly as Joshua's voice in the gloom. ] But they smell far worse.
[ The smile turns into a brief grin. Easier, thanks to the alcohol. A part of Clive still struggles with the knowledge of what Joshua has had to house in his chest for five long years, and the guilt of it still colors the edges of his interactions with his brother on occasion― not so much now, when he's too relaxed to hold on to darker thoughts that sit, inexorable, in the back of his head. ]
[He breathes a soft laugh, the sound carrying lightly in the night air as his hand lingers at Clive’s elbow a moment longer before withdrawing. Joshua stays close enough to steady him should the need arise. Otherwise, his smile brightens at his brother’s quip.]
Far worse indeed. A pity, though.
I had hoped you might uncover some hidden wisdom among the reeds and the stench. 'Tis something we could all use.
[He folds his hands neatly behind his back, posture composed though his gaze lingers on Clive a heartbeat longer than typical, as if measuring the depth of his sway with nothing but innate understanding of his brother's being and a penchant for detail. That said, the grin that lingers on his brother’s lips eases the crease in his brow, if only slightly.]
It is good to see you smiling. Though I confess, I might prefer it sober.
[Joshua leans just slightly into his brother’s shoulder, a steadying weight that speaks less of balance and more of reassurance. His eyes turn toward the marshes as well, though the faint tension in his jaw betrays the quiet question beneath his words.]
[How much longer can Clive shoulder what he does, and what more will Joshua be asked to (gladly) carry?]
[ "Hidden wisdom". Funny, that. Joshua has committed eighteen years of his life to unraveling the truth of this world after what happened at Phoenix Gate, and Clive－
－well, Clive only stumbled upon it by questionable fortune. Two daggers stabbed into a crystal, and Ramuh in his heart; where would Clive have been now, if not for Cid? What use would he have been to the plight of Valisthea if he hadn't been pulled out of the mire of his own denial?
He watches Joshua watch him, and feels the shift in his brother's balance. Joshua has always been a better reader of the room, Clive thinks. Likely because the circumstances of their childhood had forced it.
Sobering. There it is again, that guilt. Clive swallows it and huff-laughs, dry. ]
I smile.
[ Turning towards Joshua, brows slightly downturned in what might pass for apology. ]
And make a fool of myself, on occasion. [ Which started this whole thing off, if Joshua recalls. Clive softens, but there's something distant about it nevertheless. ] More often than I'd like.
[There's a gradual gentling of Joshua’s smile, where the brightness softens into something quieter as Clive turns toward him. He meets his brother’s huff of laughter with an answering warmth, unbothered by the distant edge in it. The apology etched into Clive’s brows is not lost on him. Very little is when it comes to his dearest brother, despite the years they'd spent apart.]
You call yourself a fool, yet I see no sign of it. Only proof that you are still here and whole.
[He tilts his head, his own subdued brand of mischief glimmering faintly at the corners of his expression, determined to banish the heaviness with a lighter touch. With that in mind, Joshua shifts, letting his shoulder rest more firmly against Clive’s He draws in the marsh air, slow and deliberate, before releasing it in a sigh that carries both patience and quiet fondness.]
Though I must know, what exactly were you attempting with that ball, when you contacted me? Did I witness sport or penance?
[ Here and whole. How true that is－ and how miraculous that truth is― is something that requires more time and healing to come to terms with.
(Which isn't to say that five years with a phoenix feather didn't help. That small, glittering memento did a lot of heavy lifting when things were at their bleakest.)
Clive accepts the shift in weight, and answers with his own half-nudge, the side of his boot along Joshua's. Fond, because it seems only a select few find it in themselves to needle Clive lately. ]
Worse, [ he admits. ] It was ale-fueled hubris.
[ For context: ] The conversation at the tavern turned to things we did as children, and... [ A light shrug. Exasperation turned inwards. ] ...I always did feel more confident in my actions when I dedicated them to you.
[ Not least of all because he had to be, being his brother's Shield. ]
[The half-nudge against Joshua's boot earns a subtle press in return. It's a gesture quiet in its acknowledgment, not unlike the nature of its respective Rosfield brother. The same one who can (finally!) look his brother eye-to-eye without so much of a twitch of his chin.]
It is by that same dedication that I stand here at all. If that is hubris, then I am grateful beyond measure for it.
[The sincerity behind that gratitude is plain, though his lips curve into a gentler smile to keep the weight from sinking too deeply into the air around them.]
All that to say... mayhap there is more childhood to relive? The night is fair, and the ground broad enough. Surely it will not mind one more pair of footprints.
[He nudges Clive’s arm with quiet insistence, half-mischief, half-earnest longing, as though the thought alone has already brightened the air between them.]
[ More nudges, more lighthearted suggestions. Enough for Clive to relinquish his deathgrip on his past regrets and open his palm to the possibility of doing something harmless, which－
－is what he'd always wanted for Joshua, from the start. An unburdening. A lightness of being that duties and obligations so rarely afforded the both of them, even when they were boys barely old enough to hold a blade.
So. He raises a brow, and pivots on his heels. To his right, a few feet away, sits the offending ball that so rudely didn't make it through the crude hoop fixed haphazardly to the wall of a stone wall a few feet in the other direction.
Clive Deadly-Embraces the ball to himself with a flourish of one hand. It's a flex, because he's the main character of this Final Fantasy and doesn't get hit with the death curse every time he misuses his Eikon powers, smh. ]
[Joshua happily waits and allows Clive to aura farm that good good main character energy. First his eyes follow the ball, and then they land his brother, and although he wears composure easily, there's unmistakable brightness present.]
[He laughs at Clive's question. Short and self-deprecating.]
Not very, I must admit.
[His gaze shifts to the hoop--is it crooked???]
I would dare to try, but only after you deign to show me how it is properly done first.
It's also not really circular in shape－ more oblong than anything else－ but wide enough for the ball in Clive's hand to sift through if he throws it just so.
Which is to say: he can, now that he's more sober. And now that Joshua is an active audience instead of a nebulous third party who may or may not choose to bear witness to Clive's possible successes. Clive looks slightly unhappy about his brother's self-deprecation (because no one is allowed to say anything bad about Joshua, not even Joshua himself), but hopes that he might yet make that wryness dissipate if he succeeds in this silly little game.
So. Shoulders square, arms raise. In one graceful motion, Clive tosses the ball to the makeshift hoop, and－
－swish. He gets it in one. Protag privileges again, or maybe big-brother-who-wants-to-show-off privileges. If there is one thing that Clive fears more than anything, it's disappointing Joshua. ]
[It's physically, virtually, literally, almost laughably impossible for Clive to ever disappoint Joshua. Too in awe is the younger Rosfield of his older brother and his protagonistic vibes.]
[Case in point: he claps his hands softly, the sound gentle but brimming with approval as Clive makes a clean shot into the makeshift hoop.]
But one toss, and it is perfect!
[Joshua grins brightly to congratulate his brother before he half-jogs to intercept the ball as it rolls just a bit away. Once it's secure in his hands, he bounces it for a few moments, as if testing its weight. Really, he's trying to refamiliarize himself with the concept of just throwing a ball around. Because that's not sad at all.]
I suppose it's my turn, then?
[He takes a few steps back towards Clive and then attempts a shot of his ow--oh no it's bad. Missing the hoop completely bad. Bad enough that his cheeks flush bright pink and he's having a lot of trouble making eye contact.]
[ It's not so much Joshua's approval that Clive craves, but the sound and shape of his brother's happiness, in whatever form it might take. He still remembers how the world had seemed so dim until Joshua was born, and remembers how Joshua gripped light into his heart at the first curl of small, small fingers around his own.
Joshua might be in awe of Clive, but Joshua will always be the one who inspired Clive to want to live－
－which is why there's not even a suggestion of judgment or scorn when Joshua whiffs his shot. Just the stillsame big-brotherly fondness that beams out of his arms-crossed, one-hip-popped half-lean. ]
You released it too fast, [ he says, as if he's Rodney Murdoch speaking to the shadow of his younger self. ] If you let it stay along your fingertips for a breath longer, it would have travelled farther.
[ His lips curl into a smile. ] I'll have to scold Cyril for never having taken the time to throw balls around with my brother.
[Joshua lets out a laugh, airy and abashed. He still cradles the ball, reluctant to give it up so soon, despite the tragic arc it just took.]
[His gaze lifts to Clive, sheepish but touched with humor.]
Cyril may have thought a prince better suited to study than sport.
[He had a lot of academic catching up to do because SoMEbODy PUt HiM inTo A CoMa, CLIVE.]
[Joshua bounces the ball once, twice, as though gathering courage again before tilting his head, smile small, but bright.]
Perhaps that is all the more reason I should try again. Show me once more, Brother, and I promise I shall not let it fly so quickly from my fingers this time.
[ Clive out here trying to roast Cyril when he's the root cause of all of Joshua's problems.................. smh...........
But also like, shoutout to the Undying for being the only good weird shadowy cabal out there. We love to see it. Clive loves to see it, at least, because Joshua is here and throwing stupid balls in stupid hoops, and isn't that what life is about? Being stupid with impunity???
So he takes the ball from Joshua for another demonstration. Deliberate and slow, as he extends his arms and plants the ball exactly where it needs to go, fingers loose and outstretched. We can all pretend I know anything about fantasy basketball form. ]
―Imagine trying to keep a treat up and out of Torgal's reach. That's how you want to extend your arms.
[If House Rosfield is going to start a not!cult, at the very least they can make it a nice one. Extra points for making it so dumb stupid brothers can do dumb stupid brother things like giving us the highly anticipated Final Fantasy XVI: Space Jam DLC.]
[Joshua watches closely as the ball leaves Clive’s hands again, tracking the line of it as though the secret might be written in the arc itself. When his brother gives him even more advice (usefulness pending), he nods dutifully and chases after the ball once more.]
[When he brings it back, he practices the movement of his arms as Clive instructed. He then lifts his gaze back to his brother, tilting his head with a shimmer of gold and a spark of affection in his eyes.]
Very well. If Torgal must be my measure, then I shall attempt it.
[With that, he makes for his next shot... and it's close! Way closer than before! The ball bounces off that shoddy rim and back towards the boys.]
I wouldn't take it personally, [ is his assessment, carried on the tail end of a fond laugh. ] Torgal is stiff competition.
[ Torgal has endured five years of SIC EM TORGAL; naturally, his aim is impeccable. Clive imagines his trusty hound balancing a ball on the tip of his nose, and the absurdity of it makes his smile spread a sliver more. Boyish, in the way he seldom allows himself to be anymore. ]
You're a quick study, besides. I worry about things that have nothing to do with your aim.
[ Like Joshua near bodies of water. Crouching back down, Clive picks up the ball and tosses it up and down on his palm, head tipped with the sort of grin that says that he isn't speaking about catastrophes. ]
[...Clive, we regret to inform you that your brother is actually a Magikarp.]
[A smile begets a smile, especially when they're as rare and special as Clive's. Joshua eyes the ball, then his brother, and his eyebrows raise as he holds out his hands for the ball once more.]
Oh? And what dire concerns are these?
[He's only able to ask because of how much of a good mood Clive is in. If he'd expected anything serious, he'd rely on good ol' repression, instead. You know. Healthy coping and all that.]
[ The boys are as fine as they'll ever be. stubborn and self-sacrificing and also dying??? they're ok Clive, who finds himself not actually brooding about the thing that still gives him nightmares, hands the ball over with a light question for a question instead of a clear answer: ]
Have you made friends with Obolus yet?
[ Listen, Clive likes that cranky old coot, but if he doesn't get up off his ass if Joshua ever trips and falls into their gross blighted lake, Clive is going to be very cross with him. ]
[All of the above and therefore fine. They're not fine.]
[Joshua quirks an eyebrow at the question, but gives it due consideration. If Clive is asking it, then there's a point to it, and it's one that Joshua will gladly follow whatever path his brother sets up to uncover.]
We've spoken, yes. He was happy to show me the Argo, as well.
[He considers the ball for a moment, tossing it just a few inches above his hands before he follows up with his own question.]
[ The actual question here would be "I know I punched a hole through you and you probably spent the better half of your adult life recovering from that, but also, did you learn how to swim?"
But also, Clive is trying to keep things lighter than that, so his instinct isn't to self-flagellate before he answers a harmless (?) question. Instead: ]
I'd only wondered if you and bodies of water have made friends yet.
[ And maybe this says a little too much about Clive, that he remembers all of their uncomplicated moments as children with the sort of clarity that most people wouldn't. But, you know. The boys are fine. ]
[ The saddest lil Torchic in the world... Still, Joshua grins that boyish grin, and all remains right with the world.
Right enough that Clive can quip back, that is. ] Not an excuse. I can swim just fine.
[ That's cheating, though, because big fire dog lizard is basically one step shy of being Godzilla, and Godzilla is from the ocean. This tag is basically just metacommentary, and I'm sorry about it. ]
Though I have trouble enough following you on land, and Founder only knows where you'd be off to if I let you roam the seas.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tfln; empyreancatastrophe.
Do me the honor of joining me, so that I might restore your faith in my aim.
sorry for the wait!
I shall be there anon.
no worries!!! 💕
How Joshua will find Clive, instead: leaning moodily against a wall on the outskirts of Martha's Rest, gaze cast sideways into the gloom of distant marshes. He tenses when he hears footsteps approaching, but the hawklike appraisal (despite the alcohol rampaging his system) softens when he realizes who the footsteps belong to. ]
Joshua. [ He raises a hand in greeting. Sways a little. ]
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[Regardless, he smiles with ease, that innate boyish charm displayed clearly on his young face (he is 28...).]
Clive.
[His tone softens as he tilts his head, studying Clive’s sway with a touch more earnestness. After a pause, Joshua reaches out, steadying his brother with a hand at his elbow—gentle, unobtrusive, but firm enough to hold.]
Tell me, do the marshes whisper better counsel than your brother?
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Not tonight, [ is a light joke. Suffice it to say, the nighttime rampaging of an Adamantoise will never ring as clearly as Joshua's voice in the gloom. ] But they smell far worse.
[ The smile turns into a brief grin. Easier, thanks to the alcohol. A part of Clive still struggles with the knowledge of what Joshua has had to house in his chest for five long years, and the guilt of it still colors the edges of his interactions with his brother on occasion― not so much now, when he's too relaxed to hold on to darker thoughts that sit, inexorable, in the back of his head. ]
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Far worse indeed. A pity, though.
I had hoped you might uncover some hidden wisdom among the reeds and the stench. 'Tis something we could all use.
[He folds his hands neatly behind his back, posture composed though his gaze lingers on Clive a heartbeat longer than typical, as if measuring the depth of his sway with nothing but innate understanding of his brother's being and a penchant for detail. That said, the grin that lingers on his brother’s lips eases the crease in his brow, if only slightly.]
It is good to see you smiling. Though I confess, I might prefer it sober.
[Joshua leans just slightly into his brother’s shoulder, a steadying weight that speaks less of balance and more of reassurance. His eyes turn toward the marshes as well, though the faint tension in his jaw betrays the quiet question beneath his words.]
[How much longer can Clive shoulder what he does, and what more will Joshua be asked to (gladly) carry?]
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－well, Clive only stumbled upon it by questionable fortune. Two daggers stabbed into a crystal, and Ramuh in his heart; where would Clive have been now, if not for Cid? What use would he have been to the plight of Valisthea if he hadn't been pulled out of the mire of his own denial?
He watches Joshua watch him, and feels the shift in his brother's balance. Joshua has always been a better reader of the room, Clive thinks. Likely because the circumstances of their childhood had forced it.
Sobering. There it is again, that guilt. Clive swallows it and huff-laughs, dry. ]
I smile.
[ Turning towards Joshua, brows slightly downturned in what might pass for apology. ]
And make a fool of myself, on occasion. [ Which started this whole thing off, if Joshua recalls. Clive softens, but there's something distant about it nevertheless. ] More often than I'd like.
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You call yourself a fool, yet I see no sign of it. Only proof that you are still here and whole.
[He tilts his head, his own subdued brand of mischief glimmering faintly at the corners of his expression, determined to banish the heaviness with a lighter touch. With that in mind, Joshua shifts, letting his shoulder rest more firmly against Clive’s He draws in the marsh air, slow and deliberate, before releasing it in a sigh that carries both patience and quiet fondness.]
Though I must know, what exactly were you attempting with that ball, when you contacted me? Did I witness sport or penance?
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(Which isn't to say that five years with a phoenix feather didn't help. That small, glittering memento did a lot of heavy lifting when things were at their bleakest.)
Clive accepts the shift in weight, and answers with his own half-nudge, the side of his boot along Joshua's. Fond, because it seems only a select few find it in themselves to needle Clive lately. ]
Worse, [ he admits. ] It was ale-fueled hubris.
[ For context: ] The conversation at the tavern turned to things we did as children, and... [ A light shrug. Exasperation turned inwards. ] ...I always did feel more confident in my actions when I dedicated them to you.
[ Not least of all because he had to be, being his brother's Shield. ]
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It is by that same dedication that I stand here at all. If that is hubris, then I am grateful beyond measure for it.
[The sincerity behind that gratitude is plain, though his lips curve into a gentler smile to keep the weight from sinking too deeply into the air around them.]
All that to say... mayhap there is more childhood to relive? The night is fair, and the ground broad enough. Surely it will not mind one more pair of footprints.
[He nudges Clive’s arm with quiet insistence, half-mischief, half-earnest longing, as though the thought alone has already brightened the air between them.]
A game, perchance?
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－is what he'd always wanted for Joshua, from the start. An unburdening. A lightness of being that duties and obligations so rarely afforded the both of them, even when they were boys barely old enough to hold a blade.
So. He raises a brow, and pivots on his heels. To his right, a few feet away, sits the offending ball that so rudely didn't make it through the crude hoop fixed haphazardly to the wall of a stone wall a few feet in the other direction.
Clive Deadly-Embraces the ball to himself with a flourish of one hand. It's a flex, because he's the main character of this Final Fantasy and doesn't get hit with the death curse every time he misuses his Eikon powers, smh. ]
How confident are you in your aim?
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[He laughs at Clive's question. Short and self-deprecating.]
Not very, I must admit.
[His gaze shifts to the hoop--is it crooked???]
I would dare to try, but only after you deign to show me how it is properly done first.
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It's also not really circular in shape－ more oblong than anything else－ but wide enough for the ball in Clive's hand to sift through if he throws it just so.
Which is to say: he can, now that he's more sober. And now that Joshua is an active audience instead of a nebulous third party who may or may not choose to bear witness to Clive's possible successes. Clive looks slightly unhappy about his brother's self-deprecation (because no one is allowed to say anything bad about Joshua, not even Joshua himself), but hopes that he might yet make that wryness dissipate if he succeeds in this silly little game.
So. Shoulders square, arms raise. In one graceful motion, Clive tosses the ball to the makeshift hoop, and－
－swish. He gets it in one. Protag privileges again, or maybe big-brother-who-wants-to-show-off privileges. If there is one thing that Clive fears more than anything, it's disappointing Joshua. ]
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[Case in point: he claps his hands softly, the sound gentle but brimming with approval as Clive makes a clean shot into the makeshift hoop.]
But one toss, and it is perfect!
[Joshua grins brightly to congratulate his brother before he half-jogs to intercept the ball as it rolls just a bit away. Once it's secure in his hands, he bounces it for a few moments, as if testing its weight. Really, he's trying to refamiliarize himself with the concept of just throwing a ball around. Because that's not sad at all.]
I suppose it's my turn, then?
[He takes a few steps back towards Clive and then attempts a shot of his ow--oh no it's bad. Missing the hoop completely bad. Bad enough that his cheeks flush bright pink and he's having a lot of trouble making eye contact.]
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Joshua might be in awe of Clive, but Joshua will always be the one who inspired Clive to want to live－
－which is why there's not even a suggestion of judgment or scorn when Joshua whiffs his shot. Just the stillsame big-brotherly fondness that beams out of his arms-crossed, one-hip-popped half-lean. ]
You released it too fast, [ he says, as if he's Rodney Murdoch speaking to the shadow of his younger self. ] If you let it stay along your fingertips for a breath longer, it would have travelled farther.
[ His lips curl into a smile. ] I'll have to scold Cyril for never having taken the time to throw balls around with my brother.
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[His gaze lifts to Clive, sheepish but touched with humor.]
Cyril may have thought a prince better suited to study than sport.
[He had a lot of academic catching up to do because SoMEbODy PUt HiM inTo A CoMa, CLIVE.]
[Joshua bounces the ball once, twice, as though gathering courage again before tilting his head, smile small, but bright.]
Perhaps that is all the more reason I should try again. Show me once more, Brother, and I promise I shall not let it fly so quickly from my fingers this time.
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But also like, shoutout to the Undying for being the only good weird shadowy cabal out there. We love to see it. Clive loves to see it, at least, because Joshua is here and throwing stupid balls in stupid hoops, and isn't that what life is about? Being stupid with impunity???
So he takes the ball from Joshua for another demonstration. Deliberate and slow, as he extends his arms and plants the ball exactly where it needs to go, fingers loose and outstretched. We can all pretend I know anything about fantasy basketball form. ]
―Imagine trying to keep a treat up and out of Torgal's reach. That's how you want to extend your arms.
[ yeah because that's helpful advice ]
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[Joshua watches closely as the ball leaves Clive’s hands again, tracking the line of it as though the secret might be written in the arc itself. When his brother gives him even more advice (usefulness pending), he nods dutifully and chases after the ball once more.]
[When he brings it back, he practices the movement of his arms as Clive instructed. He then lifts his gaze back to his brother, tilting his head with a shimmer of gold and a spark of affection in his eyes.]
Very well. If Torgal must be my measure, then I shall attempt it.
[With that, he makes for his next shot... and it's close! Way closer than before! The ball bounces off that shoddy rim and back towards the boys.]
...Though I daresay he would outmatch me in aim.
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[ Torgal has endured five years of SIC EM TORGAL; naturally, his aim is impeccable. Clive imagines his trusty hound balancing a ball on the tip of his nose, and the absurdity of it makes his smile spread a sliver more. Boyish, in the way he seldom allows himself to be anymore. ]
You're a quick study, besides. I worry about things that have nothing to do with your aim.
[ Like Joshua near bodies of water. Crouching back down, Clive picks up the ball and tosses it up and down on his palm, head tipped with the sort of grin that says that he isn't speaking about catastrophes. ]
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[A smile begets a smile, especially when they're as rare and special as Clive's. Joshua eyes the ball, then his brother, and his eyebrows raise as he holds out his hands for the ball once more.]
Oh? And what dire concerns are these?
[He's only able to ask because of how much of a good mood Clive is in. If he'd expected anything serious, he'd rely on good ol' repression, instead. You know. Healthy coping and all that.]
[The boys are fine.]
[
They're not fine, but shh.]no subject
stubborn and self-sacrificing and also dying??? they're okClive, who finds himself not actually brooding about the thing that still gives him nightmares, hands the ball over with a light question for a question instead of a clear answer: ]Have you made friends with Obolus yet?
[ Listen, Clive likes that cranky old coot, but if he doesn't get up off his ass if Joshua ever trips and falls into their gross blighted lake, Clive is going to be very cross with him. ]
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All of the above and therefore fine. They're not fine.][Joshua quirks an eyebrow at the question, but gives it due consideration. If Clive is asking it, then there's a point to it, and it's one that Joshua will gladly follow whatever path his brother sets up to uncover.]
We've spoken, yes. He was happy to show me the Argo, as well.
[He considers the ball for a moment, tossing it just a few inches above his hands before he follows up with his own question.]
Why do you ask?
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But also, Clive is trying to keep things lighter than that, so his instinct isn't to self-flagellate before he answers a harmless (?) question. Instead: ]
I'd only wondered if you and bodies of water have made friends yet.
[ And maybe this says a little too much about Clive, that he remembers all of their uncomplicated moments as children with the sort of clarity that most people wouldn't. But, you know. The boys are fine. ]
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[The good news is that the thought doesn't so much as pique Joshua's far too active brain. Instead, he offers Clive a grin that only widens.]
Haven't you learned, Brother? Fire's natural enemy is water. I would fain to make acquaintances, but fear the inevitable betrayal.
[Forget Magikarp, your brother is the world's stupidest Charmander, Clive.]
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Right enough that Clive can quip back, that is. ] Not an excuse. I can swim just fine.
[ That's cheating, though, because big fire dog lizard is basically one step shy of being Godzilla, and Godzilla is from the ocean. This tag is basically just metacommentary, and I'm sorry about it. ]
Though I have trouble enough following you on land, and Founder only knows where you'd be off to if I let you roam the seas.