[ They're getting to a point in the conversation where the sincerity is pushing its limits, she feels. This latest silence that stretches out between her words and his seems overly-full in what it holds within, and though she doesn't know its shape, she sees the gears turning in Verso. Jamming, maybe, on occasion. But that's to be expected: it isn't easy to hope -- even the measured amount she's offered, amid her own realism -- and it definitely isn't easy for someone in his position, who's seen what he's seen. Maybe Sciel herself wouldn't have a single optimistic thing to say if she'd been watching people throw themselves bodily at the Monolith year after year, adding to the piles of corpses and accomplishing nothing but leaving another scar on the local immortal that he'd be unable to heal. ]
I don't blame you. Wallowing is a lot easier. [ Speaking from experience. ] ...But, you're right: mixing it up a bit, coming to a place like this, really helps. Stepping out of the 'what we have to do' for a little of the 'what we want to do' is nice, when it's possible.
[ Like tonight. They'd probably otherwise have spent it at camp, either in uncomfortable silence, or uncomfortable forced conversation, or uncomfortable interrogation. Sciel flattens her mouth into an unhappy line at the thought. ]
I'm really glad you suggested this. I know it's done a lot for me. [ Still lying down, she shifts the position of her head a little, tilting it a bit more his way. ] Sounds like it did some for you, too. At least, I hope so.
[ He'd basically said as much, and she hopes this part, if nothing else, is honest. ]
Maybe you can't die, but you can get burnt out. [ Or worse. ] If...stepping away gives some perspective, or...even just a distraction for a few hours, it's worth it.
[ Worth the possibility of mild frostbite. The likely lecture from Lune. Et cetera. ]
Yeah. [Softly. Centred. The word comes out on an easy breath, interlaced, perhaps, with a bit of relief over for how both the moment passes and how it continues. The air is a pleasant kind of cold – at least to him – but it still has a bite to it, and he settles into the warmth of his jacket and the radiant heat from the gears below, letting himself relax away some of the tension he's built up.] Yeah, it's been worth it. I'm glad you got something out of it, too.
[Because even if his heart is a bit muddied, his thoughts feel clearer, and it's nice to have this confirmation that Sciel, at least, understands where he'd been coming from, even if that understanding may be incomplete. The fear of waking up in the morning with blades bearing down on him is still a bit haunting – it almost always is – but it feels like it's slipped outside of the realm of possibility now, too, and that's... well, it's something he's going to have to dwell on later.
The moment is also done, he feels like. Or at least there's little left for them here on the carousel; the horses have been ridden and named, the stars gazed upon and spoken to and viewed through new lenses, and they've both shared their stories. Not a bad end to an awful day. He won't let himself think about how he probably deserves worse – not, he would argue, for keeping his father a secret, but rather for the lies that nobody's picked up on yet, those big things that set him apart even as he keeps seeking greater meaning in the moments like this that bring them together. There'll be time for that later. He'll probably be making more and more time for it as the days draw on and they get ever closer to the Monolith.
For now, though, he wouldn't mind dragging things out a little longer if Sciel wants to, too. Not that he'd be opposed to returning to camp, either; she may not need much sleep but she does need some, and maybe she promised to report back to Lune or something. Verso doesn't particularly like the thought of being the topic du soir, but it also comes with the territory. There's also Maelle, and... it's selfish, he's selfish, but there's also precious little time left, so he'd rather open avenues than assume the answer. So:]
Speaking of stepping out... is there anything else you want to do before we head back? There's no more snow after this and, well, we've already talked about what's waiting for us on the Axon islands, so... now might be our only chance.
[For sight-seeing, for exploring, for having fun being ridiculous, for spending time alone together, for whatever.]
[ The quiet that lies between and around them now is a different sort than the previous, where she'd been waiting for his reply and watching his thoughts bubble beneath the surface. Instead, it's...like the gentle closing of a book. Or at least, the leafing through of the final few pages of a book before shutting the cover. Because, as he's thinking, they've probably done all of the things he'd planned for them here: admired the scenery, talked about history (of the carousel, its former occupants, and beyond), and generally took in every facet of it that could be utilized or admired. Sciel continues to lie on its roof and breathes deep, the cold air a (pleasant) shock through her system, while the gears just beneath keep her comfortable enough, as had been promised.
When he does speak up again, opening that door one last time, she rolls onto her side to look back at him, considering. There are a lot of ways she could answer, of course, given the reality that this may be their last snowy excursion for a while, if ever again. Naturally, part of her drifts back to the train, to the option of extending that particular invitation again to gauge if it'd been a one-off (because though they'd both expressed ongoing interest, she's aware it could've easily been something born of the rush of the moment). ...But, even as she lets the option drift into the fore of her mind again, Sciel isn't really feeling it. Not right now, after the odd day they'd had, and the pleasant, if unusually deep conversations they've engaged in since arriving.
...And maybe, at least partially, because it'd probably be cold as hell, even with the accommodations they've currently got to keep from freezing. Next time they slip away, assuming she isn't dead, she'll try and angle for a place better-suited for taking their clothes off. This particular trip, though, is pretty perfect as it is.
She releases a breath: another visible cloud between them. ]
One more story. [ She settles. ] One last memory you've got of this place from before, or...whenever you like. It's already so...vivid and alive, but if there's anything else you want to share, I'd love to hear it. And then we can go.
[ Every recollection of his fills in the gaps in her own imagination, adding even more vividness to the colours that spill out over the snow, adding chatter and laughter to the music and sound that surrounds them. If there are any last details or moments he can summon that further define the magic of this rare spot, then...they're precious, and she finds she has a sort of hunger for them. ]
Besides, maybe the snow doesn't have to be a foregone conclusion. Lune might be able to change how she uses chroma to make some of it for us, instead of just the very dangerous ice.
[ There's a half-cocked smile at that: the joke a twinkle in her eyes. ]
[A light laugh at Sciel's joke, followed by a slightly put-upon sigh. Not towards Sciel, it's just...]
Why do I get the feeling Lune would expect me to answer at least a dozen questions first?
[It's probably because she would.
One more story, though. Verso lifts himself up to get a better view of the landscape, scanning the faraway wreckage of buildings and the nearby clutter of scattered amusement park booths and lampposts and cobblestones.
Immediately, his mind goes to the regrets that are wrapped up in this landscape. All the promise the people had for expansion – talk of rollercoasters and skating rinks, of setting up a second city where the sun shone the brightest and the warmth from the sea sometimes carried through the valley. There's the memories he didn't get to make, too. All the rides he'd wanted to take Alicia on once she started feeling better, the ones that were more exciting than the carousel. Just before the fracture, he'd started harbouring thoughts of spending a weekend with Julie in the little resort carved into a now caved-in mountain, the ring he kept looking at in the joaillerie by the gardens tucked into his pocket as he waited for the just-right moment. Big things. Small things. Incessant reminders that time is often stolen and never returned.
He wants to end the night on a better note than that, though, so he digs a little deeper until he unearths something on the other end of the sadness.]
There was a tree, right over there. [He points to a nondescript patch of white.] A glorious pine, centuries old. Every year, we'd have a big holiday party around it. And we'd go all out. I mean, they'd fly in the airships so people could rappel down and decorate the thing. There were booths everywhere selling cocoa and pastries. People would dress up in costumes. All the train cars were decorated with colourful lights and these flowers that smelled like berries, and you could duck inside to warm up or grab a bite to eat. Oh, and I can't forget the carolers. They'd come out around midnight and everything would go quiet until they started to sing and...
[Verso himself falls silent for a moment, as if he can hear their ghosts still singing, voices carrying so differently in the snow than in concert halls and brasseries and on the streets of Lumiere. Eventually, the silence grates, a little, and so he sings part of one of the songs – a lilting melody about snow crunching beneath dancers' feet – in a voice that's raw but practised. Only a few lines, not wanting to get carried away.]
It was mostly for the kids, but I never missed a year.
[ "She expects that even without asking a favour," Sciel thinks, but doesn't say. Instead, she merely offers a little smile and another half-shrug, assuming Verso already knows as much without her needing to voice it. Besides, this moment -- this trip -- isn't for ruminating on any unpleasantness that might await them either back in camp or further down the road. It's about the kind of stories he's shared so far, and the one he offers up now.
It is, again, easy to imagine. Sciel pulls herself up into a seated position to cast her gaze out over the lip of the roof, following the direction he indicates. A glorious pine, centuries old. Tall and proud, dusted with snow, bowing in the occasional winds and dropping sheets of white onto the already-blanketed ground below. ...Or onto the festivities below, as people gather close for warmth and celebration amid the cold and dark. There are lights, of course: not just from the carousel, but from lanterns and candles and sparklers. There is a joyful cacophony, of course: not just from the carousel, but from barking laughing and children's delighted shrieks and well-practiced carolers. Surrounding the tree are the booths, each tempting passers-by with the mouth-watering smells that drifted out from within. And the people...people everywhere, just happy to be together and alive, giving themselves over fully to simple pleasures and good company.
The ghosts of the scene linger, and they're all so vivid that she can nearly see them gathered. Sciel closes her eyes and the illusion strengthens as the sounds of the memory that isn't really there almost seem to increase in volume when the visual aspect is removed.
And Verso sings. It's another surprise that almost has her open her eyes right away, but she resists it. Instead, Sciel smiles gently in an almost quiet reverence, unwilling to do anything that could cause him to stop. His voice joins those from the past, carrying them through to the present, keeping them alive in those scant lines and warm notes. When he stops singing to caveat the event itself, she finally opens her eyes again, lips pressed together in a grateful smile. ]
...Keep telling those stories. To us, to those who come after... [ She turns outward again, briefly searching for something, before returning her attention to him. ] ...or just to yourself. They're all still here, in a way, if you keep their memories alive.
[ It's another rare feat that only he can accomplish. Maybe someday he'd tell someone about the 33s, too.
Delicately, Sciel stows the telescope in her pack, taking care to do so in a way that'll keep it safe during travel. She draws a deep inhale before getting to her feet, though before she does anything else, she's distracted by a light prickle of cold on her face, nudging her into looking up.
[It is a nice thought, carrying the lost into tomorrow on stories that would be forgotten otherwise. Giving shape and colour and texture to a world that has been set in its own ways for so long that the old ones don't exist anymore. Finding more ways to refuse the erasure that Renoir has long sought to bring about and that Verso, too, fights for on different terms, begrudgingly accepted and stubbornly held onto. And certainly, that's part of it for him. He wants the lost to linger; he wants their lives to have meant fucking something, even if it's a distant thing, faceless and nameless but indelibly part of this world all the same.
But the canvas can't sustain many more of those who come after, so there's an ache to it too, one that he pretends to work out of his system with a roll of his shoulders and a preemptive stretch.
It only ends up burying itself deeper.]
I will. [Tell the stories to himself, he means, and to the 33s as well. He doesn't want to humour anything beyond that.] It's like they say, yeah? We all have two deaths.
[We will be ignoring that Hemingway was six when Verso died.
As Sciel starts preparing to get up, Verso starts preparing to be prepared, looking out one last time into the sky, letting his gaze fall one last time onto the crystalline snow, wondering if this'll be his last time seeing it, too. Breathing the burn away from the backs of his eyes, he looks over to Sciel's offered hand with a smile, taking it and pulling himself up to his feet. No, his heart beats in its stubbornly persistent rhythm. But as he makes his way back to the ladder, he of course says differently.]
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tableauvivant) wrote2025-09-17 01:14 pm
no subject
I don't blame you. Wallowing is a lot easier. [ Speaking from experience. ] ...But, you're right: mixing it up a bit, coming to a place like this, really helps. Stepping out of the 'what we have to do' for a little of the 'what we want to do' is nice, when it's possible.
[ Like tonight. They'd probably otherwise have spent it at camp, either in uncomfortable silence, or uncomfortable forced conversation, or uncomfortable interrogation. Sciel flattens her mouth into an unhappy line at the thought. ]
I'm really glad you suggested this. I know it's done a lot for me. [ Still lying down, she shifts the position of her head a little, tilting it a bit more his way. ] Sounds like it did some for you, too. At least, I hope so.
[ He'd basically said as much, and she hopes this part, if nothing else, is honest. ]
Maybe you can't die, but you can get burnt out. [ Or worse. ] If...stepping away gives some perspective, or...even just a distraction for a few hours, it's worth it.
[ Worth the possibility of mild frostbite. The likely lecture from Lune. Et cetera. ]
no subject
[Because even if his heart is a bit muddied, his thoughts feel clearer, and it's nice to have this confirmation that Sciel, at least, understands where he'd been coming from, even if that understanding may be incomplete. The fear of waking up in the morning with blades bearing down on him is still a bit haunting – it almost always is – but it feels like it's slipped outside of the realm of possibility now, too, and that's... well, it's something he's going to have to dwell on later.
The moment is also done, he feels like. Or at least there's little left for them here on the carousel; the horses have been ridden and named, the stars gazed upon and spoken to and viewed through new lenses, and they've both shared their stories. Not a bad end to an awful day. He won't let himself think about how he probably deserves worse – not, he would argue, for keeping his father a secret, but rather for the lies that nobody's picked up on yet, those big things that set him apart even as he keeps seeking greater meaning in the moments like this that bring them together. There'll be time for that later. He'll probably be making more and more time for it as the days draw on and they get ever closer to the Monolith.
For now, though, he wouldn't mind dragging things out a little longer if Sciel wants to, too. Not that he'd be opposed to returning to camp, either; she may not need much sleep but she does need some, and maybe she promised to report back to Lune or something. Verso doesn't particularly like the thought of being the topic du soir, but it also comes with the territory. There's also Maelle, and... it's selfish, he's selfish, but there's also precious little time left, so he'd rather open avenues than assume the answer. So:]
Speaking of stepping out... is there anything else you want to do before we head back? There's no more snow after this and, well, we've already talked about what's waiting for us on the Axon islands, so... now might be our only chance.
[For sight-seeing, for exploring, for having fun being ridiculous, for spending time alone together, for whatever.]
no subject
When he does speak up again, opening that door one last time, she rolls onto her side to look back at him, considering. There are a lot of ways she could answer, of course, given the reality that this may be their last snowy excursion for a while, if ever again. Naturally, part of her drifts back to the train, to the option of extending that particular invitation again to gauge if it'd been a one-off (because though they'd both expressed ongoing interest, she's aware it could've easily been something born of the rush of the moment). ...But, even as she lets the option drift into the fore of her mind again, Sciel isn't really feeling it. Not right now, after the odd day they'd had, and the pleasant, if unusually deep conversations they've engaged in since arriving.
...And maybe, at least partially, because it'd probably be cold as hell, even with the accommodations they've currently got to keep from freezing. Next time they slip away, assuming she isn't dead, she'll try and angle for a place better-suited for taking their clothes off. This particular trip, though, is pretty perfect as it is.
She releases a breath: another visible cloud between them. ]
One more story. [ She settles. ] One last memory you've got of this place from before, or...whenever you like. It's already so...vivid and alive, but if there's anything else you want to share, I'd love to hear it. And then we can go.
[ Every recollection of his fills in the gaps in her own imagination, adding even more vividness to the colours that spill out over the snow, adding chatter and laughter to the music and sound that surrounds them. If there are any last details or moments he can summon that further define the magic of this rare spot, then...they're precious, and she finds she has a sort of hunger for them. ]
Besides, maybe the snow doesn't have to be a foregone conclusion. Lune might be able to change how she uses chroma to make some of it for us, instead of just the very dangerous ice.
[ There's a half-cocked smile at that: the joke a twinkle in her eyes. ]
no subject
Why do I get the feeling Lune would expect me to answer at least a dozen questions first?
[It's probably because she would.
One more story, though. Verso lifts himself up to get a better view of the landscape, scanning the faraway wreckage of buildings and the nearby clutter of scattered amusement park booths and lampposts and cobblestones.
Immediately, his mind goes to the regrets that are wrapped up in this landscape. All the promise the people had for expansion – talk of rollercoasters and skating rinks, of setting up a second city where the sun shone the brightest and the warmth from the sea sometimes carried through the valley. There's the memories he didn't get to make, too. All the rides he'd wanted to take Alicia on once she started feeling better, the ones that were more exciting than the carousel. Just before the fracture, he'd started harbouring thoughts of spending a weekend with Julie in the little resort carved into a now caved-in mountain, the ring he kept looking at in the joaillerie by the gardens tucked into his pocket as he waited for the just-right moment. Big things. Small things. Incessant reminders that time is often stolen and never returned.
He wants to end the night on a better note than that, though, so he digs a little deeper until he unearths something on the other end of the sadness.]
There was a tree, right over there. [He points to a nondescript patch of white.] A glorious pine, centuries old. Every year, we'd have a big holiday party around it. And we'd go all out. I mean, they'd fly in the airships so people could rappel down and decorate the thing. There were booths everywhere selling cocoa and pastries. People would dress up in costumes. All the train cars were decorated with colourful lights and these flowers that smelled like berries, and you could duck inside to warm up or grab a bite to eat. Oh, and I can't forget the carolers. They'd come out around midnight and everything would go quiet until they started to sing and...
[Verso himself falls silent for a moment, as if he can hear their ghosts still singing, voices carrying so differently in the snow than in concert halls and brasseries and on the streets of Lumiere. Eventually, the silence grates, a little, and so he sings part of one of the songs – a lilting melody about snow crunching beneath dancers' feet – in a voice that's raw but practised. Only a few lines, not wanting to get carried away.]
It was mostly for the kids, but I never missed a year.
no subject
It is, again, easy to imagine. Sciel pulls herself up into a seated position to cast her gaze out over the lip of the roof, following the direction he indicates. A glorious pine, centuries old. Tall and proud, dusted with snow, bowing in the occasional winds and dropping sheets of white onto the already-blanketed ground below. ...Or onto the festivities below, as people gather close for warmth and celebration amid the cold and dark. There are lights, of course: not just from the carousel, but from lanterns and candles and sparklers. There is a joyful cacophony, of course: not just from the carousel, but from barking laughing and children's delighted shrieks and well-practiced carolers. Surrounding the tree are the booths, each tempting passers-by with the mouth-watering smells that drifted out from within. And the people...people everywhere, just happy to be together and alive, giving themselves over fully to simple pleasures and good company.
The ghosts of the scene linger, and they're all so vivid that she can nearly see them gathered. Sciel closes her eyes and the illusion strengthens as the sounds of the memory that isn't really there almost seem to increase in volume when the visual aspect is removed.
And Verso sings. It's another surprise that almost has her open her eyes right away, but she resists it. Instead, Sciel smiles gently in an almost quiet reverence, unwilling to do anything that could cause him to stop. His voice joins those from the past, carrying them through to the present, keeping them alive in those scant lines and warm notes. When he stops singing to caveat the event itself, she finally opens her eyes again, lips pressed together in a grateful smile. ]
...Keep telling those stories. To us, to those who come after... [ She turns outward again, briefly searching for something, before returning her attention to him. ] ...or just to yourself. They're all still here, in a way, if you keep their memories alive.
[ It's another rare feat that only he can accomplish. Maybe someday he'd tell someone about the 33s, too.
Delicately, Sciel stows the telescope in her pack, taking care to do so in a way that'll keep it safe during travel. She draws a deep inhale before getting to her feet, though before she does anything else, she's distracted by a light prickle of cold on her face, nudging her into looking up.
It's started flurrying. ]
...Ready? [ There's a smile, an extended hand, and another tomorrow ahead of them. ]
excuse me that song is RUDE
But the canvas can't sustain many more of those who come after, so there's an ache to it too, one that he pretends to work out of his system with a roll of his shoulders and a preemptive stretch.
It only ends up burying itself deeper.]
I will. [Tell the stories to himself, he means, and to the 33s as well. He doesn't want to humour anything beyond that.] It's like they say, yeah? We all have two deaths.
[
We will be ignoring that Hemingway was six when Verso died.As Sciel starts preparing to get up, Verso starts preparing to be prepared, looking out one last time into the sky, letting his gaze fall one last time onto the crystalline snow, wondering if this'll be his last time seeing it, too. Breathing the burn away from the backs of his eyes, he looks over to Sciel's offered hand with a smile, taking it and pulling himself up to his feet. No, his heart beats in its stubbornly persistent rhythm. But as he makes his way back to the ladder, he of course says differently.]
Yeah. Let's go.