Oh, she's a stickler for a lot of things. ...But, yes. You'll learn soon enough.
[ He's likely already got an idea of that, considering he's made the time for everyone so far, getting to know each member of their group. Sciel has observed some of these conversations -- with Maelle, Lune, and Esquie -- noting the easy back and forth he seems to have with each of them. She's also watched him when he's on his own, eyes following his back as it disappears beyond the outskirts of camp, or as he sits awake while everyone else rests.
In some of those times and now, she thinks: he seems sad. And honestly, who isn't? There's a lot to be sad about. But since he's been working so hard to help them, to get to know them, she feels...an extra dose of empathy when she notices these minute flashes of what are surely the old wounds of an immortal man with countless buried friends.
So Sciel smiles. Reaches out to take his hand and presses a card into it: Strength. ]
This isn't a good answer, but...no, I don't, really. Because they're all important, they can all offer their own guidance. Even the 'scary' ones. [ There's a light chuckle, a shrug, and she withdraws a little, leaving the card in his hand. ] Besides, I think if I played favorites, the others might get jealous. I'm not looking to invite any of that kind of bad energy.
[ Whether she's serious or joking is up for debate, though her grin, at least, is playful. There's another brief silence as she moves to get to her feet, turning away from him to cast her gaze out and away, toward the Monolith. ]
...But: Death. [ Sciel doesn't turn back toward him as she offers a real answer, and the card in question doesn't make an appearance. ] A card of possibility.
[Immortal men, it turns out, are still prone to flustering. Sciel takes Verso's hand and the card she places in it feels immediately appropriate given how much of his strength it takes for him to maintain the ruse of the mysterious stranger, warm towards others yet distant when it comes to himself, experienced and calm and not at all struggling through the effects of his decades-long seclusions. At least the fluster isn't obvious, manifesting mostly as a tingle across his scalp, as a warmth to his cheeks that isn't enough to colour them, as an unsurety of what to do with his hand until Sciel pulls her own away. Then, he focuses on the picture on the card, how the infinity symbol hangs over the woman's head like a halo, how she bends to pet the lion by her side, how its tail is tucked between its legs. The soft huff of breath that follows is half amusement, half disbelief at how on-the-head the art is, even if he isn't sure how well strength applies to him.
When she can't give him an answer, he's ready to leave it at that. He's still not sure how much he buys into the thought of higher powers – the people of this world are made from paint and he understands too well what that implies – but then, Painting itself is something of a higher power, suggesting the kind of connectedness that may well communicate through cards and their readings. And it is interesting, and he likes how Sciel lights up when she talks about it, how it's given her hope.
But she gets up and he assumes that he's talked her ear off about those very cards, and that she's about to wish him a good night in the polite way of strangers who connected for a fleeting moment that's already passed. So, he rises to his feet, too, keeping awkward hold of the card, its woman and its lion still oblivious to how close they are to home, planning to hand it back to her when she actually gives him an answer.
What an answer, too. Death. He almost quips back with For some of us, anyway, but that feels entirely too morbid and in poor taste considering how oppressively death comes for the Lumierans. Not wanting to intrude on the distance she created, he takes a soft step back, holding Strength with a little more surety now.]
Let me guess.
[Said earnestly. If the Fool isn't so much a fool, and if Death means possibility, then maybe...]
It's kind of like rebirth, yeah? "Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."
[ That effortless little smile, so often present, grows. ]
Right. The end of a part of your life that's not serving you anymore. A door closing so a window can open, and all that. [ Death is not only her constant companion, but a close 'friend' of everyone in Lumiére. It's essential, she feels, to embrace that fact, lest you go insane.
Or swim out to sea with no intention of returning. ]
It can act as a warning: that holding on to the past may bring pain for yourself and others.
[ A more poignant sentiment for this world than she realizes.
Sciel finally looks back to Verso, who is again, seemingly, a bit lost in thought. After a brief stretch of silence, she offers: ]
You can hold onto that for now, if you like. Give it back when we get around to that official reading. [ And then, for clarification: ] Maybe you don't need it for yourself, but it can also help you to be there for the others.
[ Though she had intended it for him, she isn't about to overtly suggest that he might need more help than he's letting on. Verso has generally acted as an unflappable source of guidance for their group thus far, and while Sciel doesn't doubt he'll be able to continue that way, it certainly doesn't hurt to provide a reminder: you aren't the only one trying to keep the lights on. ]
And -- thanks. For checking on me. [ There's a renewed brightness in her face as she says it, crossing her arms over her chest. ] I really like talking to you.
okay but like secret smile does kinda have versciel vibes
[This last definition is what impacts Verso the most; the end of this life, a window opening so that he can take one final breath of fresh air, by his own will and into his own lungs, before everything goes dark and his past is freed from the talons of the Dessendres' grief.]
It's the present that matters. Even the future's impossible to live in, right?
[He agrees at the end. This, at least, his actions represent. The past hast turned him into something he can't live with, and the future will turn him into nothing at all, but the present is where and when he can live though smaller, quieter moments like this, stitching them together into the fabric of a life that might have been worth living had it not brought about such suffering to everyone else.
When she tells him to hold onto the card, his own smile shines through. Holding it up between his fingers, he motions it towards her like a soft salute, then tucks it inside of his jacket, between his vest and his shirt, tapping the place where it rests over his heart.]
And thanks. I'll keep it safe.
[Meaning he'll stash it somewhere better once he's back at the camp proper. As she thanks him in turn, he takes note of how brightly she shines before looking back up at the stars and thinking that they pale in comparison.]
Yeah, of course. [A smile of his own, not bright but soft, like the very edges of the starlight as they blur out into the night sky.] If you ever need anything, I'm here. Unless you want someone to take over when it's your turn to be the sentry, then you're on your own.
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tableauvivant) wrote2025-09-17 01:14 pm
no subject
[ He's likely already got an idea of that, considering he's made the time for everyone so far, getting to know each member of their group. Sciel has observed some of these conversations -- with Maelle, Lune, and Esquie -- noting the easy back and forth he seems to have with each of them. She's also watched him when he's on his own, eyes following his back as it disappears beyond the outskirts of camp, or as he sits awake while everyone else rests.
In some of those times and now, she thinks: he seems sad. And honestly, who isn't? There's a lot to be sad about. But since he's been working so hard to help them, to get to know them, she feels...an extra dose of empathy when she notices these minute flashes of what are surely the old wounds of an immortal man with countless buried friends.
So Sciel smiles. Reaches out to take his hand and presses a card into it: Strength. ]
This isn't a good answer, but...no, I don't, really. Because they're all important, they can all offer their own guidance. Even the 'scary' ones. [ There's a light chuckle, a shrug, and she withdraws a little, leaving the card in his hand. ] Besides, I think if I played favorites, the others might get jealous. I'm not looking to invite any of that kind of bad energy.
[ Whether she's serious or joking is up for debate, though her grin, at least, is playful. There's another brief silence as she moves to get to her feet, turning away from him to cast her gaze out and away, toward the Monolith. ]
...But: Death. [ Sciel doesn't turn back toward him as she offers a real answer, and the card in question doesn't make an appearance. ] A card of possibility.
no subject
When she can't give him an answer, he's ready to leave it at that. He's still not sure how much he buys into the thought of higher powers – the people of this world are made from paint and he understands too well what that implies – but then, Painting itself is something of a higher power, suggesting the kind of connectedness that may well communicate through cards and their readings. And it is interesting, and he likes how Sciel lights up when she talks about it, how it's given her hope.
But she gets up and he assumes that he's talked her ear off about those very cards, and that she's about to wish him a good night in the polite way of strangers who connected for a fleeting moment that's already passed. So, he rises to his feet, too, keeping awkward hold of the card, its woman and its lion still oblivious to how close they are to home, planning to hand it back to her when she actually gives him an answer.
What an answer, too. Death. He almost quips back with For some of us, anyway, but that feels entirely too morbid and in poor taste considering how oppressively death comes for the Lumierans. Not wanting to intrude on the distance she created, he takes a soft step back, holding Strength with a little more surety now.]
Let me guess.
[Said earnestly. If the Fool isn't so much a fool, and if Death means possibility, then maybe...]
It's kind of like rebirth, yeah? "Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."
verso's a semisonic fan huh
Right. The end of a part of your life that's not serving you anymore. A door closing so a window can open, and all that. [ Death is not only her constant companion, but a close 'friend' of everyone in Lumiére. It's essential, she feels, to embrace that fact, lest you go insane.
Or swim out to sea with no intention of returning. ]
It can act as a warning: that holding on to the past may bring pain for yourself and others.
[ A more poignant sentiment for this world than she realizes.
Sciel finally looks back to Verso, who is again, seemingly, a bit lost in thought. After a brief stretch of silence, she offers: ]
You can hold onto that for now, if you like. Give it back when we get around to that official reading. [ And then, for clarification: ] Maybe you don't need it for yourself, but it can also help you to be there for the others.
[ Though she had intended it for him, she isn't about to overtly suggest that he might need more help than he's letting on. Verso has generally acted as an unflappable source of guidance for their group thus far, and while Sciel doesn't doubt he'll be able to continue that way, it certainly doesn't hurt to provide a reminder: you aren't the only one trying to keep the lights on. ]
And -- thanks. For checking on me. [ There's a renewed brightness in her face as she says it, crossing her arms over her chest. ] I really like talking to you.
okay but like secret smile does kinda have versciel vibes
It's the present that matters. Even the future's impossible to live in, right?
[He agrees at the end. This, at least, his actions represent. The past hast turned him into something he can't live with, and the future will turn him into nothing at all, but the present is where and when he can live though smaller, quieter moments like this, stitching them together into the fabric of a life that might have been worth living had it not brought about such suffering to everyone else.
When she tells him to hold onto the card, his own smile shines through. Holding it up between his fingers, he motions it towards her like a soft salute, then tucks it inside of his jacket, between his vest and his shirt, tapping the place where it rests over his heart.]
And thanks. I'll keep it safe.
[Meaning he'll stash it somewhere better once he's back at the camp proper. As she thanks him in turn, he takes note of how brightly she shines before looking back up at the stars and thinking that they pale in comparison.]
Yeah, of course. [A smile of his own, not bright but soft, like the very edges of the starlight as they blur out into the night sky.] If you ever need anything, I'm here. Unless you want someone to take over when it's your turn to be the sentry, then you're on your own.