rosy rivers lave you

[everlasting-leo]

{bree kish, four hundred and seventy nine, cis woman, she/her} || leonarda da sabbioneta is a mutant with the ability of immortality. they’ve been in new york for 36 years where they spend most of their time as an art therapist at the xavier institute. when i think of them, i think of long flowing dresses in jewel bright colours, wine spilled across scrubbed wooden tables, and effervescent laughter. they are affiliated with the xavier institute.

@c23intros​

QUICK FACTS full name: leonarda da sabbioneta age: four hundred and seventy nine  gender: cis woman mutation: immortality personality: bubbly, friendly, low level hysterical height: 5′0 (she was normal height in the renaissance, it’s not her fault everyone got taller) star sign: taurus fc: bree kish​

TASKS

TASK 1 || let’s talk about the mutant situation

Leo, as she prefers to go by these days, has been around a long time - a (fairly) full timeline of her life can be found HERE but I will also provide a TL;DR because it’s A Lot.

She was born in Renaissance Italy to fairly well-off silk merchants. She had a love affair with Titian, which led to a (LONG) lifetime of trying to recapture that feeling. She’s always hunting down artists and loves being their muse, so she’s sat for many notable painters over the years. Leo really wants you to draw her like one of your French girls.

During her thirties, she had two illegitimate children with Tiziano. They decided at great length to give the children up: Tiziano had his own family to worry about, and Leo felt she could never offer them a normal life. It was the hardest decision she ever made, and the memory of that choice still pains her. For the rest of her life, she has closely followed her lineage with Hobbit-like enthusiasm and likes to be a part of the lives of her descendants. She lost track of her lineage in the chaos of WWII and is currently trying to track people down again.

All that time spent sitting passively for portraits, combined with her parents involvement in the silk trade, led to her becoming skilled with needlework, which has been useful at many times in her life.

Really loves to party: when you’re immortal, life is one big bacchanal. As far as Leo is concerned, everyone should be having fun all the time, and if she thinks you’re not having fun she will drag you out and make you have fun.

You might think approx. five centuries of life would make her smart, but it did not. She is not clever at all, in fact she is a real bimbo. Her knowledge of history is EXTREMELY specific according to who she was sleeping with and where she was at the time. Russian revolution? She’s got no idea what they were revolting about, and she thinks war is pretty boring and gross anyway.

Has no formal qualifications as a therapist, but her open nature makes her easy to open up to, and she’s proven very good at helping young mutants build confidence. Her sessions generally comprise Leo and her patient sitting down while she shows them how to do cross stitch and she rambles on about anything and everything until the patient opens up. Due to the sheer amount of life experience she has, she can almost always find a way to relate or bring up some historical figure that she knew with similar problems.

Has a pet giant turtle called Lettuce - Lettie for short. Lettie is about 140 years old, and Leo got her as a gift when she was still a baby that could fit on the palm of her hand. Now Lettie weighs about 250lbs, and can often be found plodding around the Xavier Institute when Leo forgets to shut her door.

Can accidentally sound incredibly clever because Latin is her native language, she’s a massive Shakespeare fan (so many dick jokes! Hilarious!), and she has very niche knowledge on very specific parts of history. Don’t be fooled. She’s so dumb <3 but she means well.

Devout Catholic, never misses Sunday Mass. Fortunately it’s easy to repent when you know you’ll never meet God: she gets all the fun of Catholicism with none of the guilt.

CONNECTION IDEAS

PATIENTS // Past or present! Since Leo has been at the Institute for a long time it’s possible that even if your character is older now, she helped them come out of their shell in their younger years. Sessions with Leo are basically big gossip sessions, and if your character isn’t talkative she’ll fill in the silences and make sure you have something cute to show at the end of it.

FRIENDS IN HIGH PLACES // Leo loves surrounding herself with the talented and powerful. Especially artists, but really anyone notable. She likes to feel involved :O) if your character is influential there’s a strong chance she’s insinuated herself into their lives. Maybe they find her genuinely sweet and amusing, maybe they just put up with her presence because she’s so eager.

DESCENDANTS // Immortality doesn’t mean a lifetime of fertility. She will never be able to have more children but she can still follow her lineage. Currently she’s lost track, but will be doing some research and reuniting soon! If your character would like a chaotic vodka aunt to watch over them and encourage them, please let me know! Only stipulation is that, as Bree Kish is a quarter black, your muse must be mixed race with some black heritage.

[everlasting-leo]

turn off the t.v, it's starting to freak me out it's so loud, it's like my ears are bleeding what am i feeling? Can't look at the ceiling light is so bright, it's like i'm over-heating this mind isn't mine, who am i to judge? oh, i should be fine, but it's all too much

[everlasting-leo]

alchemiists​:

The first thing he thinks of as she walks down and out the church is how short she is, and the second is a warm sense of camaraderie between the two of them. He hadn’t exactly gone looking for a friend during Mass, but right now anything is better than here. It’s odd, to feel a little chastised by the act of leaving early, but he swallows it down and places a smirk upon his face. God and the priest can shit on him all he likes for leaving, but companionship was something he wasn’t going to take for granted. 

He flexes his fingers and a pang of pain from his temple shoots out, a random crucifix on the wall turns upside down for a moment, a last little joke to himself before it falls back onto its proper holy position and he exits. Dante can still hear the good father’s ravings, the homily, the good Word told to his flock and he breathes. “It’s the city, Leo. But whatever floats your boat.”

Stopping to sniff the flowers wasn’t exactly on his list, and his head tilts towards her—he had met enough tenured English professors to get the reference. The pitfalls of being named after that prick that wrote Inferno, he supposes. “It is a nice day. I’m not going to be a grump about that.” He holds his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. “Gives me a headache, though.” Leading her down the sidewalk, he goes on to speak. “Gonna be a walk from here to that damn diner. You okay with a long walk?”

“It is the city!” Leo agrees, “And the sun shines upon it.” She doesn’t always love living in the city, but the sun on her skin makes things feel sweeter. The sun is old: the closest thing to being as old as God as any celestial object might hope to be. The sun that warms her today is the same sun that warmed her five centuries ago. It makes her feel connected, when modern cities usually feel so isolating.

It helps to feel connected, too, to have a new friend. Dante sounds exasperated by Leo’s enthusiasm, in a way that she’s used to. When you have unlimited life you have to dig deep for joie de vivre just to make it bearable; she doesn’t mind if mortals don’t always understand.

“Long walks are fine,” she says, picking up her pace to keep up with Dante. If she was going to be really insufferable, she’d tell Dante that the journey was more important than the destination. In this context, she really believes it. A walk is an opportunity to talk; in Leo’s day, one might meet with their friends just to walk around. But instead of that, she indulges her curiosity: “What is that like? A headache?” Leo’s never had one. Sometimes after a particularly sharp blow to the skull she’d get a fleeting sting of pain, but never anything that might constitute a headache. “Other than painful, I mean.” As they walk, Leo extends the parasol that she carries on sunny days. Not that she ever burns, but excess heat can still be uncomfortable for her. With some sort of chaotic grace, walking at speed she pushes up onto her tiptoes to try and lift the parasol high enough to offer Dante protection from the sun, too.

There’s a few holes in the parasol; Leo’s had it for a hundred-odd years. But it still works, and she’s very fond of the pattern on it, embroidered tangerine-orange flowers with threads of gold to catch the light.

[everlasting-leo]

wehelminth​:

         “it’s something to consider, at any rate. particularly when pain relief may be necessary. for now, you should do well without.” a prick of a needle is hardly the worst of what someone can experience for the sake of experimentation. more importantly, for the sake of knowledge. regardless, leo’s cooperation only makes their job easier. research is best done on the ignorant, if not the willing. anything else begins to complicate the matter.

         withdrawing the needle from her arm, the hand extends to press a wad of cotton against the wound. by the time it does so, only a drop of blood is left to be absorbed. her body’s ability to heal has certainly not been exaggerated. “we prefer to see things with more neutrality. a mutation is neither a blessing nor a malady, simply a matter of existence.”

It’s very thoughtful of Isaac to clean up the nearly-non-existent blood from Leo’s arm. Leo finds kindness in a lot of small, fleeting things people do because she always thinks they don’t need to. They can’t hurt her in a way that matters. It wouldn’t matter if they let a few drops of blood spill down her arm. The gesture, to her, seems gentle.

“Is that not a dull way to live one’s life? Why do this, if not for passion?”

[everlasting-leo]

insatiablegreed​:

“Modern for you, maybe. To me, a hundred and fifty years ago is, for lack of a better word… antique.” Narcissa hopes the other woman doesn’t take offence to that comment. Antiques are rather beautiful, after all. “Not that you’re an antique. I’m sure you know what I mean.” She’s supposed to be repulsed by mutants who aren’t part of her fucked up family, but she’s never been one to shy away from someone who catches her eye. In some ways, she really is the personification of greed. She wanted too much — wanted everything beautiful and more. At least she’s not like Mori, though; binging on sex and mutations and everything in between. 

She nods, trying not to seem too eager to know more. History was her favourite subject at boarding school, much to the disapproval of Linda, who wanted her to excel in science and mathematics. “The renaissance era was beautiful. I mean, I’ve only read things and seen pictures. Living through it might’ve made me think differently,” she says, offering the redhead a smile. “Did you ever meet Michelangelo?” 

“It’s all relative, really, isn’t it?” Leo says, because it’s true. Her perception of time is different to most; 150 years isn’t a hugely long amount of time to her, but if you’d asked her when she was twenty or thirty, it would have been a very different answer. “And I am an antique! Just a terribly well preserved one!” she giggles gently. Leo likes antiques; it doesn’t feel like an insult.

“It was so much more vibrant than you’d believe! All we have left is faded behind old varnish and damage, but the colours when they were fresh... people wouldn’t be so faithless if they could see a Da Vinci fresco fresh on the walls. I did meet Michelangelo, a few times in fact. To tell the truth though, he was a bit of a fuddy duddy. More wealth than most nobility but he never spent it; at feasts he’d just eat plain bread. We called him Il Divino because his art was... well, you know. When it comes to God’s glory there’s very few that can create more moving depictions. But he was not fun at parties. I mean,”

Leo lowers her voice like she’s imparting a great secret and Michelangelo might appear behind her at any moment. “I think it was a bit of a self flagellating thing, living absolutely abstemiously to punish himself for being gay, poor dear. But he was never high on my guest list for banquets. Not that he would have come anyway!”

[everlasting-leo]

musas-muse​:

“Mhm.” The artist hummed softly, though clearly still impressed, as she took the spot next to Leo. “And the delicate balance between deadliness and fragility. It’s why I chose this stone for her.” She paused here, allowing a few moments for quiet contemplation before explaining. “Obsidian is the sharpest material found in the natural world; capable of slicing near anything to shreds. But it is also one of the most fragile.” Her eyes don’t leave her work as she speaks, and she resists the urge to reach out her own gloved hand. The security system was already installed and active. She didn’t want to risk tripping it in front of a client. “Did you know that you can splinter and brake the side of a chunk of obsidian down to a single atom, and the blade would still be smoother and sharper than steel?”

“Perhaps too often, one can find the same juxtaposition within the concept of femininity and womanhood, don’t you think?” She poses, her eyes slowly scanning up the statue’s figure and the possibilities within it. “You can fracture a woman into as many jagged parts as you want– and even frightened and broken, she’s still a force to be reckoned with. To be feared in return. More so, really; with all of her sharp edges exposed.” This particular Aphrodite was no danger of course. Sela had purposefully not broken any pieces to create a blade’s edge. She couldn’t risk some kind of accident before being able to cash the check– that’s just bad business. 

Medusa turns a soft smile towards Leo. Those that knew her would know it to be a rare, genuine one. “That was my intention with this piece, anyway. Art is, as you know, subjective. Her eyes and lips may be made of stone, but they still speak, hm? They still convey a message.” Her voice is still feather soft, her smile softer. It’s been years since someone’s looked at one of her pieces and seen beyond the naked and morbid. Sela won’t hide her appreciation. “I’m curious.. Will you share with me what she says to you? What you see?”

Obsidian is a word that, for some reason, fills Leo with an odd sense of fear. She’s not sure why, but there’s something primal about it. It’s a weird response to have, because as far as she knows she’s never had any run ins with obsidian, but there it is, an odd clench in her heart. Maybe it’s the atom thing -- Leo hadn’t known that until Sela explains it, but what a terrifying concept. Leo hates atoms, or the knowledge of them at any rate. She can think of nothing uglier than atomic bombs.

In a morbid way, though, Leo’s always liked being frightened. Not much does frighten her any more, because not much hurts her. Fear feels like a raw sliver of humanity in a body that has long since ceased feeling human. More mannequin like, most days. 

The concept behind this statue is fascinating. The female of the species is more deadly than the male, she thinks. It’s not been Leo’s experience, globally speaking: of all the war and death she’s experienced, men have been far more deadly. But she’s also seen women shatter and break and that is often far worse, at least in personal terms. Harder to watch one woman suffer than it is to watch a tragedy of faceless crowds, for some reason.

“I see... a cage. The Venus is meant to be empowering, but her hands and hair always cover her breasts, her genitals, anything people consider ‘indecent’. So to me it’s not an empowering pose, it’s a sanitised pose crafted by men to display the feminine form in terms they find palatable.” she gestures to the screaming face of the statue, twisted in agony. “It makes me feel like that, too, sometimes. Looked at, always looked, for all eternity, and always posed by someone else.” Leo loves being drawn, because it’s immortality on her own terms, but sometimes she feels a sharp stab of bitterness towards it all. It’s all for consumption. She’s been cannibalised for centuries and never had a bite taken out of her.

“But I see your vision, too. Being a woman hurts. Even when it gets better, it hurts in different ways.” They’ve got more liberties now, but the world never stops finding insidious ways to cause pain.

[everlasting-leo]

august-specter​:

Five-hundred, and she stopped counting. August blinks at her, then follows the swing of her leg to see the unmarred, perfectly intact skin. She smooths her skirt over like it’s nothing. Leo doesn’t sound overly thrilled at the concept, he thinks, trying to tamp down his own enthusiasm to have a little more empathy. Living that long? He can imagine she’d been in countless wars. One was already one too many for any lifetime. “Damn.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know my art history, I’m sure you’re right.” How could he really argue with the opinion of someone centuries old? It’s easy to dismiss his own exhaustion after his shift given the most interesting person he thinks he’s ever met. Not to mention he’s a sucker for a story, even a sad one at the way she drifted off, thinking of her own time on earth. She isn’t someone he’d want to lose in the city. “Are you busy? Do you want to…grab a coffee? I need one.”

“That’s alright, most don’t,” she reassures him. For Leo, history as told through art is the most intimate, and the most personal. But she understands that to many, it can be the least interesting because it’s just a painting of some person, or a sculpture of some man. They don’t know how to look between the brushstrokes and see all the stories told within.

She laughs at the idea of being busy. Leo’s never busy. She’s got nothing but time, and in the end that’s all she’ll ever have. “A coffee would be lovely! My treat, because I think I ought to make it up to you for giving you such a dreadful fright.”

[everlasting-leo]

rcyal-mercer​:

     Royal drops his mouth open in a (hopefully) friendly smile. It works with other bears, at least. He wiggles his nose for good measure as she laughs and speaks to him. It takes him a second, but he recognizes it as Latin. Oh, interesting! He doesn’t speak it but he does recognize a couple words – bear, and also honey, which makes his ears perk up. Then the word bear again, but different? Oh, wait, she’s pulling out a sandwich! This woman is the best!

    Before he picks up the sandwich with delicate precision, he nuzzles at her hands a little. Royal uses both paws to hold the sandwich and take a bite, holding on to the rest. As he chews, he purrs – a deep, rumbling sound more reminiscent of a large, slow motor than nearly anything else. Once he swallows, he smiles at her again, still purring. She is by far one of the most generous people he’s met out here this year. So far, anyway. 

    He leans back towards her and snuffles at her hand before popping the rest of the sandwich into his mouth. So tasty! Royal wiggles happily – the calories in that will keep him going for a while.

Well, what an intelligent bear! He picks up the sandwich in both hands, looking positively human. Actually, he reminds Leo of the trained bears she’d seen long ago, and she’d learned they were treated quite cruelly. She does hope this bear isn’t one of them. When he nuzzles at her hand she scratches at the dense, velvety fur around his nose and mouth, looking over his face for any injuries or signs of being forced to wear a muzzle, or… well, she’s not sure exactly.

The bear nuzzles her hand again and Leo giggles, distracted briefly from her worries as she scratches under his chin. “O, ursa tam amicabilis!” she croons again, gently flicking a few crumbs away from the fur of the bear’s mouth. The way he’s wiggling looks happy, but Leo is aware she’s not exactly a hardened explorer, so it’s very possible she doesn’t understand. “Sit pede videre?” she asks, talking for her own benefit rather than the bear’s – to signify what she is asking, she holds a hand out, palm up. The hope is that the bear will understand and put its paw in hers so she can inspect it, though it does look rather like she’s asking him to dance.

[yesterdaysprint]

Feather River Bulletin, Quincy, California, March 20, 1924

[everlasting-leo]

alchemiists​:

Have to. Like the command comes on high. She seems so sure of herself, of her faith, so much so that it almost hurts to look at her; it’s envious, the certainty of it all. He wishes he has just enough faith like her, so he can stop doubting. Perhaps if he stops doubting one thing, everything falls into place. Like dominoes on a table, primed and waiting for a hand to tip them over. “Well,” he starts, clearing his throat. “I’m glad you do.”

Allowing himself to forge this new connection, Dante smiles and nods. “Yeah. It’s Dante. Don’t think I know yours.” His ears perk up again to the ramblings, having particularly tired himself out on the mad tidings of a priest that he seems to not want to hear anymore. There’s small eye contact between the two of them and a roll of his eyes. The good father should be used to this by now. 

Bumping the stranger’s shoulder, he quirks his head to the door. “Hey. I know a nice diner here. I usually go after mass, but I don’t think I’m really enraptured today. You mind ditching this? I’m sure God won’t really mind.”

Dante! “Like Alighieri!” Leo enthuses, perhaps a little louder than is appropriate for the middle of mass, and she bites down on her lip with a sheepish glance to the pulpit. It’s not a name one hears so much lately, and she’s thrilled to meet her first Dante in many years. Moderating her voice to a lower volume, she continues: “My name’s Leonarda, but most people just call me Leo.”

These days, anyway. She’s lived through enough times and cultures to have gone by many variations: Lady da Sabbioneta, madam, Leonarda, Miss Sabbioneta, Goody Finch (which she shouldn’t have used because she hadn’t technically been married to Mr. Finch, but it was convenient to both of them to pretend). She’s not really fussy at this point.

Usually the idea of leaving Mass early would be mortally offensive to Leo: utter sacrilege. But in Dante’s vulnerability she thinks she senses a lost lamb. If you can’t find yourself, then the clamour and thrill of Mass will only drive you further into the tempest. It would, she thinks, be a good Christian act to accompany him out. (Leo’s always had her oblivious ways of excusing sacrilege). “Well, I pardon you, and I’m confident God shall also pardon you. Let’s go.” she nudges his shoulder back with the familiarity of old friends, getting to her feet and leading the way down the pew with none of the shrinking self consciousness one expects of early leavers. She’s far, far too old to ever be embarrassed. 

Once outside, she turns her face to the sun and inhales the crisp air deeply, spinning around. “A beautiful day, isn’t it, Dante? Nature really is the art of God.” She doesn’t know if he’ll actually be familiar with Alighieri’s work enough to spot the quote, but either way the sentiment is true, and he’s always been one of her favourite writers.

[everlasting-leo]

wehelminth​:

         “it may be worth exploring, or it may not be. in the end, it’s your decision to accept or refuse any medications offered to you.” the expenses may or may not be paid by government figures. sometimes, research is deemed important enough to excuse the cost. they don’t expect that logic to be employed, here. while immortality is sought out by the elite, few have the ability to justify taking it right from the source—beyond human dna.  in the end, it matters little. an individual human will inevitably succumb to a lack of mortality, whereas something greater would find the experience liberating. they plan to elevate them to such a level.

         the question isn’t quite as interesting, but at least isn’t totally a waste of time. “it’s unclear. it’s possible your mutation wouldn’t react with human dna. it’s equally possible it might poison them. either way, more than likely it wouldn’t provide them with much relief.” her specific mutation would, in the vast majority of cases, probably do nothing at all. the most damning thing to worry about was bodily rejection. because of that small chance, she would likely be barred from giving blood. “have you ever tried donating?”

“Oh, I’ll try anything once. More than once. Not as if it can kill me.” If anything, she finds new medical procedures and practices thrilling. Of course Leo doesn’t understand them on any level, but when your body always regenerates, you do develop a morbid fascination for seeing how far it can be pushed. In a way, she sort of wants a physician to rip her apart and tell her what’s wrong.

“Not in a long time. I did try once a few decades ago, but the needle kept breaking off in my arm and eventually they realised there was something different about me so I got chased off. It’s probably kinder for everyone that way; immortality isn’t something one ought to wish for. A malady more than a blessing.”

[everlasting-leo]

suremarkj​:

mark and leo shared one trait: they died, they came back to life. however, mark was a mortal man. eventually, his body would deteriorate. eventually, his body would become unlivable. at 100, he would be looking 100, and he would be feeling 100. leo, on the other hand ? her body never expired. and, from his understanding, if it did, her soul just moved on to the next one. from the perspective of a man who played god, it seemed a blessing ; from the perspective of the man mark really was, somewhere trying to surface again, it seemed a curse. he stood up and motioned for her to follow him, unable to truly think when he had so much blood staining his teeth. “ tell ya what, i don’t really… go anywhere, ” he replied, shrugging a shoulder as they entered the men’s room ( in her centuries of life, he was certain she’d seen one before – not to mention, no one else was there ).  seconds later, he faced her again, toothbrush hanging from his mouth as he considered the rest of what she had said. everything that was not a simple answer. “ ain’t awful to say. not like you actually killed me. ” spit, rinse, tap against the sink, tuck away, turn back, cross his arms. “ hell, even if you had, ain’t like i didn’t ask for it. ain’t like you weren’t doin’ it as a favor, ‘right ? ” then came the heavier impact: god doesn’t want to see her. mark had lost true faith long ago. what the ultimate catalyst had been, he could no longer nail it. whether he still had it when his show essentially turned into the ‘jesus was clearly a mutant’ show, he wasn’t sure. it was a slow loss, once preceded by being treated the way he seemed to seek once again: like a god. but it had not been by choice – not even by want – that first time around. it had been by force.  but what was love if not becoming sacred ? “ when i die, it’s just a black void. don’t feel any different when i wake up, ‘sides the pain of whatever killed me for a minute or two. ” he paused, considering the implications of that emptiness. “ but that don’t mean there’s nothing, ‘right ? just means i don’t remember. seems like the kinda thing He’d do – make sure you don’t remember so y’ain’t expecting it when you die – ‘cause who’s to say that’s where you’ll end up ? – and so you don’t go spillin’ the beans. ” truth be told, he believed it was a black void. he no longer believed in the great beyond, in a heaven and a hell, but it was worth theorizing. and it was worth providing potential comfort to a friend. “ i’ve always thought that immortality’s one of the highest abilities you can have. like you’ve been sent by Him to do great on earth – got a purpose past what any regular lifetime could give you. almost saintly. ”

.

Going into the men’s room is a little peculiar for Leo, not because it feels improper but because she grew up in a time when life was very limited for women. In her youth she wouldn’t have that sort of freedom, so although it’s just a bathroom it also feels somehow quite racy. 

Mark begins the process of brushing his teeth, and though the sound makes Leo wince, she watches with fascination anyway. The blood, the hulking breadth of Mark’s form making the sink look toy-like and tiny, and the bright, sterile white porcelain. She’s disappointed that he doesn’t go anywhere when he dies: nothing after death is the worst fate Leo can imagine. She comforts herself with the thought that perhaps death is just a longer process than we imagine, and it takes the soul a little longer than expected to reach the pearly gates. It’s what she’ll choose to believe, anyway.

Or! As Mark suggests, maybe he just forgets. The enormity of Heaven: too much for the mind to comprehend when one is still alive. Will Leo ever have the chance to comprehend it? Probably not. But the thought doesn’t make her feel ‘almost saintly’ at all.

“Almost.” She echoes with a smile, more melancholy than her usual ebullience. “But I never really figured out my purpose. In a lifetime of lifetimes I thought love was enough. I thought God just wanted me to be kind and that would be enough.” She looks up at the stark bathroom lights in the ceiling, and they feel like a cage. “This modern world feels like a cage. What’s the point? What is the purpose? Everything’s for sale and there’s no beauty or love left.” She catches her breath; hadn’t meant to go on like that, and switches on a bright smile, halogen-stark. “I suppose I’ve got all of eternity to figure it out!” Her laugh is on the breathless edge of hysteria.

.

[everlasting-leo]

@rcyal-mercer​:

     The sound of the woman singing reaches Royal’s ears before he can see her and he smiles. She’s got a lovely voice. He tilts his head, watching and listening carefully as she approaches him. Her outfit looks vintage – she’s got style, too. And she’s waving back! He flings his other paw up and waves with both very excitedly before clasping them together in front of himself.

      At the suggestion he would eat her Royal snorts indignantly. And possibly with a bit of surprise at her old-fashioned vocabulary. But when she mentions sandwiches his ears perk up. One long sniff tells him she has something with honey, and was that – banana? Oooh, delicious!

     Royal lets out a small rumble and pats his stomach with one paw. It rumbles back. Is it rude to accept a sandwich in this situation? She doesn’t seem to be at all afraid, but he’s not sure it’s the polite thing to do. 

Oh, this bear is absolutely precious! He sniffs at the air, letting out a purr-like rumble and patting his belly. It’s almost like he can understand her. She’s laughing in delight as she speaks, slipping into her native Latin because bears don’t understand any human languages, so why not stick to what she’s comfortable with?

“Sal-veee, ursa! Tibi placet panis et mel? O, cogito agis! Tu felix ursi.” Reaching into her bag, she withdraws the sandwiches and unwraps them. If the bear ends up biting her hand off then so be it, but he seems so friendly that she’s not even a little bit worried as she approaches him, rubbing the dense, soft hairs of his muzzle and holding a sandwich to his mouth. “Mansuetim esse, quaeso!”

[everlasting-leo]

smitebound​:

          @everlasting-leo​ !!

         “you look a bit lost there, mate.” not the first, nor the last person in new york to lose their way—but at least it might offer a profit. “need a lift?”

“Mate?” Leo blinks in surprise, not familiar with the notion of ‘mate’ being anything other than a breeding partner. She is lost, as it happens, but she’s also slightly confused by this man’s approach. “That’s awfully forward!” She chirps brightly, clearly unoffended but also not immediately jumping into the idling automobile.

[everlasting-leo]

as the air moves thick through the hollow reeds will you wait for me there until someone comes to carry me, carry me down see i have not i have not grown cold

[everlasting-leo]

alchemiists​:

Dante looks at her with some genuine amount of curiosity—there’s so much in the world that he hates, that has him on the back foot that someone who loves the world and cherishes every moment is a particularly odd thing. She’s odd. Everything’s odd when you’re a mutant, especially if you’re a mutant who goes to church and listens to the rambling of old men in dyed cloth. Love thy neighbor. But Dante hasn’t loved since Mark—and he knows how that ended between them. Hell, he hasn’t loved his parents for a long time. The only person he loves is his brother, and he thinks he’s forgotten him off the other side of the country, spouting lines and being a star.

“It’s hard, I think. To grasp faith, because it just asks so much and so little. Let me believe that there’s something good in the world, let me believe that there’s a reason, but—” It’s hard. Dante looks at that old cross, and he can feel the pull of wood and nails and stone, how he wants to tilt it or bring it down upon someone’s head. “I don’t know.”

Science and facts are easy, they don’t ask a lot, and they’re hard to negotiate with, but they are negotiable. God? Faith? Dante can’t keep it in line, but he still talks to the lady next to him, more focused on this than anything else around. “Yeah. Maybe I want to,” he says, looking down, a little small at his hands. “Do you want to?”

“It is hard,” Leo agrees. Loving God isn’t meant to be easy. “I can’t always feel God, as a… an entity, a concept, around me. It’s too big. But when I think of the smaller things — you know, read a really moving poem or look into the eyes of someone that’s in love with me — I can’t not believe in a higher power.”

It’s all too deliberate. Leo knows there’s a God, because how could there not be? How could this all be some cosmic coincidence?

She can feel God in this conversation, in fact. The priest recites his passionless words by rote, but this man beside her is searching. He looks to the Heavens, even as they exist in their humble pastiche of stone and faith in the church’s ceiling. If God is there, Dante will find him. “Oh yes,” she breathes, conscious of the priest still monologuing. “More than anything. And I do. I have to, sure as I have to breathe.” Leo blinks once, twice, to the ceiling, then the rambling old priest, then the man beside her with rapt curiosity. “May I know your name?”

[everlasting-leo]

wehelminth​:

         “has it been tried before, then?” they assume that given her lack of cellular aging that medications would be complicated, but not necessarily impossible, to administer. theoretically, they could continue to pump it into her veins until the procedure is finished. expensive, likely not worth the effort, but an interesting possibility to consider nonetheless. “medicine has come far even in the last few years. you might find yourself surprised at what it’s capable of, now. most people are.”

         but the reason for her visit isn’t to be sold on the benefits of medicine. having lived through darker ages, no doubt she is well aware of the fruits of scientific labor. at least, she could recognize the extension of the average individual lifespan. “a needle is more easily kept sterilized and localizes the puncture wound to limit the chance of infection. the vial itself is easier to store than a bowl and helps keep contaminants out of the sample. you could even think of it as a more convenient bowl, of sorts.” gingerly, the needle is inserted into her arm, moved on occasion to keep flesh from growing over it. “this won’t take long.”

“Yes, not in a while… it takes an awful lot to have any effect, is the problem. They used to soak tampons in opium, for pain relief, and even that didn’t do much even though it was obviously rather strong. I can’t even get drunk. But yes, it’s certainly possible that modern medicine is more effective.”

It is worth noting that Leo hadn’t needed opium soaked tampons, or tampons of any description, since she’s not had a period since the Renaissance. However, she’d thought they seemed like a fun notion.

“Hm… okay.” She agrees with Isaac’s conclusion on the benefits of needles, even if she’s not sure she does totally get it. “I suppose it is a bit like a very tiny bowl…” her tone is softly dubious, but she is fortunately distracted by the needle in the crook of her arm. Leo finds the process of blood letting fascinating. She always thought machinery had that in common with humans, oil or blood running through their veins, hopeless without it. She watches closely as the needle slips carefully through her skin. “What do you suppose would happen if I donated my blood? I’ve never done that. Would they live a little longer? Or would it hurt them? Drive them insane?”

Leo doesn’t think Isaac has the answer to that question. They couldn’t, because they’ve not even studied the blood yet. She’s just in the habit of rambling, even in the face of an individual so devotedly pragmatic as Isaac.

They’re fascinating to her, actually. Leo grew up in a time when everything was embellished: worship was paid in gold and feelings painted in sonnets. There’s something skeletal about Isaac’s presence; they’re like a palette of unmixed paint. Or, perhaps, a block of marble. A sculptor might chip away at the marble and find a biblical figure beneath, or an expression of beauty, but in Isaac’s case Leo thinks it would be endless planes of soft pale stone, unmarred by emotion or such strange ephemera as the desire to tell a story.