Rubbing knuckles bruised sick-yellow and hurt-purple, Lucas regarded the monument made flesh who continued, despite his jabs, to deflect and protect. There was a kindness in the walls of the man with the beardy face and cloven feet that Lucas didn’t quite understand. Stuart couldn’t fathom it and Lucas couldn’t decipher it. It was something they were both unused to, and something the latter of the two was now trying to view in a new light: they weren’t quite in the grasp of the torch of trust as of yet, but he’d found the pocket version and was inclined to shine it on Taniel; at least for a trial period.
He’d brought him good tidings in the form of cocoa, after all.
There was a derisive sneer that toyed around the corners of Lucas’s lips like fish hooks at the mention of kindness in a verbal way, however. The knee-jerk reaction was to wave it off, but instead of dismissing or wavering, he instead fixed a steely blue-green stare on Taniel–a sea wave against a wall of sand and time. Head cocked to one side, he sipped his hot chocolate and studied Taniel–seeing him not as artistically or dreamily as Stuart, perhaps, but seeing him as…a companion. A friend. To Stuart, at any rate. A man, more than an idea, though.
“We’ve been stung before,” was all he said in regards to honey and bees, before setting his cup down, fingers drumming idly. “That being said, your…compassion,” he managed to keep the drawl out of his Londonderry voice. “Is appreciated.” There was a short pause in which Lucas regarded Taniel almost ruefully, then raised the cup to him. “As is the rest of you.” He tossed back the remainder of the second helping of something hot and sweet without so much as a wink (that existed more in his words than his demeanor).
There was another silence following Taniel’s explanation, and Lucas slowly folded his hands under his chin–not laying down his invisible cards just yet, but certainly holding. He watched Taniel as one might the rising of the sun, with a mixture of trepidation; wariness, and eagerness. A hunger, as if the new day, for Lucas, couldn’t come fast enough. The splice cocked his head to one side and observed; soaking in the sunlight that was Taniel’s warmth and explanation. As philosophical and frilly as it might’ve been to some, Lucas basked in it. It was an opening; a vulnerability. A vein into which he could tap to find the nest of arteries needed to protect Stuart, but more than that, it was…trust. Truth. It was Taniel’s truth, awash in wonder and gilded in ancient glory, but a truth nonetheless. Truth, much like art, was priceless: you could weigh and measure it all you wanted, but at the end of the day, it’d always mean something more to somebody else than it might mean to another.
“Because art is his shield,” Lucas replied; his own brand of honesty in exchange for Taniel’s own. His voice had softened, albeit the words still held the clipped assurance Stuart lacked when he spoke. There was a crispness to the words; a curtness that, while not rude, dismissed the poetic meandering of a young man with a stammer in exchange for a no-nonsense ferocity. All this he tempered for Taniel, his voice mellowing. “I needed to know you didn’t intend to wrest that from him in order to better yourself.” His eyes flickered across Taniel’s face idly.
“He’s very fond of you,” Lucas said at last, scratching his nose and finally glancing away. “As you might be aware.” He decided to try something–another truth; Stuart’s truth, passed along through a grapevine of nerves and fractured genetics, slipping between his teeth–smoke itself would have more substance than the whisper that followed the words prior:
“In you he sees a shelter. He feels safe when he is with you.”
Taniel coughed into his cocoa, hiding a startled grin. Stuart flirted like a storybook maiden with a surprisingly knowledgeable streak; Lucas flirted like an oncoming truck that swerved at the last second. All the same, Taniel knew the difference between a winsome game of chicken and an invitation to pursue. Chuckling, he lifted his cup in rejoinder.
Lucas gathered his words while Taniel regained his self-possession. He was looking appropriately solicitous by the time the man - men? - across the table spoke. A wince cracked the smoothness of his face. “I don’t break shields anymore, Lucas. And… forgive me if I’m speculating off-mark, but aren’t you his shield? I thought art was his sword. He uses it to fight back,” mused the dead city. “Anyway, Stuart’s art is his. Whether he chooses to share it with me or to guard it or burn it - that’s always going to be his choice.”
“I’m very fond of him,” Tan replied, smiling. “I’m even growing rather fond of you. Do you think we could be friends, you and I? He’d probably like that.” He trailed off when it became evident Lucas was preparing to say something weighty-
-and was utterly unprepared.
Time hiccuped, and Taniel remembered to act like he inhabited his body rather than being inhabited himself. He blinked and cooling tears shivered off his lashes. He studied them on his hand like he didn’t know what they were. Blinked again. Sniffed. Made his shoulders his again and took a deep breath.
“Thank you. Both of you. I’ll do my best to live up to that trust.” A heartbeat. “May I hug you?”
Smirking to himself at the reaction he wrought from Taniel, Lucas steepled his fingers yet again and pressed them against his mouth almost prayerfully; apologetically. He was, of course, not even a teaspoon remorseful, but rather, relished the laughter. He wasn't all violence and vindiction. He could find amusement in the amusement of others, after all. Especially now that he and Taniel weren't to be sworn enemies--for the time being, at any rate. He'd keep his calendar and options open.
"...Touche," dryly drawled the redhead with the ragged knuckles, offering Taniel acknowledgment in the form of a slow nod. A paintbrush was as good a sword as any--whether it was wielded from the broken edges of a shiv in a pinch or as it was originally intended; to garnish canvases with color and bring life to imagination; solidity to dreams.
There was a quiet moment once again as Lucas regarded Taniel with a vague expression of wide-eyed bemusement. Someone? Fond of Lucas, of all beings? He had a hard time believing that, but he was more than pleased to hear it. Startled; but pleased. He kept that close to his chest, like most things, and simply smiled in reply, brows shrugging. Friendship was something that came easy to neither Lucas nor Stu, and the steward of the body piloting the two of them was currently unavailable for consultation on the matter. He pursed his lips, nose scrunching. "Only if we don't have to make gaudy friendship bracelets." He flicked a bony wrist. "I'd hate to spoil the aesthetic I'm perfecting. It's 'scrubby vagabond', not 'bohemian dreamer' that's in at the moment."
Wariness settled under his skin in a prickling wave, and Lucas shifted in silent discomfort at the sight (and salty scent) of tears, absently picking at a scab on his knuckles. Birds cooed in the alcoves of buildings nearby, the wind whistled a soft and subtle sigh across the cobbles; tossing damp and defiant leaves. All this passed in the fraction of a moment, yet it seemed an eternity. His stomach churned, and Lucas felt it more to do with the unfamiliar sensation of guilt than the cocoa he'd ingested. He could be grateful for that. He could be grateful Taniel had not reacted more poorly to the offering he'd given him, too, for that matter. Gratitude.
Another foreign concept for Lucas Rodgers.
"...Depends," said Lucas finally with a sigh, rising. He wiped his hands on his jacket instinctively, made a great show of bracing his legs, and motioned with both hands somewhat dispassionately. He could feel the weight of the world's squeeze loosening its grip. Soon he'd slip back into darkness and silence to watch, rather than wield, but he waited nonetheless to be present for this moment--just to be on the safe side.
"Just don't blow snot into my hair and we should be alright."
theartofmadeline
prguitarman
areudirty
izzy806
gummygunk
