Best of luck, don’t run amokWe all get tongue tiedKeep your chin up, don’t get accustomedYou’re allowed to backslide
“Alright, so that’ll be…twenty gold pieces for the sunglasses and coat.” The cashier held out his hand for the money. “Hey…Do I know you from somewhere?”
Taako gave him thirty gold pieces and slipped on the shades, ignoring the knot in his gut. “No.” He turned on his heel and left, slipping the coat on.
Two weeks since Glamour Springs. Two days since he’d woken up to find that Sazed had taken the wagon and abandoned him. Despite the sting, he couldn’t say he blamed Sazed for not wanting to be associated with someone like him.
He cast a quick spell on his hat to make it look more drab. As much as it pained him to do so, he couldn’t risk his gorgeous hat drawing too much attention. He stepped outside and pulled the coat collar up to hide his face a bit more. As soon as he reached a town with a decent cosmetics store, he was buying hair dye. If only magic dyeing wasn’t so temporary.
Taako stopped as something on a tree caught his eye. It was a Craig’s List posting; somebody was looking for a bodyguard/traveling companion on their horseback journey to Neverwinter. His ears perked up. That was halfway across the country! A perfect getaway.
He tore down the paper. Looks like this dude just found himself a traveling companion. And surely there’d be more Craig’s List postings in Neverwinter so he could scrape together some cash to get by.
They had a hi-fi phono, boy, did they let it blastSeven hundred little records, all rock, rhythm and jazzBut when the sun went down, the rapid tempo of the music fell“C'est la vie”, say the old folks, it goes to show you never can tell
Xavier is stronger than he looks. This is important.
Many blissful years and they still go shopping for groceries together; they’ve long since set the time to Thursday afternoons and treat it like a small date every week, perusing the aisles with care before they stop by at a cafe for a snack. They never talk much - Gaspard writes the list, and they pay their own way at the cafe - but those moments never fail to locate them in their proper place, bonding them close like slow golden drips of honey-glue. Xavier slowly taking apart a sugared croissant between his slim fingers, a plastic bag with some vinyl records wound around his wrist and his eyes distantly fixed in the view outside; Gaspard draining his coffee in birdlike sips, perusing a magazine he just bought or otherwise gazing at Xavier calmly; all too familiar for commentary, but they appreciate it all the same.
This too is important. They’ve been through this routine so often, that a date after grocery shopping is just the assumed thing now. This is what Gaspard is counting on. His hand clenches in his pocket and his heart swells briefly. For two weeks he let the opportunity drift by - there will be more in the future, but he ought to give it a chance sooner than later.
“Xavier, could you check which one’s heavier?”
Xavier turns around, rolling a small lollipop in his mouth. “Mmh,” he mumbles, and accepts the two pomegranates Gaspard hands him; he stares down at both for a moment, tilting his head strangely, before he decisively sets one down and holds out the heavier pomegranate.
“And maybe this?”
“Bruised.” With a small pop he withdraws the candy from his lips and shakes his head. “Not worth it.” He looks at the pomegranate section, which is admittedly lacking; there are only three or four viable options remaining. “It’s the best one here today. Let’s go look at the peppers.”
Gaspard’s all right with that. A smile twitches his mustache, not that he thinks Xavier noticed. Xavier always weighs up the vegetables between them, he’s always had the more delicate touch with those things; he lets him do his work with the bell peppers and pick out a selection of sugar-snap peas for a stir fry tonight, waiting until the moment they get to the turnips and swedes. Xavier doesn’t like those, so he always passes them by, but today: “Wait. I want one of those as well.”
Xavier frowns, crunching the last of the lollipop. “Why, whatsoever for?”
Gaspard smiles and leans down innocently. “Maman gave me a recipe for roasted turnips, I’ll eat them all if you don’t want them; I’d still like to try it out.”
A small huff and a sigh: a wordless alright, I’ll help, but I’m not going to enjoy it. Gaspard picks out two turnips and sets them upon Xavier’s upturned palms. He takes longer this time, not because this is a harder task but he just doesn’t care all that much about those. Gaspard withdraws his hand nonchalantly from his pocket as he finally makes up his mind. “That one.”
“Thank you, Xavier. I’ll bother you just one more time.”
Xavier rolls his eyes. “Oh for G-”
But he doesn’t withdraw his hand and never gets to take God’s name in vain.Gaspard sets down a much lighter weight on his empty hand and Xavier stops, the gears in his head pausing in unison. He doesn’t even look around to see what it is because he knows - it’s not as if he’s pushed for it, but he’s definitely seen the occasional jewelry catalogue lying around in Gaspard’s room, he had to have known it was coming sometime. “Don’t get me wrong, I do still intend to roast that turnip,” Gaspard laughs quietly, then lowers himself on one knee. “and enjoy it, even if I don’t quite win you over. That’s something I hope I did a long time ago, and Xavier - I would be over the moon if you said yes.”
Xavier just looks at him. The long-forgotten turnip silently rolls out of his hand and back into the pile. He gazes between the ring box and Gaspard’s face for a long time, too baffled even to open the former. “You mean this.” He says.
“Yes.”
“And you just - here -”
Gaspard gazes down at their shoes. “I’ve never been particularly nuanced.”
The frozen look on Xavier’s face does not go away. He’s thinking he’s fucked this one up spectacularly now. “… Xavier… I… well, I guess… I was hoping I could tempt you towards extra cake and sin, or else beg most sincerely for your forgiveness during our usual coffee dates.” Pause. “At least… uh, the ring is very pretty, I guarantee you.”
“Oh my God,” and then the dam breaks in the best way; Xavier bursts out laughing, cradling the ring box tightly against his chest. “You are the worst. The silliest. Come here.”
He then drags Gaspard down for a kiss. And as previously mentioned, Xavier’s stronger than he looks; he takes him by such surprise that they almost collapse onto the display container of turnips, drawing disturbed looks from other customers. (”Really!” A nearby worker laments, before walking away to stock up on the basil.) It’s not exactly how Gaspard imagined his proposal to go but then Xavier can say the same thing, what’s important is that he accepted. They do finish up their shopping and go to the cafe later, and Gaspard does spoil him with extra cake and he does get to plead his case, so that’s that.
(The ring is very pretty, Xavier acknowledges. Golden band, platinum midsection, with two small gold crosses embedded on the front and back.He lets Gaspard slip it on his ring finger and seal it with a kiss. An act followed by more coffee-drinking and making merry, but: this too will be a glad memory.)
It was a teenage wedding, and the old folks wished them wellYou could see that Pierre did truly love the mademoiselleAnd now the young monsieur and madame have rung the chapel bell“C'est la vie”, say the old folks, it goes to show you never can tell
Notes: Well I know it’s not really a teenage wedding but :DDDDDD Some delightful slice of life for you. Thank you so much for your support, all this time! > w <also i’m so sorry how long this took guh i suck it was a long week
I need nothing to travel the seaI need nothing, I need nothingBut there’s something eating at meBlack waterTake over
Angus sniffled and pulled his jacket tighter around himself and peered into the water. His teeth chattered with both chill and excitement. Not only was this his first time on a boat, but he had reason to believe his suspect was here as well. The mere idea of a boat crime was very exciting.
Not as exciting as a train crime, of course. He wasn’t sure he’d ever have a case quite as vivacious as the one on the Rockport Ltd. But a boat crime could also be very exciting! The water certainly added an interesting component. What if the crook tried to swim away?
Angus’s thoughts started drifting towards that train case again. Something about it - specifically those strange fellows that had insisted on helping him solve it - didn’t sit well with him. They were so sneaky…and bad at being sneaky as well. And they just disappeared after everything was over. Where did they go? Something in him told him that they were connected to a couple of odd missing person cases he’d been asked about.
Angus stood up straight, bracing his hands on the side of the ship. He made his decision: once this case is over, he’s going to get to the bottom of those three men and their weirdness.
Something smelled fishy…and it wasn’t the ocean breeze blowing in his face.
Send me a 🎶 and a taz character/ship and I’ll write a fic based on the first song that plays when I shuffle my music!
Song: “Secret For the Mad” - dodie
You’re at the bottom, this is itJust get through, you will be fixedAnd you think that I don’t get itBut I burned my way through and I don’t regret it
Kravitz easily hoisted Angus onto his shoulders. Being undead meant having more strength than it looked like he did. Taako was struck with a surprising flurry of butterflies in his stomach, seeing Kravitz interact with the kid like this.
Angus was quite a bit flustered at suddenly being lifted. He cautiously put his hands on the top of Kravitz’s head to steady himself “I-I can walk on my own, sir!” He insisted.
Kravitz laughed. “But then how would you see that bird nest I pointed out?” He asked, securing Angus’s ankles with his hands and carrying him over to a nearby tree.
Taako laughed and hung back while he watched Angus, who was now eye-level with the nest, study it with careful fascination and ask Kravitz if he knew what kind of birds were going to hatch. Kravitz admitted that he didn’t, but he found the speckled eggs beautiful.
Anyone looking at the three of them would find it hard to believe that just a year ago, Taako thought he had nothing. No family, few friends. If the Taako from a year ago was told that he would soon have a boyfriend who loved him, and a little kid who felt almost like his own, he probably would’ve blasted them with Magic Missile. Not to mention the return of his sister and the rest of his family that he’d forgotten.
Taako’s vision blurred for a moment before a tear escaped his eye. Angus was still studying the bird’s nest, but Kravitz had turned back to check on Taako. His expression was filled with concern, but Taako quickly smiled and shook his head, wiping the tear away. He was okay. He was better than okay.
I’m at a payphone trying to call homeAll of my change I spent on youWhere have the times gone, baby, it’s all wrongWhere are the plans we made for two
Here are some voicemails long since deleted by Franck Rivoire.
Voicemail 01: Recorded Jun 26, 6:23pm
Gesaffelstein: Monsieur Rivoire.
G.: [Short pause.] Good afternoon, Monsieur. The Chairman conveys his regrets that you couldn’t be here today, and he hopes that you’ll be well soon. [Pause. Shuffling of papers.] Your article is still due on Friday, of course. Specifically the one from when you visited Nantes. Alone.
G.: [Small intake of breath. Five seconds.]
G.: … That will be all, save for one more message from the chairman. There will be a party at some point in the next month or two, to celebrate his first full year at the office. The date is not yet set, but the announcement came an hour ago; it was only right to let you know. [Pause.] You will find out more as the days pass, I imagine. As far as I know, it will be held at a function room in one of the hotels nearby. Plus ones are permitted, as are friends. We are encouraged to bring some as he is quite intent on making an impression.
G.: But then, of course. I forgot.
G.: [Quiet snicker, followed by a markedly lowered tone of voice:]
G.: You don’t have any friends now, do you, Franckie?
[END VOICEMAIL]
Yeah, I know it’s hard to rememberThe people we used to beIt’s even harder to pictureThat you’re not here next to me
Voicemail 02: Recorded Jul 18, 10:16pm
Gesaffelstein: [Inaudible murmur for the first twenty seconds. Sound of water running in the background, perhaps a bathtub. Radio and TV both on, one of which is the evening news, full volume; all of those sounds are so loud as to drown out the foreground noise, G.’s own voice included. G.’s voice is increasingly stifled with emotion as the recording goes on.]
G.: - not a writer, not a journalist, and definitely not an artist. I know you’re watching the story too, even if you aren’t taking my calls; you hear that, Franckie? You want me to turn the volume up from this end? [Does not.] Because I know you’d hate to miss it. Imagine going out of business because the mayor of goddamned Nantes sued you for slander. [Laughter.]
G.: Oh, it’ll pass. I mean, there’s fuck all to do in Nantes; you were just the convenient target, just be sure to thank the chairman for bailing you out later. Yeah? They only didn’t name you out of some theoretical respect for your dignity, but really, you aren’t shit, Franck Rivoire. Not that you needed to hear it from me for the hundredth time, but what the hell. [The tap is abruptly shut off.] Have a present. Why not! It’s our one month anniversary - of you breaking us up! I’m so glad we made it, Franckie, let’s be miserable together forever! [Bitter laughter. Faint splash of water.]
G.: Jesus Christ.
G.: [Continues to laugh, until he begins to sob instead in earnest. A full minute passes before either the TV or the radio is shut off, though the other remains on in the background.]
G.: Franckie. Franckie... why?
[END VOICEMAIL]
You say it’s too late to make it,But is it too late to try?And in our time that you wastedAll of our bridges burned down
Voicemail 03: Recorded Aug 12, 3:30am
Gesaffelstein: [Slurring very heavily throughout the recording; clearly intoxicated. Pronunciation unclear in some parts.] Hello? Hello? It’s me. Mike. First of all, it was lovely seeing you last night, chickpea, it’s been a-a-ges; funny how like... fucking hell, you were the one person I ought to’ve expected... heh. Never doubted you for a second [Inaudible], you always take me by surprise.
G.: Thank you for the coupons. I didn’t want to say it out loud in front of everybody, but you were spot on: I don’t think I’ve walked past a spa since I began working here. I’m overdue for a good old sugar scrub at the least; you’re right, I do need a day out to myself, don’t I. [Pause, seven seconds. The sound of a cork popping.] Too much’s been going on. Hell. Thanks for putting a word in for me at Lancôme, too. [Inaudible] - of the modelling business for so long it’s surprising anyone remembers me, let alone wants me back occasionally. [Pouring sounds. Pause. Three seconds.]
G.: That said, darling.
G.: [A glass clinks heavily upon a wooden surface.]
G.: Are you out of your mind?!
G.: [G.’s voice is a little clearer from this point on. Coaxing.] My dearest. Sweetheart. Honeybun. I thought we were over this years ago. Wild horses couldn’t drag me kicking and screaming back to the modelling industry; thanks for getting my name out there, but as for working for them? No thanks. You know how bad it was there. You were the one who helped me get out in the first place; so why, why, oh why on earth would you want me to go back? [Laughter.] Did I look that unhappy at the party or something?
G.: [Laughter, bittersweet, but not malicious.] Not that I blame you. I am unhappy and you had every reason to think that, even if we didn’t get the chance to hash it out. [Pouring sounds.] I don’t blame you, chickpea, you’re just trying to help a friend out at his time of need. Speaking of that, though - did you get a chance to talk to Franck at the party? You’ve got to spill the beans if you did, I’ll spill mine; Jesus, you won’t believe what the bastard did to me. [Heavy thud.] I’m no use to mistreatment - all that time with my fellow models, oh yes, with those glorious sons of bitches, we’ve all been bought, been sold - and yet after all this time taking the high road you’d think there would be some...
G.: ... Fucking... wrong number.
[END VOICEMAIL]
I’ve wasted my nights,You turned out the lightsNow I’m paralyzedStill stuck in that timeWhen we called it loveBut even the sun sets in paradise
Voicemail 04: Recorded Sep 24, 3:03pm
Gesaffelstein: I went to our old pâtisserie today.
G.: [Pause.]
G.: Well. Mine. I never got to take you. [Pause.] They still do your favourite macarons. The melon one’s still exquisite, you know. I mean. I know.
G.: Didn’t think they’d recognize me after so many months away. They remember you, too, and gave me an extra box of cinnamon and red bean for you. [Longer pause.] ... Just... call me... or leave me a message, when you get this... and I’ll put them on your desk on Monday.
G.: [Lengthy silence. Quiet breathing sounds, at one point marginally louder, as if the receiver was hitched closer to his lips.]
G.: ... There was a couple in there. Two men. I’d say a little older than us. [Pause.] They were holding the cutest little boy in their arms. They were in front of me at the counter and I waved at the kid and he smiled at me. Well. Maybe a he. I couldn’t tell. Just a baby, really. A happy family.
G.: [Silence. When he next speaks his voice is very quiet.]
G.: ... I’d have liked one, too...
[END VOICEMAIL]
If happy ever afters did exist,I would still be holding you like thisAll those fairy tales are full of shitOne more fucking love song, I’ll be sick
Notes: w e l p
I knew that I was going to do this the earliest out of all the shuffle fic requests I received but it took me this long to figure out how lmao. I’m so sorry I’m lagging behind on everything let me die ;A ; aaaaaaaaaaaaaIn the absence of identifying information I am going to assume you’re an anon aware of the shenanigans happening over at @akchotesuggestion. So yeah. Something to sink y’alls teeth into. Try comparing some of the voicemail dates here to the earlier ‘cher journal’ entries (like this one) for a nice bonus :3
Send me a 🎶 and a taz character/ship and I’ll write a fic based on the first song that plays when I shuffle my music!
Song: “Belle to Remember” - Hayley Kiyoko
‘Cause I’m a belle to rememberDo you remember?A belle to rememberYou’ll want to love me
Lup laughed as Barry twirled her. He thought to himself that her laugh was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. He pulled her back in, twisting them both as they waltzed. A (fantasy) Viennese waltz, to be exact. It was much faster and therefore more fun, if you asked Lup.
She’d taught Barry how to do it shortly after they got together. She claimed it was something she and Taako had learned from their days on the road as kids. All Barry really knew was that it was something that made her happy, and he would do anything to make her happy.
Her robe flared out as they twirled around the floor, their steps quick but precise in order to keep up with the beat. They weren’t in proper form - it wasn’t like they were performing, after all, and Barry wanted to see her face. He wanted to see the joy in her eyes as they danced. She continued to laugh an exhilarating, breathless laugh and he couldn’t help but smile, too, looking at her. She was the most beautiful person he’d ever known, and he loved her so much.
The music stopped and so did they, but they continued to hold each other. Barry just stared at Lup’s face, wanting to savor this moment, to etch it into his memory, never to be forgotten.
Hovering in a dark cave, Barry’s lich form stared at the body that had finished growing in the tank. This was the third body he’d had to grow, and he hated losing his memory every time, he hated forgetting Lup. But he needed to figure out Lucretia’s plan. He needed to do so much that couldn’t be done as a lich. Barry lifted the coin closer to his hood and started speaking.
“Your name is Barry Bluejeans. You are afraid of the dark, your very favorite thing in the world is swimming in very cold water on a very hot day, you get ill when you drink milk or anything with milk in it, and you love to waltz.”
Félix saw him again, just once, years after it happened.The recognition was not mutual. Not surprising, as not many things had been between them. “And what do you have in mind?” The man behind the counter called cheerfully; Félix stared at him for what seemed like an eternity, but he saw no recollection taking place at all. He wasn’t called Félix then, nor was the man behind the malt shop counter called Dan, but that was the name forever seared into the depths of his heart.
“… Cheeseburger, I think. With an egg on top. And a milkshake, please.”
But that was just him, really. Life wasn’t a drama. There would be no sharp intake of the breath - no disbelieving stare, no soft and hesitant is that really you hanging in the sweet-scented air between them. When asked what flavour of milkshake he preferred, Félix was very specific about his love of strawberry, both anticipating and dreading whatever recognition might result from it - but again, to no avail, and the order was put in straight away.
He didn’t try again after that.
They’d both aged since they’d last seen one another, Dan more noticeably so than Félix had. He was silver-haired now, with laughter lines already embedded along the corner of his eyes; Félix had to hope that that meant he was happy, no matter what had happened in his life so far. As for him, well - Félix wasn’t happy, not all the time, but he was okay. It had little to do with what had happened between him and Dan, simply the ups and downs of life. There hadn’t been much adventure in his life since the day he’d hung up his Chivers jacket and took up other responsibilities, and while it was unfair to say he didn’t miss it, it was for the best he didn’t return.
Félix looked around. Dan had mixed up the ingredients for the milkshake and had set up the blender, ready to go at any moment. Patties were being grilled somewhere in the kitchen. No one else was around. He had no idea if Dan owned this malt shop, but the red-and-white colour scheme made him wonder.Perhaps he should return wearing the jacket at some point, just for old times’ sake. Projecting the illusion of togetherness, belonging in the same space again instead of being strangers who happened to be sharing it. Joined hip to hip again, passing milk bottles between each other, feeling privileged that Dan thought him important to his-
“I was just making your eggs, take a look at this!”
Félix looked up, startled. Dan was peering over the counter, grinning, with the beautifully assembled burger set out on the tray - with two eggs on top, not one. “These came from just the one egg, you got yourself a double yolker! Like some cute little couple. Looks like it’s your lucky day.”
Félix stared at the double-stacked eggs. “Nice,” he said, and just laughed a little - the kind that came about when everything was falling apart. “could you please take one out, though? I’m trying to stay in some sort of decent shape.”
“That’s fair enough, mec, I used to be as thin as you are once. I’d kill for the kind of dietary control you got.”
“Wouldn’t we all.” Then, more softly, and with finality: “If you haven’t had lunch yet… if you’d…”
“Miles ahead of you.” Dan said, and stepped out of the counter. He slapped the CLOSED sign facing outwards on the door and tipped out the extra egg onto a plate, where he put down one of the spare patties he’d been frying earlier, alongside a slice of cheese and the usual sesame-speckled buns. It was almost enough to make Félix believe that they were still connected, but when he came back with Félix’s meal and his own plate, he chose to slouch admirably on the booth opposite of Félix and not with him. "Do you work out or something?“ He asked, lazily reaching for a napkin.
Félix laughed again and it felt outside of him a little.
“Oh no,” he said, and dug his fork in. “I don’t work out at all.”
Notes: This may or may not be related to the epilogue of The Mossflower. I still stuck them in France, not pseudo-America like Oizo would have us believe; Felix likes strawberry milk(shakes) with as much relish as he did in that fic; but idk, everything just sounds too fucking normal for the Steakverse in this piece and that aspect doesn’t sit very well with either Steak or The Mossflower.‘Wall of Memories’ is probably the most ominous soundtrack for a malt shop, but this seemed to be the best way to translate the song and the egg into this token for you. Thanks for the egg/chick btw @local-gay-cryptid and your eternal support god bless you.
Franck could have leapt a solid foot into the air. Thankfully, they kept it under control; when they jolted and looked around, they found the President standing beside them, his lamp in hand and smiling serenely. “S - Sebastian! I didn’t-”
“It is all right,” came the reply, unsullied by questions as to what Franck thought they were doing wandering around past midnight. “this is new to you. Not so very long ago it was new to me. Sleep is difficult when your mind is at work.”
Not so long ago - a strange way to describe a reign of eight whole years. In the dark and up close, all that was different about Sebastian was more pronounced than ever: he had memories unshared with those outside of the palace, and for most part he just didn’t seem to think like other people did. He singlehandedly seemed to ensure that time didn’t flow here the same way as it did outside. “Sebastian,” Franck dared to ask, gazing at the vast dusty cloths ahead of them. “... what... are they?”
Sebastian smiled gently. “Relics of the old France.”
“...?”
He strode ahead and gently peeled back a length of velvet cloth, revealing several ivory-carved chairs beneath it, all in impeccable condition. “I trust that you have known the Élysée since before the new France came into being,” he said, doing the same to the cloth beside it. Franck watched, spellbound, as a downed chandelier came into view - ready to be hoisted up again at any moment, all its bulbs clean and intact, the splendid cut-glass prisms gleaming against the lamplight. “you seemed surprised at what had happened to it since I took on my duties. Truth is, much of the fineries we couldn’t have downsized, sold, or have done much about - I’m afraid we put them all aside and did our best to forget about them. This chandelier, for example,” he touched the glass reverently. “a century-old gift from the Belgian royal family. But given the state of the world at the time, it was wealth that would’ve been better spent elsewhere. Nevertheless, it was received, it became one with the palace - and now, none remain who were alive back then to advise us on what we must do with it.”
He covered the chandelier back up and stood straight. “All those chairs, the banquet table to the left - the throne-” he pointed to the relevant parts of the room instead of uncovering more objects, and Franck didn’t press to see them. “- the new France has no use for them. They are from a different time, one that holds no relevance for the present; I am not a king, but a man who must do his time and depart, and I trust my citizens would feel rightfully deceived if I took up that throne and scepter one day. But unlike many of the jewels and furniture we found when we took over, these are too tied to this place for us to sell them or request the upkeep of other institutions.” He noticed Franck gravitating towards the only thing that had been left uncovered in the room, a beautiful cream-coloured piano, and gently dissuaded them with a shake of the head. “Ah, I’m afraid that no longer carries a tune - hasn’t for some years, actually. I really must have someone come and take care of it. It slips my mind too often.”
“But you did have plans for it?”
“Indeed. This piano belonged to my Captain.” A shadow crossed Sebastian’s face, but then he lifted his lamp to better illuminate the piano and it was gone again. “We had it put here because he was never the most public of performers, even before he took ill. And I’m... well, I’m hopeless at it,” he laughed quietly and turned away. “I have entertained many guests in my time, but never with music.”
“That’s a shame. If I’d been-” Franck held themself back at the last moment, but Sebastian raised his eyebrows, waiting for them to continue. “- I mean, I’m hardly, like, an ambassador or diplomat - but if I had been, I know I’d have loved a serenade from you...”
Oh my God, that totally didn’t come out how I wanted it to.
Franck turned very pink and turned away from the lamplight. The only saving grace was that Sebastian wasn’t offended, if his little laugh meant anything. “Indeed,” he said quietly, and gestured that they ought to leave. “I think I’d have loved to have done that, myself. I wish he had taught me.”
The wistful sadness in his voice did not go unnoticed, although Franck spoke no more about the piano that night. Already they had it pegged down as something they might do more research into, but not here - not at Sebastian’s expense. “Thank you, Sebastian,” was what Franck chose to go with at the end as they were led out of the room. “... I would have asked during more hospitable hours, but you still took the trouble to explain it to me... I feel like I’m in a dream. It all looks so different in the night.”
“Well...”
Sebastian glanced down at his lamp, then back up at Franck. “I gave you a tour,” he said. “but during the day the nation binds me and I fear I have neglected you. What say you to a second attempt, Franck, from a perspective I daresay not many people will experience?”
Franck couldn’t believe what they were hearing. “You mean - you wouldn’t mind it if I joined you?”
“Not at all. The patrol takes about an hour. Two, with company.”
Unless you’d rather rest, Franck saw him beginning to add, and nodded eagerly before he could finish; even in their giddy ecstasy they knew they couldn’t let this opportunity pass. “I would love to,” they blurted out, and blushed as Sebastian hid a gentle laugh behind a gloved hand. “If you’re sure I won’t be any trouble - do tell me at any point if I am! - then please, let me come with you.”
“I would be delighted.” Sebastian smiled, and offered his arm - rich, even now, with the scent of roses. “Come. Walk with me in the dream.”
Notes: If it ever goes ahead, Encomium Sebastiani Regis will be narrated half in Franck’s first-person POV and half in a narrative POV like this.
Re: this scene of course Franck goes and plays the piano anyway b u t I thought it was a good and sweet moment that you needed to see ; w ; ilu I hope you enjoyed;;;;
