[for romain]

[umbralla]

[It's not hard to find Ghyslain when he's not in class or the dorms - he doesn't go out a lot, and when there aren't classes in the music room, he'll most likely be there. How often do you find a giant grand piano to play, after all? Even his family had a much smaller one, slightly out of tune, which grated on someone with such a natural ear when he came back from lessons and had to practice on it.

Today he's playing something he remembers his older sister listening to; not his kind of music, but the musician was damn good on piano, so the melodies stick out and he picks them out when he hasn't got a song in mind. It's slow at first, then picks up to the actual speed of the song, light and flourishing.

He's clearly in his own world, pale eyes dreamy and head swaying back and forth. In a soft, deep voice, he tries to translate the lyrics he can remember, but they come without scansion and rhyme because it's so off the top of his head.]

Comments

[umbralla]

[That seems to crack a bit of his hard shell, as he nods with a very rueful smile. He knows that one.]

As a child, when I first arrived. My shadows, they could not become solid until he tutored me.

[In other words, he learned to use them as a shield against the sudden attacks. That's when he was switched out of the man's class, but with no small amount of admiration from most of the staff.]

[quantities]

Oh. Well, he was - good for something. I guess.

[yikes...]

[umbralla]

It was not so bad as it sounds. As you say, music teachers are strict. I simply learned to protect myself.

[Here he turns his beer around in his hands a few times.]

It was still I who was punished, however. For... insub - je m'excuse, do you know the word I mean?

[quantities]

[He blinks for a second, then -]

Insubordination?

[umbralla]

Ah ouais, c'est la même en Français. J'ai oublié. I was only thirteen, it was a large word in any language.

[A bit of that sadness creeps back into his expression, but he's trying to hold it at bay.]

I have not acted out against another of the music professors since. Not in such a plain way.

[quantities]

[That's rough, buddy.

He slumps a little. Their conversations keep taking weird turns, man, but he still likes to hear him speak. Is that weird? Probably weird.

Let him just... finish this bottle.]

Well, I imagine nobody else tried to cut your fingers off while you played piano, either.

[umbralla]

Non. [A little laugh at that.] Non, c'est vrai. But the composition teacher - do you know her? She is French, from France, and she would say -

[This one obviously doesn't hurt his feelings, because his half-grin is more genuinely amused, and he even lifts his voice a little in imitation of a woman. His Rs, usually more rasping and guttural, are perfectly rolled and rounded.]

- Tu parles Français comme un canard, Belanger.

[quantities]

[Okay, he has to laugh a bit.]

Comme un canard! Non, c'est pas possible. Ça c'est trop cruel.

[umbralla]

Mais c'est vrai aussi. L’accent Québecois, c’est un peu… dans le nez. Comme un canard.

[He shrugs a bit helplessly, embarrassed, and makes a quiet duck noise.]

Wah wah wah. I noticed when we watched French films, my family and myself.

[quantities]

Uh-huh. Have you heard anyone from southern France? They talk at a million miles and their mouths don't even move.

[now that's funny.]

I can't understand a single word.

[umbralla]

[It's funny, and it's comforting. Romain is even warm when he wants to be. Ghyslain looks at him for just a bit too long again, a bit too fondly, but he knows it's more likely to be spotted now and quickly averts his eyes - which only makes it more obvious.]

I would like to hear that.

[God, it's even in his voice. He needs to recover somehow.]

Those two, they were the worst, really. [A blatant lie.] The most... delibéré. The word is so close but I cannot remember it this evening.

[quantities]

Remind me to show it to you. It's gotta be on youtube.

[moooooooooore beeeeeeeeeeer. He's been talking forever now, he isn't even touching his burger. Damn, gon' get tipsy.]

Deliberate? Or - in-your-face. Blatant, I think that's it.

[umbralla]

I meant deliberate, ouais, but blatant - that also works. There are more subtle cruelties.

[That deep, deep ache permeating his pale blue eyes.]

And what of you? You do have a focus, at least? [Deflect deflect deflect. And he's lost the word "major" for the evening as well.]

[quantities]

[shiiit. here come those questions. and Romain isn't going to have an answer for them so he's just going to be judged. as usual.]

Just... you know. [he shakes his head.] Sciences, I guess. I need to know them so I can visualize my power better.

[umbralla]

[Ghyslain nods, and there's no immediate sign of judging, at least.]

That is smart. I do not understand my own at all, it may as well be magic.

[quantities]

You don't? [he's genuinely surprised, and it becomes obvious that he's blinking a little slower.] But you control it so well.

[umbralla]

It is - like moving an arm, or a leg. Very natural. Sometimes - erm - reflex?

[The room is dimly lit, perfect for bringing up another tendril of shadow between their seats. Romain is still a bit scared of them, though, or at least looks that way when Ghyslain uses them, so he doesn't do anything fancy. Just lets it hover there, then dissipate, the black receding from his eyes again.]

It is not always perfect, either. A younger boy at the school tried to hit me, and I only wanted to make it dark enough that I could get away without being seen, but - instead I created a sort of wall. He hit it very hard. That was more punishment.

[quantities]

[He looks for it the moment Ghyslain's eyes go black. See, usually when a power creates that effect in someone's eyes, it means something very unpleasant is about to happen. His fault for associating the two things, but it's the norm, man. And Romain listens to the norm too much.]

... Well. Serves him right. Maybe your power works based on karma, too. Study that.

[umbralla]

Do you think so? [He cocks his head at that. The boy was a bigot, it's true. But he doesn't set out to hurt anyone.] Peut-être. I may at least have changed his views.

[And he's finished another beer. Sloppiness incoming.]

[quantities]

[TWO MORE BOTTLES. AY.]

'Course. Hey, if his views were 'I can totally mess with this guy', I bet you did.

[umbralla]

No. It was more personal. I believe the word here is "poof."

[He didn't even know what he was being insulted for until it got more graphic. The joys of losing slang in translation.]

[quantities]

Oh, come on.

[he drops his hand on the table, a bit too heavily.]

Who was it? Did you get his name?

[umbralla]

His - [He's obviously reluctant to say, but the show of support is so heartwarming that he can't resist. Still, he lowers his voice and leans a bit closer, a clear signal that he'd like Romain to react a bit more quietly.] His name is Miles. But do not speak to him of it, I have been told that he has a long history of violence at the school.

[quantities]

[and his expression falls. Did he even need to ask?]

Seaborn, right? Yeah, I wish I could say I'm surprised. That kid is - yeah. Might as well stay out of his way. Way too many issues for you to try to solve. Even if you have all the reasoning in the world.

[bullies. ew.]

But hey - hey, if he gives you shit again, you come to me.

[pointing rather emphatically at you now. Someone is inebriated.]

[umbralla]

[He nods along with that. Yes, Miles, and yes, deeply troubled. But when Romain defends him again, finger right in his face, he grins shyly and glances down, then back up into his eyes.

Which catch his attention with an all new level of focus. He leans forward, reaches in – so gently, not even a real hold, he touches Romain’s cheek. His own eyes are wide and glazed, pretty drunk himself.]

Ils sont bleu.