[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]

[He tenses up a bit when he realizes someone has been listening, but the voice in French is oddly comforting. As little as he thinks of that place as home, he's clung tenaciously to his accent, and words slip in here and there.

There's no turn away from the piano at all when he answers:]

Ouais. [His accent, sharp and nasal, makes it clear that he's not European.]

[quantities]

Cool. [He... wants to make some comment about where he's from exactly, but he remembers that he was just playing, so there should probably be a mention of that too.] Tu joue bien! Quelle était cette chanson?

[umbralla]

Je ne sais pas the nom. [He thinks for a moment, and then it comes to him. His accent is even more plain when he speaks in English.] Twin Moon. My sister, she listened to it.

[He hazards a look over his shoulder. Oh. He looks like one of the secondaries, but he's handsome.]

Merci. [And he turns to start a more familiar song, a much simpler one, just humming this time since he doesn't know the lyrics.]

[quantities]

[He's handsome? Romain wonders what the hell kind of face is staring back at him soon as those ice blue eyes and full lips are seen, thinking that's probably the prettiest boy that's ever entered this room. And he plays piano, and he speaks French. If Romain's never noticed him before, he's sure as hell going to keep an eye out for competition among the girls now.

The fact that he turns back to piano and starts another piece is a good sign, he thinks. Comfortable enough to keep playing despite having an uninvited guest. He'd like to say he recognizes that next song, but - interrupting music. Not so cool.]

[umbralla]

Aimez-vous la musique?

[He'll just keep it French for now, since he can, playing through although he obviously stops humming to do so. Normally he'd be far from inclined to chat, especially while playing, but - well, yes, Romain is handsome. It's not the smoothest line, but Ghyslain isn't about lines. He just sort of wants to keep this boy here for a bit longer.

He doesn't smile while he plays. There's something a little bit brooding about him, melancholy. Definitely a romantic air, something that would be very popular with the girls - if he were interested.]

[quantities]

[Little does he know. Sure, he's got a friend of two who's dated someone of their own gender, but. Not something he's really thought about in terms of it ever applying to himself. Girls are pretty, girls like to be flattered. As much of an open mind as you think you have, some conventions will apply and others will not.]

Ah - oui, je suppose que je l'aime. Mais je ne peux pas jouer.

[umbralla]

Ah.

[It's a dull song, really. He almost switches to Beethoven, then decides he may as well turn around instead. Full-on, Ghyslain's features are even more striking, pale and slender and soft in a way that's very pretty. His face is nearly all eyes, shadowed as they are.

He prefers Romain's looks, though. Darker, more defined. His mouth is lovely.]

I am supposed to speak English. Seven years here, they say, and I still sound like I just came off the plane.

[quantities]

[Girly face. Girly face. That's all he can think. Normally those lines under the eyes would just make someone look exhausted, but they're a pretty cool feature on him.]

Oh - right. [... although.] I know people who've been speaking English for decades and they still have an accent. Besides, I don't get many chances to speak French with someone who doesn't just want me to help them study.

[umbralla]

C'est vrai. [He means both halves of what was said.] Je ne peux pas leur aident, mais ils demandent tous-même.

[The French is just too different a lot of the time, and they seemed to know just enough to taunt him about that when everyone was still of the age to taunt that freely, so now he just says no to those who don't realize. He averts his eyes at the thought, thinking it's a problem Romain likely doesn't have. His French is round and soft like the kind they learn here.

Like his face.]

Vous venez de France?

[quantities]

[It's funny to him, probably because he doesn't realize the ordeals Ghyslain goes through about his speech no matter what the language is, that they keep switching between English and French. Nice and easy, despite that accent people seemingly complain about.]

Ah, non, non. Je suis né en Suisse. Et tu?

[umbralla]

Québec. [A pause.] Canada.

[He's giving Romain a chance to react here. He's met a couple of other French-speaking Europeans, and they've been none too kind about Quebec either. Honestly, Ghyslain doesn't have much of a place anywhere, too French among the English speakers and too Canadian among the Europeans and certainly not part of the community back home.]

It is - it's best to speak English. I can improve at English.

[quantities]

Oh, okay. Never been.

[and he just shrugs. Really, the reason Romain is friends with just about everyone in the school is because he's just so nice without being a pushover. Fun and friendly, social and accepting, not a malicious thing to say about anyone.]

Sure. I get asked for help on English homework too. What year are you in?

[umbralla]

I am in my second year of Tertiary. [The first assumption didn't offend Romain at all, didn't chase him away, but Ghyslain is still wondering if he should make another. Probably not.] And you?

[He looks a bit confused by how well this whole conversation is going, honestly, just overall disbelief. Yes, he's making an effort to get along a bit better, but Romain is effortlessly friendly. There's a risk of feeling special here, he thinks, if he doesn't remember that these sorts of people are usually the same regardless of their company.

... still, he feels a bit special.]

[quantities]

[Oh, hey. They're pretty close. So much that Romain is wondering, again, why he never noticed this guy around before.]

Third. What do you do?

[umbralla]

My - ehm - my focus is musical theory. I do not have a more practical interest, though they say I require one.

[Did Romain mean his gift? He probably meant his gift.]

Or do you ask what I do naturally? Why I am here?

[quantities]

Oh - yeah, [he laughs a bit,] Yeah, I meant your gift.

[umbralla]

Bien sûr. [Of course. That's what everyone wants to know about.

The lights, which have been very dim up until now, suddenly brighten - he's not controlling the electricity, but drawing back layers of shadow so that those remaining will be deeper. More solid. Ghyslain's eyes black out completely, and the shadow cast by the grand piano grows and swells, little tendrils curling out from the edges, grasping one of the chairs and pulling it up next to Romain's. Before he makes any move to sit, he takes a small chance - one of the tendrils approaches Romain, rises up to eye level and brushes his hair off his forehead; it feels very much solid, but cool and dry.

Then he gets up, starts for the seat he's pulled up for himself.]

It is called - umbrakinesis. Control of shadow.

[quantities]

[If he tenses up a little, it's because that's got to be one of the creepiest gifts he's seen in a long while. So much that his face turns rather comical once the shadow comes on by and brushes his hair, pretty sure he's being trolled.]

... Umbrakinesis. Right.

[He... he can recognize it's a pretty damn cool power, too, but. Damn son.]

[umbralla]

Does it frighten you?

[He's not smiling as he sits down, looking Romain squarely in the eye. That was no joke. And neither is this. It's important.]

[quantities]

... Was it supposed to?

[Seriously, are you being a creep.]

[umbralla]

I would hope that it did not, but there is little I can do to change a person's mind. Only show them what can be expected.

[Not a creep. Just someone who got a really, really bad reception when it first appeared and that hasn't improved a lot since. It is creepy.]

There are many who are disgusted. My family - no, my parents foremost - they and their people believe that gifts are...

[And now he's at a loss. The word is nearly identical in English, but he hasn't heard it since he left Quebec.]

... blasphème. Control over the darkness was not a compelling argument against their belief.

[quantities]

[Oh. Well. Way to put his emotions on a spin. Gifted kids who get rejected by their parents aren't unheard of, but they're still pretty unusual that it strikes Romain as unthinkable. Parents shipping you off so you can become their bank is one thing; parents writing you out of their life because they disagree with what you were born with...]

... Dude. [what does he say to that? 'I'm sorry'? It's not really in either of their hands.] I'm not disgusted. Just - wasn't sure what you were gonna do with it.

[He did think about how his own power would be positioned against this, though. Shadow isn't matter. There's nothing he could do to stop it from hurting him if Ghyslain wanted it to.]

You control it pretty well.

[umbralla]

I do not want to cause accidental harm.

[It can be weaponized, easily, and losing control of it could mean horrible things. He's really not a bad person at heart. Just guarded, most of the time, and not of that positive a mind about the majority of people. But hurting them isn't the answer.]

Or intentional harm. [His probing expression softens just a little. He won't hurt you, Romain.]

[quantities]

Good to know.

[No, seriously. Have you seen some of the psychos that walk in these halls. Never forget the Imogen Robinson incident.

... and just to clear the air a little.]

Wanna see what I can do?

[umbralla]

[He's still accepting, then. With a bit of reassurance, he's still accepting. That's good to know, with the fierce crush forming already.]

If you wish to show me.

[It's a bit of feigned indifference because he almost inadvertently exposed so much of himself already, but yes. He wants to see. Show him everything.]