umbralla | [for romain]

[for romain]

[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.]

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[Despite the weight of their conversation, Romain is smiling now. He lifts his hand up to Ghyslain's face, caressing it in a more friendly than romantic manner, though the result is the same.]

Il est bon que ne m'as-tu pas déclaré à quitter.

[he's probably going to bring that up quite often.]

Ouais. [It comes out as a laugh, which softens into a kind of murmur when Romain touches him; he leans into it, sliding his cheek gently against Romain's hand, but doesn't press for more contact once it's over.]

C'est bon que j'ai chanté en Français, aussi. [He'll play along with the joke, all the things that could've tangled up their meeting or caused it never to happen. Focus on things that have gone right, not the huge thing that's gone wrong.]

[they're so dopey, help.]

You wanna go do something? Or just - you know, hang out here.

[aka make out]

[Hang out here, huh. He thinks he sees a little light in Romain's eye that he likes, so he'll take the chance.]

I like your room very much. [It's got that coy, flirtatious edge he puts on every so often, like he's testing it out or rehearsing - not confident, but an attempt.]

Oh, thanks. I take real pride in my room.

[definitely activating flirt mode. He's really relieved that this still feels easy.]

You thirsty?

[Ghyslain's not quite ready for the thrill that goes through him when he feels the full attention of Romain's charm directed at him - not just light and chatty like the first time, but actual flirting from someone who's very good at it. It coaxes a laugh out him that's embarrassingly high-pitched, more like a giggle.]

Peut-être. What do you have?

Stuff I shouldn't have.

[They're in water bottles, but hey. He sneaks out the water and replaces with alcohol with his power, because it's awesome.]

Soda? Water?

[He gets a sneaky, sly look on his face at that. He's the one who half-admitted to slipping into places around the school where he didn't belong with his gift, after all. He can roll with a bit of mischief.]

Erm - soda, s'il te plais.

I got orange.

[so he goes on and fishes it out of the fridge, returning to the bed with the can in his hand. it's cool and fresh and he's totally the perfect host.]

[He is. Ghyslain is quite admiring, in a cute sort of starry-eyed way. He can't believe that whatever they have, he has it with this boy. It's even enough to wash away the ugly stain of what happened with Fallon.

Almost. That reality does have to be faced.]

I will try to reason with him. He is not inhuman. [He accepts the soda and cracks it open, glancing down curiously.] This is orange soda, ouais?

Whatever I can do, you let me know. Even if it's switching out his coffee for mud.

[in that train of thought, with Ghyslain's question -]

... Yes. I promise that's not mud.

[Has he ever laughed this much in one person's company? He doesn't think so. He's naturally a rather brooding person, and he knows it well enough.]

I do not think a war of pranks would help. But it would be very... satisfying.

Hey, it's the least I can do.

[no, really. Pranks from Romain can be a total nightmare.]

Salt and sugar is the classic one. Foot cream and toothpaste. Liquid soap and glue. I can go on forever.

Foot cream? [He's imagining toothpaste that tastes like feet, but that's not right at all. He needs more information.] For what do you use foot cream?

[The disgust on his face makes it plain that he's not curious about foot care - he wants to know what the hell Romain is putting in peoples' mouths.

... so. to. speak.]

... What do you think?

[he has to laugh a bit.]

Don't worry, I won't do it to you. Probably.

[before Ghyslain panics-]

I'm kidding!

Fongus? [He knows that happens on feet. Is he putting anti-fungal in peoples' mouths.

... whoops, there's the giggle again.]

C'est dégoûtant, Romain!

Non! Habituellement, c'est seulement pour la peau sèche. The point is, it's supposed to be disgusting. That's why it's a prank!

[learn little boy learn.]

A prank does not have to be disgusting. [Ha, nope, he's fighting you on this one. Because EW.] I can simply move things, or take them away. If I like, I can make someone feel a touch that seems to come from nowhere.

[That... wasn't meant to be suggestive.]

So they think they're haunted or something?

[Because, uh. He's tried that before. Rather, someone has tried it on him.]

Peut-être. I have not done these things, but I can. I do not know what one would think.

[Maybe he wanted to look like a bit of a badass for Romain. Maybe. And maybe he's still out to impress, because:]

Once I have unlocked a door. And a file cabinet.

A file cabinet? [that interests him, so he adjusts his position a bit.] What were you looking for?

[And they're right back to this shady, shady school.]

I get many punishments for defending myself, non? So I looked at Mme. Brant's file on me. [He shakes his head vigorously.] The records, they are not what she is told.

... What are they?

[he did always get a bad feeling from her.]

It is not lying, not completely, but - [Here's another thing he never imagined telling anyone, but Romain already knows about Fallon. If he's digging himself a hole by doing this, it can't get that much deeper, can it?] - somehow, everyone is at fault. I am not sure of the word, but no one is given any -

[Nope, he can't get to it. What he means is mitigating circumstances, genuine reasons rather than excuses, things like self-defense, for god's sake: no consideration, just their acts, in the worst light possible.]

Everyone's at a fault. [he pauses to think about that.] Like they consider all of us dangerous?

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