[A man who can't accept compliments? Very cute. Lobelia can't relate, but this is just one more thing to appreciate about Vergilius. As for arts and crafts... Lobelia can't manage to stifle his yawn in time. Purely unintentional, trust him.]
Hm... No, I will leave that to people more artistically inclined.
[Or systematically break everything in the arts and crafts room and enjoy the dulcet tones of pottery smashing. That sounds much more engaging. Lobelia lifts his hand to meet Vergilius', studying the injured tip of his finger before pressing a kiss to it.]
Why don't we clean ourselves up first? We can explore what options we have after that.
Are you saying you're not? Hm. I suppose you can be quite brutish...
[Don't be mean, Vergilius. He murmurs a low noise at the light kiss, fingertip twitching slightly. The other man has a good suggestion, though - after the peak of sex, sometimes the last thing you want to feel is wet and sticky.]
[He's starting to push himself up on his elbows.]
Very well. There was a river nearby, wasn't there?
Heh! I don't suppose you would be any more inclined towards the arts?
[It takes a brute to know one, Vergie. Lobelia sits up and gets to his feet, but it's... effort. Ah. The sex was worth it, but he may take advantage of the hobble in his step to hold onto Vergilius as they make their way towards the lake.
Lobelia doesn't hesitate to twine his arm around Vergilius' and claim his hand for good measure, but before they set off, Lobelia casts a downward glance at their clothes, namely his robes.]
Tsk tsk! You've filthied my clothes, Vergilius. [totally ignoring the fact this was a team effort] We can clean ourselves, but what will I change into?
[He says, almost a little quietly. Sometimes you're a horrifically powerful Guy to the point you're almost an unbeatable cryptid but deep down....you like a good poem or two.]
[He's also moving to stand up, only a slight wobble in his movements as he stands up straight. A sigh comes as he feels the man grasp his hand, but where he would just yank his hand away before, he lets it sit this time. Lobelia's hand feels so slender and soft in his. An amazing thing, given the amount of blood the magician has spilled in his past. He vaguely wonders if he's ever held a weapon before. Probably not.]
Really. [He shoots an unamused glance over his shoulder at the crumpled, stained pile.] Go naked for all I care. You were the one who offered it in the first place.
[Lobelia sounds genuinely surprised, but he doesn't overemphasize his shock, because the more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense. He accused Vergilius of being a bleeding heart in the past, didn't he? A love of poetry suits Lobelia's mental image of who the man is at his core quite nicely. It's also rather endearing, prompting Lobelia to squeeze Vergilius' hand as they walk through the flowers.]
[His shoulders shift up and down. He's never really talked about this with....well, no one alive currently, surely. There's a little bit of that vulnerable crack that Lobelia has found it so easy to worm into, and he wonders how the man got so good at it. Something about him naturally feels like it belongs under his skin.]
I don't have any large preferences. But there's something nice about the depth of emotions....the beauty of broken things. They produce the best music, after all.
[Lobelia does appreciate a good book on occasion, but unsurprisingly, Lobelia prefers listening to music and spoken word over text on a page. All the same, he finds himself more and more pleased with Vergilius' answer, nodding enthusiastically as he speaks.]
Oui, oui, that's quite true! There is beauty to be found even in destruction, non? Nothing is infini, every life has an expiration date... but skillful artistry can render a fleeting tragedy permanent. We would all do well to see the value in both life and death.
Mm. There is, in its own sense, though there is sadness abound. In the City, every inch is tinged with tragedy. Lives lost. No one found. But then again...little instances of happiness, like sprouts through the concrete.
[His voice drifts off with a distant sort of tone, like a receding wave on a beach - even a murderer like him has moments to lax into more poetic states of mind.]
...I guess even us, alive in the land of the dead, have our own tragedy to think about.
[True, the image Vergilius paints of the City is a tragic one, but it's quite beautiful as well. They're of the same mind in that regard, inclined to look for scraps of happiness in a bleak world... but from the way Vergilius speaks, it seems that bleakness is largely unavoidable. There's no escape from it, meanwhile Lobelia has lived a life free of tragedy saved from what he has wrought with his own hands.
When they reach the lake, Lobelia slowly lowers himself to sit at its edge and dip his feet into the cool water. His hand outstretches to Vergilius, insistent fingers wiggling.]
I had always wondered what became of the soul after death. I could not have imagined this waiting for me on the other side... but it's as you said, Vergilius: someone like me does not belong here to begin with.
[And he would argue that the same holds true for Vergilius, but for different reasons.]
The City you've mentioned. Have you lived there your whole life?
[Saying what Lobelia is thinking, anyhow. A battered, scarred husk is ill-fitting for placid paradise. He sees the gesture of expectant fingers - of course, he has half a mind to ignore it. He almost does, moving to sit next to the man with no aplomb, the cold of the water making him shiver. But finally, he reaches over a hand, his expression almost a little exasperated, like he just has to go along with this, TOTALLY being forced into it, of course, of course.]
...Yes. There is only the City, after all. Anything outside of the City is...well, not fit for human life.
[That's right, Verg, just let it happen. Stealing the man's hand is a small victory, but it's one he shamelessly celebrates with laughter regardless, warming himself with Vergilius' touch while acclimating to the lake's cool waters.]
Is that so...? How tragic! You really are a product of your environment.
[But he doesn't mean that with any particular malice, no venom in his tone. Vergilius is strong, after all. If he weren't, the City would've swallowed him whole long ago, Lobelia imagines.]
The skydom I hail from is fraught with its own issues, but it's largely quite peaceful. Trouble isn't hard to find, but you may need to make it yourself from time to time.
You could say that of everyone in the City. That's the kind of place it is.
[He isn't even offended - honestly, that's how it is. This is this, and that is that, as one certain man would say. City life changes people, breaks people, crushes people, feeds on people, changes them into something less than human. Sometimes its just enough to keep your head above water.]
[His fingers flex in the other's grip as he considers the flow of water, a little distant.]
Sky....dom? [Now he turns back to Lobelia.] You live in the sky?
[He's discussed his home with few, but those he has all responded with similar surprise. Lobelia hums, figuring a simple explanation will answer Vergilius' question well enough.]
Oui! In a manner of speaking, of course. There are islands and archipelagos within that vast sky where people live. Hm... Imagine a sky in place of an ocean.
[From what he understands, most people are familiar with their continents and islands being bordered by water as opposed to vast stretches of sky... but after what Vergilius told him of the City, he has to wonder if the man had ever seen an ocean before arriving here.]
The City sounds like a restrictive, oppressive place, but the skydom is very much the opposite! If you have the means, you can travel as far and wide as you please.
[He tilts his head, pursing his lips, trying to imagine it - there isn't even anything like airplanes in the world of the City, so imagining people in the sky is a farfetched idea, indeed.]
Is there no land below the islands? Or is that all there is?
And there are multiple islands like that? Seems like a wide, wide world. Then again, the City on its own is a rather big place...
[He heaves a little huff of a sigh at the other's head on his shoulder, but he doesn't push him or shrug him off. Lobelia's hair tickles, he thinks, offhandedly.]
Sounds like the Outskirts at home. Though you don't fall down towards those...hrm. [Another moment of silence.] How...do you get around, actually? Does everyone fly?
[The cool breeze coming off the lake is surprisingly chilly, but then again, they are sitting around naked. Can Vergilius really blame Lobelia for snuggling up under these conditions?]
Oui! Sailing the skies is necessary to travel from island to island. The affluent and well to do have their own private ships, but for the common rabble, there are ships waiting at every skyport.
[Lobelia hums curiously, peeking up at Vergilius.]
I'm assuming you have never traveled the sky in such a fashion, given your question.
[Like a boat...? His eyebrows are furrowing, clearly not understanding. As he's trying to imagine this, he's leaning in, also naturally drawn to the warmth from the light chill around them. Vergilius's nose brushes against the other's forehead, before drawing back.]
No. There's no such thing. Only birds and other such animals can fly.
[The small tragedies just keep piling up, don't they? Only birds roaming the vast, open skies... No wonder the City is such a restrictive place. No one can truly enjoy the world for what it is from within the confines of a cage. With a dramatic sigh, Lobelia closes his eyes and leans further into Vergilius' side.]
Quelle tristesse! How do the people of the City travel? By foot alone?
[Now it's Lobelia's turn to look a little confused, humming in consternation. Cars, buses, trucks... He imagines they function similarly to the go karts, but perhaps one day he'll see these vehicles with his own eyes? Eternity lasts a long, long time, so anything is possible.]
[...That's not quite what Vergilius wants to hear, is it? That's not the sort of explanation that will let his mind wander. Lobelia smiles, settling on a better alternative.]
It feels freeing in the way that so few things truly are. After disembarking, it's hard not to envie birds who have the freedom to fly whenever and wherever they please.
[Lobelia is right. It does make his mind wonder. To think there are worlds out there where the skies are something people can traverse as easy as anything...]
[To become like a bird, and go far far away, and never have to worry about anything else ever again...]
[Perhaps that's a sad thing to say. But he's already at a point where he's made peace with his own wretched existence. In the end, he's only good for what might become of his dream....maybe.]
[Is it sad? Sure, but it comes as little surprise to Lobelia. Given what he knows of the man, it's no surprise that he's kept himself behind those rusty bars by choice. There's a reason for it, he's certain, but still...]
...You've accepted the loss of your freedom for the sake of something else, non? What is so great that you would make such sacrifices?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Hm... No, I will leave that to people more artistically inclined.
[Or systematically break everything in the arts and crafts room and enjoy the dulcet tones of pottery smashing. That sounds much more engaging. Lobelia lifts his hand to meet Vergilius', studying the injured tip of his finger before pressing a kiss to it.]
Why don't we clean ourselves up first? We can explore what options we have after that.
no subject
[Don't be mean, Vergilius. He murmurs a low noise at the light kiss, fingertip twitching slightly. The other man has a good suggestion, though - after the peak of sex, sometimes the last thing you want to feel is wet and sticky.]
[He's starting to push himself up on his elbows.]
Very well. There was a river nearby, wasn't there?
no subject
[It takes a brute to know one, Vergie. Lobelia sits up and gets to his feet, but it's... effort. Ah. The sex was worth it, but he may take advantage of the hobble in his step to hold onto Vergilius as they make their way towards the lake.
Lobelia doesn't hesitate to twine his arm around Vergilius' and claim his hand for good measure, but before they set off, Lobelia casts a downward glance at their clothes, namely his robes.]
Tsk tsk! You've filthied my clothes, Vergilius. [totally ignoring the fact this was a team effort] We can clean ourselves, but what will I change into?
no subject
[He says, almost a little quietly. Sometimes you're a horrifically powerful Guy to the point you're almost an unbeatable cryptid but deep down....you like a good poem or two.]
[He's also moving to stand up, only a slight wobble in his movements as he stands up straight. A sigh comes as he feels the man grasp his hand, but where he would just yank his hand away before, he lets it sit this time. Lobelia's hand feels so slender and soft in his. An amazing thing, given the amount of blood the magician has spilled in his past. He vaguely wonders if he's ever held a weapon before. Probably not.]
Really. [He shoots an unamused glance over his shoulder at the crumpled, stained pile.] Go naked for all I care. You were the one who offered it in the first place.
no subject
[Lobelia sounds genuinely surprised, but he doesn't overemphasize his shock, because the more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense. He accused Vergilius of being a bleeding heart in the past, didn't he? A love of poetry suits Lobelia's mental image of who the man is at his core quite nicely. It's also rather endearing, prompting Lobelia to squeeze Vergilius' hand as they walk through the flowers.]
I shouldn't be humoring you when you're treating me so callously, but alas, you've piqued my curiositΓ©! What sort of poetry moves a weary soul like yours?
no subject
[His shoulders shift up and down. He's never really talked about this with....well, no one alive currently, surely. There's a little bit of that vulnerable crack that Lobelia has found it so easy to worm into, and he wonders how the man got so good at it. Something about him naturally feels like it belongs under his skin.]
I don't have any large preferences. But there's something nice about the depth of emotions....the beauty of broken things. They produce the best music, after all.
no subject
Oui, oui, that's quite true! There is beauty to be found even in destruction, non? Nothing is infini, every life has an expiration date... but skillful artistry can render a fleeting tragedy permanent. We would all do well to see the value in both life and death.
no subject
[His voice drifts off with a distant sort of tone, like a receding wave on a beach - even a murderer like him has moments to lax into more poetic states of mind.]
...I guess even us, alive in the land of the dead, have our own tragedy to think about.
no subject
When they reach the lake, Lobelia slowly lowers himself to sit at its edge and dip his feet into the cool water. His hand outstretches to Vergilius, insistent fingers wiggling.]
I had always wondered what became of the soul after death. I could not have imagined this waiting for me on the other side... but it's as you said, Vergilius: someone like me does not belong here to begin with.
[And he would argue that the same holds true for Vergilius, but for different reasons.]
The City you've mentioned. Have you lived there your whole life?
no subject
[Saying what Lobelia is thinking, anyhow. A battered, scarred husk is ill-fitting for placid paradise. He sees the gesture of expectant fingers - of course, he has half a mind to ignore it. He almost does, moving to sit next to the man with no aplomb, the cold of the water making him shiver. But finally, he reaches over a hand, his expression almost a little exasperated, like he just has to go along with this, TOTALLY being forced into it, of course, of course.]
...Yes. There is only the City, after all. Anything outside of the City is...well, not fit for human life.
no subject
Is that so...? How tragic! You really are a product of your environment.
[But he doesn't mean that with any particular malice, no venom in his tone. Vergilius is strong, after all. If he weren't, the City would've swallowed him whole long ago, Lobelia imagines.]
The skydom I hail from is fraught with its own issues, but it's largely quite peaceful. Trouble isn't hard to find, but you may need to make it yourself from time to time.
no subject
[He isn't even offended - honestly, that's how it is. This is this, and that is that, as one certain man would say. City life changes people, breaks people, crushes people, feeds on people, changes them into something less than human. Sometimes its just enough to keep your head above water.]
[His fingers flex in the other's grip as he considers the flow of water, a little distant.]
Sky....dom? [Now he turns back to Lobelia.] You live in the sky?
no subject
Oui! In a manner of speaking, of course. There are islands and archipelagos within that vast sky where people live. Hm... Imagine a sky in place of an ocean.
[From what he understands, most people are familiar with their continents and islands being bordered by water as opposed to vast stretches of sky... but after what Vergilius told him of the City, he has to wonder if the man had ever seen an ocean before arriving here.]
The City sounds like a restrictive, oppressive place, but the skydom is very much the opposite! If you have the means, you can travel as far and wide as you please.
no subject
[It would be a very, very long way to fall down.]
[He tilts his head, pursing his lips, trying to imagine it - there isn't even anything like airplanes in the world of the City, so imagining people in the sky is a farfetched idea, indeed.]
Is there no land below the islands? Or is that all there is?
no subject
[Charmed by the way Vergilius' expression twists in an effort to imagine a concept so foreign, Lobelia chuckles, resting his head on his shoulder.]
The Earthly Realm resides at the very bottom, but it's not a place the living can freely travel to. Some will cast their dead to the Earth as a rite funΓ©raire, but no one who has traveled there has ever returned.
no subject
[He heaves a little huff of a sigh at the other's head on his shoulder, but he doesn't push him or shrug him off. Lobelia's hair tickles, he thinks, offhandedly.]
Sounds like the Outskirts at home. Though you don't fall down towards those...hrm. [Another moment of silence.] How...do you get around, actually? Does everyone fly?
no subject
Oui! Sailing the skies is necessary to travel from island to island. The affluent and well to do have their own private ships, but for the common rabble, there are ships waiting at every skyport.
[Lobelia hums curiously, peeking up at Vergilius.]
I'm assuming you have never traveled the sky in such a fashion, given your question.
no subject
[Like a boat...? His eyebrows are furrowing, clearly not understanding. As he's trying to imagine this, he's leaning in, also naturally drawn to the warmth from the light chill around them. Vergilius's nose brushes against the other's forehead, before drawing back.]
No. There's no such thing. Only birds and other such animals can fly.
no subject
Quelle tristesse! How do the people of the City travel? By foot alone?
no subject
[Not that he would know, but do Not Use Warp Trains, Please.]
Boats on the water, too, of course. But nothing flying. What...does it feel like?
no subject
From a practical standpoint, it doesn't feel much different than making forward momentum in another vΓ©hicule. Still...
[...That's not quite what Vergilius wants to hear, is it? That's not the sort of explanation that will let his mind wander. Lobelia smiles, settling on a better alternative.]
It feels freeing in the way that so few things truly are. After disembarking, it's hard not to envie birds who have the freedom to fly whenever and wherever they please.
no subject
[Lobelia is right. It does make his mind wonder. To think there are worlds out there where the skies are something people can traverse as easy as anything...]
[To become like a bird, and go far far away, and never have to worry about anything else ever again...]
I guess I'll...take your word for it.
no subject
Do you truly envision yourself moving from cage to cage for the rest of your existence? Flying isn't only for the birds, nor is freedom.
no subject
[Perhaps that's a sad thing to say. But he's already at a point where he's made peace with his own wretched existence. In the end, he's only good for what might become of his dream....maybe.]
There's no such thing as freedom in the City.
no subject
...You've accepted the loss of your freedom for the sake of something else, non? What is so great that you would make such sacrifices?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
1/2
2/2
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
1/?
2/?
3/??
4/4
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)