Verse 03 -- Video

[poeticverses]

[It is not a happy Jean Prouvaire who greets the world today.

Those who don't know Jehan might be able to tell that something's off. He almost looks sick, but not quite, and his clothes are in disarray. Those who do know Jehan?

They can tell right away that something is terribly wrong with the Romantic poet. He hasn't been out of his house in a few days--he hasn't left his house much at all since a few days before the snow day, actually, but in the last few days he's been a total recluse--and hasn't been seen on the network since Courfeyrac's last post. He's not looking at the feed like he normally does, his hands seem to be shaking a little, and he just seems off. Sleep has clearly been eluding the poet, too.

It takes a few minutes before he speaks. When he does, his voice is lacking his usual emotion. Still gentle, Jehan could never be anything but, but it's a bit flat]

I...I was wondering if someone...

[He bites his lip before trying again]

A-a flute. Does anyone know where I might--

[Another pause, this one longer. Jehan closes his eyes and shakes his head, reaching up to turn the feed off]

No, never mind.

[Just before he cuts the feed, the sounds of him starting to cry can be heard]

Comments

action

[depicted]

[Smiling, he shakes his head.] You've been reclusive. I thought you might have wanted space.

Re: action

[poeticverses]

[Jehan flinches a bit at "reclusive"]

I hadn't meant to be. I...I could not stand to be around people. I still can't, not in large groups.

permaction

[depicted]

[Dorian considers him for a moment.] Are you certain you don't want something to drink? I promise, the rationing isn't a problem on this.

[poeticverses]

...perhaps I need one to...to relax a little.

[depicted]

[Dorian rewards him with a smile.] Perfect. [He places a kiss on Jehan's forehead before leaving him for the drinks cabinet, from which he retrieves a decanter and glasses. He sets them on the table and pours.] It's a bit like a kirsch, but much stronger. [When he sits, it is close enough to reassure with physical presence.]

[poeticverses]

A-a what?

[If Jehan knows what that is, he's forgotten in his breakdown]

[depicted]

[He idly brushes a hand over Jehan's arm.] Kirschwasser, a fruit brandy. From cherries. This one is a little sweeter than what you would find at home.

[poeticverses]

[Jehan leans into that touch as he tries the drink. Normally, he'd be able to choke it down without much of a problem if he dislikes it.

This time it's pretty obvious that this is way too sweet for the poet. He coughs it down, though]

A little?

[depicted]

Oh, it's not that bad. [He takes the glass away from Jehan.] I'll find you something more bitter.

In fact— [He sets down the glass, then takes Jehan by the arm and pulls him over to the cabinet. It is as well-stocked as you would expect, with dozens of bottles to match his mercurial moods.] Here, you pick one for yourself. Not a lot for selection, I know, but my cellar is back in England, I'm afraid. [He points] Reds and whites, fruit wines, rice wines, brandies grape and fruit, gins, rums, vodkas, whiskies, ports, liqueurs. You can have whatever you like.

[Musical instruments, tobacco, and alcohol: the primary consumers of Dorian Gray's income.]

[poeticverses]

I don't mind sweet, but that was too sweet, even for me.

[Jehan's eyes go wide at the cabinet--if Grantaire becomes too unbearable during this rationing, perhaps he can convince Dorian to help him out--and spots a brandy that looks vaguely familiar]

May I?

[depicted]

[He smiles.] As I said, the choice is yours. [He tugs it free and places it in Jehan's hands.] Tell me if it's to your tastes.

[poeticverses]

[Jehan uncorks the bottle and takes a taste. He coughs a bit, but he nods]

Much better. Thank you, Dorian.

[He manages a small smile as he leans in to kiss Dorian's cheek]

[depicted]

[Dorian stops him from pulling away with a hand and takes a proper kiss.] Yes, that tastes perfect.

[poeticverses]

[Jehan blushes and takes another drink]

Are you certain? That was only one small taste.

[depicted]

[Dorian rests his fingers on Jehan's jaw.] Do you want me to take another sample? Perhaps a more thorough one, this time.

[poeticverses]

Only if you want to.

[What he means is "yes", but he won't say it. Jehan needs the distraction Dorian can provide, in any way he wants to provide it--through music, drink, sex, whatever. He knows that and that's one of the reasons he came over. His friends are lovely and he adores them, but they're close to the problem. Dorian is as well, given his...condition, but that can be ignored. He can't ignore his brothers, their deaths, and how he left them to play hero.]

[depicted]

[Dorian obliges with a longer, more thorough kiss. Then, again with a hand at Jehan's elbow, he pulls him over to the piano, where he sets down their glasses and pulls Jehan into the chair.] Let me play you Chopin as you drink.

[poeticverses]

Actually, may I see the flute you mentioned? I don't think I will play, but I would like to see it.

[depicted]

Yeah, of course. [Dorian's fingers slip over Jehan's arm, and then he is off to a shelf where a trio of flutes are displayed. Two are very different from anything seen on Earth, and one is much like a Meyer flute. This is the one that he offers to Jehan.] Try this.

[poeticverses]

[Jehan smiles--that's normal, he knows what that is--and takes the flute to inspect. Satisfied, he plays a quick scale. He's no virtuoso, but he's a decent player regardless]

It's perfect. Where did you find it?

[depicted]

[With his smile, Dorian seems almost embarrassed explaining.] I've sort of made a habit of exploring all the music shops we have. I really wanted a piano.

[poeticverses]

I didn't think they would have a flute like this here. The other two I've see, but not something so like one from home.

[depicted]

I had to be a little more thorough to find this one.

[poeticverses]

Is music so dear to you?

[depicted]

[Dorian smiles, soft and sincere. His fingers move, idle, across the keys, without making a sound.] Music was my first love. And you don't forget your first love. It shapes where you seek happiness and how you face your sorrows, it becomes the Platonic form against which all future loves are measured. It determines who you are. All the arts I've known since music, I compare to it.

[He laughs, no louder than his smile.] You know, I don't think I've ever truly loved anyone who didn't have music in their voice. I don't think I really noticed until now.