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

[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.

[poeticverses]

Out of all my lessons as a child, music was one of the few that I actually enjoyed. There is just something...indescribable about playing music. You are playing a piece that people have been playing for decades or days, but suddenly you are connected to all those who have played it and those who have yet to. It's a powerful feeling.

[depicted]

[Dorian is helpless against his smile.] You really are a Romantic.

[poeticverses]

[Jehan laughs softly and turns pink]

I try to be, when I am not a republican. Thank you for saying so.

[He turns the flute over in his hands, wondering if he shouldn't take Dorian's offer of a flute. He has no idea if he'll find one so familiar elsewhere.]

How many instruments can you play?

[depicted]

[Dorian hopes that Jehan does. Even with his experiences in rationing, he is too accustomed to limitless resources to begrudge a gift of a flute.]

Ah, not too many. I can only really play the piano. I know a little of the violin, and Bryn and I are trying to learn that flute over there—[he points to one of the strange ones]—but that's really it.

What do you have, other than the flute?

[poeticverses]

Just the flute. It is, ah, easier to carry out to the countryside than a violin.

[His main reason for picking it up, yes]

I am also unable to offend anyone with my singing when I play it.

[depicted]

[He laughs.] Your singing can't be that bad.

[poeticverses]

It isn't that good, either.

[But Jehan's laughing too, a big change from the crying man hours ago.]

Songs of the republic and occasionally drinking songs are what I'm limited to. You do not need talent to sing those.

[depicted]

[Dorian echoes the laugh back, happy to have gotten it.] I suppose you just need to be drunk on republicanism or wine.

[poeticverses]

I suppose.

[He's feeling much better, though still not himself. Jehan reaches to take Dorian's hand]

Thank you, Dorian.

[depicted]

[Dorian squeezes the hand, reassuring though his tone is light.] It's always a pleasure, Jehan.