I would loathe to see either L'aigle or Joly being hit with their lady's purse; a lover's strike is always softer by nature, but wounds deeper by art. She might aim for Joly and find L'aigle quite by accident-- and then all would be right with this place.
[For more friends and dear faces would be aboard it, Bossuet's with a requisite bruise and Joly suffering a panic about a cold born from the chilly wind of a purse passing by his face. He couldn't help but smile a little, despite the heavy topic, at the thought.]
Of course. You put it well. More angel than man, but even angels need men, to give them purpose and connect to them by their very goodness of soul You do your angel well, my friend.
[When Combeferre spoke of Courfeyrac next, though, he went a bit quiet, smoothing out the paper nervously, listening to him and tapping the edge of his foot very lightly as he did so. It was a difficult topic, as he did not wish to insult Courfeyrac-- his loyalty or his feelings-- any more than he wished to hope too fiercely and become too greatly bound.]
...Were that I could speak to anyone else, I might. I'm sorry to burden you.
[Began. Because even though Michel had offered, this seemed rather a lot to come to one man with. Jehan wasn't one to do this very much anyway, preferring to synthesize his own thoughts in his own time, but, well.
Two weeks alone with his own thoughts and he wanted nothing more to do with them, very nearly.]
I do know that we are all changed here. Death teaches us much of life, and loss teaches us much of our gains. Being so outdated, we better appreciate that which we understand; each other. All of this creates a deeper friendship between all of us; where it was already such a depth!; in a natural manner. I do not doubt that he loves me anymore than I doubt that he loves you, or Marius. I just...
[A pause, and then he gave almost a little huff.]
I don't know. Perhaps it is because there is such a small selection on board this ship, or because I tended him while he was in a low state, or any number of reasons. I fear-- I fear his emotions may be fragile, is what I wish to say, whereas mine are robust. His are playful; tender and carefree and honest, but shifting, much like a child. Mine are... well. A good deal more like gravity. Very difficult to get away from, once you have understood them.
[Another sigh, and he stopped skirting the topic.]
In short, I do not doubt him. But I... what if he were to change his mind? I doubt that I can keep the interest of such a creature, and the problem is that I love him too.
[Because, you know, leave it to a tragic romantic poet to view this as a problem.]
no subject
[For more friends and dear faces would be aboard it, Bossuet's with a requisite bruise and Joly suffering a panic about a cold born from the chilly wind of a purse passing by his face. He couldn't help but smile a little, despite the heavy topic, at the thought.]
Of course. You put it well. More angel than man, but even angels need men, to give them purpose and connect to them by their very goodness of soul You do your angel well, my friend.
[When Combeferre spoke of Courfeyrac next, though, he went a bit quiet, smoothing out the paper nervously, listening to him and tapping the edge of his foot very lightly as he did so. It was a difficult topic, as he did not wish to insult Courfeyrac-- his loyalty or his feelings-- any more than he wished to hope too fiercely and become too greatly bound.]
...Were that I could speak to anyone else, I might. I'm sorry to burden you.
[Began. Because even though Michel had offered, this seemed rather a lot to come to one man with. Jehan wasn't one to do this very much anyway, preferring to synthesize his own thoughts in his own time, but, well.
Two weeks alone with his own thoughts and he wanted nothing more to do with them, very nearly.]
I do know that we are all changed here. Death teaches us much of life, and loss teaches us much of our gains. Being so outdated, we better appreciate that which we understand; each other. All of this creates a deeper friendship between all of us; where it was already such a depth!; in a natural manner. I do not doubt that he loves me anymore than I doubt that he loves you, or Marius. I just...
[A pause, and then he gave almost a little huff.]
I don't know. Perhaps it is because there is such a small selection on board this ship, or because I tended him while he was in a low state, or any number of reasons. I fear-- I fear his emotions may be fragile, is what I wish to say, whereas mine are robust. His are playful; tender and carefree and honest, but shifting, much like a child. Mine are... well. A good deal more like gravity. Very difficult to get away from, once you have understood them.
[Another sigh, and he stopped skirting the topic.]
In short, I do not doubt him. But I... what if he were to change his mind? I doubt that I can keep the interest of such a creature, and the problem is that I love him too.
[Because, you know, leave it to a tragic romantic poet to view this as a problem.]