gurabad | 037 » on and on we carry through the fear

[zephirin folds his tissues with a grace that suggests he has done such things before. curious — and distracted from his despairing thoughts — francel pokes tentatively at the flower that zephirin has made. he has a sudden desire to put it in his hair.]

...Okay.

[the boy gnaws upon his lip, and takes the flower in hand, cradling it in his palms as if it is precious treasure.]

I'm sorry... for overreacting.

[it's another apology, but at least he sounds calmer, and less likely to cry.]

[ Francel has hands best described as pretty, fine-boned, fingers slender. Cupped in his palms, the flower isn't a waste of clean tissue paper. ]

Let's put it behind us.

[ Was it an overreaction? To Francel, Zephirin's remark must have felt like a sudden slap. ]

Will you be alright?

[francel nods earnestly, his eyes closed, the better to express how genuinely alright he is. he tilts his head at zephirin and smiles.]

I'll be okay. Thank you.

[the fact that zephirin has packed up to leave is not lost on him, however, and he asks:]

...So, I'll see you next week? Or... this weekend?

[ Now that Francel won't dissolve in tears, convinced that Zephirin secretly hated him all along, Zephirin stands from his seat, draping his coat over one arm. With a small smile in return, he leaves the tissue paper flower in Francel's hands, the rest of the packet on the table. ]

Saturday evening, if Emmanellain confirms his plans. Otherwise we'll meet here again next week.

[as zephirin leaves, francel carefully transfers the flower in his palms to his chest pocket. smiling, he nods and begins to pack his own things up as well.]

Saturday evening, then...

[though emmanellain seems surprised to hear francel ask for a date and time (instead of waiting to have it foisted upon him, which is what usually tends to happen), he provides one: saturday, 6:30 in the evening, between the fortemps and haillenarte residences. francel clears his homework out well in advance of the date; he tries to pick out his very best clothing. he will have to let zephirin in at the gates, after all, and he would like to make an impression.

so it comes to pass that francel winds up anxiously waiting at the gates to the last vigil, wearing an oversized sweater in rose pink over his best jeans. he fusses with his hair, pulling stray locks into place and smoothing out the back of his head, over and over, so many times that it only starts to fluff up instead.]

[ Starting time and Francel's earlier explanations aside, Emmanellain's party plans are still shrouded in mystery on the day — but then, he expects his get-together to take shape on its own, once everyone is gathered in one place. Zephirin arrives early, pulling over to park near Last Vigil's gated grounds at 6:15. At twenty past six, approaching the gates, he is somewhat surprised to see Francel already waiting directly on the other side — whether for him or other guests.

Today, at least, the boy is dressed in warmer layers, though the sweater and his tousled hair give the impression that he was bundled up in bed before heading out into the cool evening air. ]

Francel. [ In lieu of a wave, Zephirin lifts one hand slightly. ] Had I known you were waiting, I would have come sooner...

Zephirin!

[francel looks so very happy to see zephirin that one would think them true lovers and not simply an unusually close tutor-tutee duo. francel has neglected to wear gloves, however, and he breathes on his hands to keep them warm as he beckons zephirin in through the gates.]

No, no, I chose to wait here... and you're early, anyway. Did you drive here? Do you want to park inside?

[ Francel is an excited puppy once again as he brightens upon Zephirin's arrival, greeting him as though his mere presence has made Francel's day. It raises the question of how long the boy has been standing by the gates (by contrast, Emmanellain is nowhere to be seen), and Zephirin doesn't prolong it — the fact that Francel is affected by the cold hasn't escaped his notice. Joining the boy past the gates, he falls into step with Francel. ]

I've parked on your street, not far from here. If that will be a problem, I'll move my car.

No, it's not a problem at all. Some people get afraid that their car will be damaged if it's parked on the street, but, well, it's a nice neighborhood and I don't think we're too bad at driving around here...

[noting zephirin's oddly observant gaze, francel hazards a guess as to what the man might be wondering about.]

Emmanellain is at his home fussing with the music system, I think. We were going to have an outdoor party, but it's just a little bit too chilly today, isn't it? So I told him we should move everything inside while we still can. The food isn't ready yet, but we can have some drinks and chat while we wait.

I appreciate the offer.

[ Zephirin's decision not to drive up to the gates was made in part out of an assumption that parking inside was for Last Vigil residents only, but the streets around Francel's neighbourhood seem fairly quiet, the spot Zephirin chose reasonably out of the way, safe enough to leave a car for a few hours. The decision not to move it now is cemented by the minutes ticking away, and Francel's chilled fingers.

It's a pleasant evening, if indeed too cold for an outdoor party, which could set off complaints about the noise in so peaceful a location anyway. The sky is cloudless, promising a view of the stars. ]

Let me know if you require another pair of hands before the other guests arrive.

[ Emmanellain was the instigator of the evening's plans, but Francel suddenly steps into an experienced host's role, and Zephirin smiles faintly to see it.

Emmanellain himself bursts into the hallway to the house entrance moments after they've crossed the threshold. "There you are! Honoroit is just getting the rest of our... everything." He flaps his hands to encompass everything before it registers that Francel has brought company. "Oh, you're here, and you're early... Zephirin, right? Well, we welcome you to our not so humble abodes! Bienvenue, bonsoir! Hang your coat up over there—" Emmanellain motions to a stand in a corner near the door, pausing for breath. ]

...Bonsoir. [ That faint smile still plays about Zephirin's lips, distinctly amused, as he unties his coat's belt, shedding the garment and hanging it on one of the hooks pointed out. Underneath, he has opted for a simple dark grey blazer over a black turtleneck and trousers — perhaps slightly too formal after all, now that he stands beside the party hosts. ]

Edited 2017-12-17 23:11 (UTC)

[presumably, francel has been roped into preparing emmanellain's everything, and he seems as though he's about to rush off and help this "honoroit" when the sound of zephirin's bonsoir and the sight of zephirin's smile captures his attention. the boy stands perfectly still in the foyer, watching zephirin take his coat off with an intensity that conveys his unabashed interest. quietly, he decides that his french tutor is truly a creature of utmost elegance, and he cannot stop himself from breaking into a somewhat besotted smile.]

Ah... you look really nice...

[this is, perhaps, not the best of times for an apple to suddenly come flying down the stairs, colliding with francel's head with an audible bonk. "i'm so sorry, francel!" calls a somewhat young boy, evidently trying to carry a fruit basket that is much too big for him. "are you alright?"]

Er... yes, I'm fine, Honoroit, thank you...

[with a sigh, francel runs to fetch the apple (now rolling away from him).]

I suppose this is mine now?

[ The stray apple slams the door shut on any compliment to give Francel in return, interrupting before Zephirin has the chance even to acknowledge the boy's remark beyond meeting his dreamy gaze. Emmanellain half laughs, half winces, though Francel will probably walk away with fewer bruises than the apple sports. "Don't pass out in the middle of the party, now, old boy!" Even so, his idea of lightening Honoroit's load seems to stop at relieving his friend of the weight of one more apple so that he can polish the fruit on his shirt and bite into it.

Close behind Francel, having moved to check on him in the aftermath of the collision, Zephirin stoops down to pick up the apple. As he straightens back up, his hair refuses to slide into its usual placement, but he makes no move to brush it out of his eyes yet, handing the apple over first. The piece of fruit is mostly firm, despite its journey — Francel received what must have been a painful blow to the head. ]

You're certain that you're fine?

Yes, I'm fine...

[francel rubs the back of his head as though it brings him pain, but the truth is that his skull is quite thick and his head is unbruised. he takes the apple zephirin proffers him, though he has no particular desire to eat the fruit that has assaulted him.]

I guess that's just what I get...

[ Merrily munching through his apple, Emmanellain is another interruption as he calls out to Francel again. "Are you going to need a moment? Some privacy— Honoroit?!"

The unwieldy fruit basket somehow knocks into Emmanellain's head, surely by chance alone, on Honoroit's way through to the next room. Pursuing the boy, Emmanellain leaves Francel and Zephirin alone in the foyer.

Zephirin calmly tidies the front of his hair, and says nothing just yet, but he predicts that Emmanellain's comment is only the beginning. ]

[francel blushes at the insinuation that emmanellain is making, but he can't say that he didn't expect it. in truth, he did expect it. this is what he wanted. this is his fantasy, his dream come true: an evening where everyone assumes that zephirin is his boyfriend, or else, an evening where zephirin pretends to be his boyfriend.

such an evening would require zephirin's cooperation, however, and francel is loath to ask for it — directly.]

Um... if it bothers you, I can write a sign on my forehead saying that there's nothing between us.

[ignoring the fact that francel's hair covers his forehead...]

[ Perhaps the foyer isn't an ideal place to discuss their relationship, but Emmanellain is well out of earshot, and for the moment, they can talk undisturbed. Zephirin turns away from the door behind which Emmanellain and Honoroit disappeared — Francel can see his non-expression. ]

There's no need. [ Nevertheless, Francel is understandably embarrassed, and it would be best for Emmanellain to keep his less appropriate commentary to himself... ] How would you like me to answer any questions to come our way tonight?

Ah, um...

[the honest answer is that francel would very much like to know whether or not his affections were reciprocated — but they've only known each other for so long to begin with, and besides, francel's taste in men has never been formally announced to his family (although it would hardly surprise them to hear the news). he fidgets uncertainly, once more smoothing down (and actually fluffing up) the back of his head.]

...I... guess... we're friends... right?

[ Are they friends?

Most tutors don't drive students home, or take them out for lunch, or attend social functions with them. Zephirin and Francel have known each other for a handful of days, but in that time, they've led a few people to misinterpret their relationship, though Zephirin is neither quick to make friends nor to go on dates.

Now he stands here with Francel, who exudes anxiety anew, put on the spot, and friendship seems a reasonably accurate term to cover their interactions. ]

We're friends. Emmanellain's assumptions don't bother me, but I thought it best to go in on the same page.

[ Emmanellain pokes his head back into the foyer then, bringing with him the scent of roses, as if he has bathed in perfume. "Drinks are this way, I should mention — when you're ready! Everyone's going to arrive any minute now, I'm sure..." ]

[there is a brief moment where francel seems to brighten with the light of a thousand suns —]

Oh! No, they don't bother me either! Actually, I kind of —

[— but emmanellain's proclamation cuts him off. looking a bit confused, francel looks between his childhood "friend," the beverage bar, and zephirin (several times, at that)... then seems to give up and shrug his shoulders.]

A-Ah... right. Any minute now... Do you want something to drink, Zephirin? We have red wine and champagne — Emmanellain's tastes — but I think we also have soda and fruit juice, if you'd prefer something non-alcoholic...

[ Emmanellain's timing can't be mere coincidence, or so it seems until he shoots the door hopeful glances, not unlike Francel was watching the gates, less interested in eavesdropping. Any minute now is already past 6:30.

"Any minute now..." Emmanellain repeats. "I did emphasize that there's nothing wrong with coming fashionably late... Anyway, follow me!" Tearing his gaze away from the door's direction, he beckons to Francel and Zephirin. ]

Juice would be fine for now. Thank you.

[ For some reason, Zephirin's choice both surprises and amuses Emmanellain. After he pours Francel a glass of wine to press into the boy's hands, supposedly for Francel's nerves, he brings out a small juice box, which he sets down beside a filled pitcher, and a tray of empty glasses. "What will it be? Juice... dans the glass? Or nostalgia style?"

Gracefully, Zephirin accepts the juice box. ]

[though emmanellain's use of gratuitous french makes francel want to punch him in the face, the comparatively heartwarming sight of zephirin holding a juice box stays his hand. (francel, for his part, accepts the glass of wine from emmanellain without protest — he seems used to going along with the older boy's whims.) he smiles.]

Heheh... Zephirin, you look cute...

[unable to stifle either his giggle or his comment, francel braces himself for a flurry of unwelcome comments from emmanellain. fortunately, he is spared by a sudden ring at the doorbell — which honoroit, of course, rushes to answer.

it is doubtlessly some disappointment to the youngest son of the fortemps family that his red-headed lady love is not, in fact, at the door. instead, two impressively tall blond men are standing in the doorway, apparently in the middle of an argument — by the look of them, they are younger and older brother, though the younger-looking one is the older, and the older-looking one is the younger...

"look, aurvael," the younger-looking man explains heatedly, "you can't put the autoturrets together, they don't work that way — oh, hello, honoroit. and you too, francel... emmanellain..."

francel's oldest brother stops short at the sight of zephirin. he opens his mouth, hesitating, apparently trying to remember a name he never knew to begin with. "you... it's on the tip of my tongue," he says, apologetically, though that would be impossible.]

Edited 2017-12-24 19:47 (UTC)

[ Francel's brothers make their entrance just as Zephirin is about to unwrap his juice box straw. He transfers both carton and straw to his left hand, offering Stephanivien the right, as well as an excuse for the other man to pretend that the correct name was indeed on the tip of his tongue all along. "Zephirin — Francel and I know each other from college. You must be Stephanivien."

Francel isn't short, but in the company of his brothers, he looks smaller, even softer-featured. It's difficult to imagine him ever coming to resemble either brother.

Their sister's absence visibly disappoints Emmanellain — abruptly, he wilts somewhat. "Oh... Glad you could make it, come in, mingle... We might as well get started, right?" His phone goes off, blaring its ringtone and cutting short Emmanellain's peering around Aurvael and Stephanivien for a hidden Laniaitte. "Okay, so! Haurchefant is running late, there's a horse on the road or whatever, and we're not waiting for Artoirel, he's away on a business trip with our father, which is for the best, really. Everyone else... Everyone else will turn up when they turn up." With that, Emmanellain flits away, deeper into the house and back to the music system. ]

[though aurvael possesses a stern, rather intimidating demeanor, his expression softens at emmanellain's sulking, and he calls out to the back: "laniaitte is coming, you know! she wanted to take a shower, so she told us to go on ahead!"

stephanivien, meanwhile, shakes zephirin's hand enthusiastically, eyes widening in surprise. "oh? a friend of francel's? that's strange — i thought you were one of artoirel's business associates. you've got that look about you, you know. sharp eyes."

then, suddenly, he turns to francel, raising a quizzical eyebrow. "whatever happened to that other friend of yours, by the way? the one that looked like haurchefant?"

francel stiffens visibly at this apparently well-meaning question, clutching at the elbow of his soft sweater as though it might rescue him from his discomfort.]

Oh... he's... out of town.

["oh, is that so?" stephanivien asks gaily. "what a shame. here i thought i might see him again! he made me promise to bring him something, last time, only for the life of me i can't remember what it was..."]

He... yeah. Aucheforne was like that. That's okay — don't worry about it. He's probably forgotten about it by now.

[ "This guy looks like Haurchefant and his name is Aucheforne?" Emmanellain reappears, in a better mood again thanks to Aurvael's reassurances. "You know, I think he sent me a request to friend him... Well, good thing he's out of town. After all, you die if you meet your doppelganger, or so they say!"

Seeming content to settle into polite silence on the sidelines as Francel's friend becomes the conversation's focus, Zephirin observes the shifts in Francel's body language, all signs that the boy would rather change the subject. This Aucheforne, he surmises, was in fact more than a friend to Francel — prior to his ending the relationship.

Before anyone has the chance to mount a rescue and move on from the topic to cheerier things, the doorbell rings once more, and once more, Honoroit hurries to open the door. Emmanellain perks up, smoothing his hair down where strands of it refuse to lie flat.

Revealed in the doorway, however, is none other than Haurchefant's lookalike. A rakish air about him, he saunters past Honoroit into the house, scanning the faces of those already gathered inside. "Hey. Not the biggest turnout..." His roving gaze comes to a stop on Francel's sweater. ]

[one would think that francel had already reached his point of maximum discomfort — but his posture and expression only grows stiffer the moment he realizes that aucheforne's gaze has fallen upon him. the man is not haurchefant's perfect copy, but haurchefant is not around to provide the differences. still, francel knows: aucheforne's nose is straighter, and his hair is longer, more coarse. he has scars on his knees, from tripping and falling as a child; haurchefant has a few on his forearms, from an incident long ago, when francel was kidnapped.

for a moment, francel wonders if these things ended the relationship, or if his own flaws did.]

...It's only 6:38. I'm sure others will arrive soon. People are always late...

[mumbled, barely voiced, francel's shy words reveal his real fears. unconsciously, he draws closer to zephirin, seeking some sort of comfort, though his hands only dig deeper into the soft pink wool of his sweater.]

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