... /beckons 14th_clownDecember 9 2011, 22:35:29 UTC
Do I not?
[There's an upward incline of surprise in his voice as he speaks this time as he briefly glances down at himself in mock-disbelief. It's clowning, there's little else to it, as it's clear that he knows as well as this boy that he is no man of god.
When he pauses in his self-examination to look up once again the smile has not faltered but if anything it has altered from something polite to something a little more openly amused.]
Ah... I suppose if I do not look much like one then I must not be. It is just as well--I'm not suited for such things.
[His dark eyes track the young man as he moves, watching his body language, the way he carries himself, the manner in which he speaks. So many straight, taunt, trained lines in that body: the suit highlights this well. Of course he had no idea what manner of training was involved, and it could be any number of things, but humans don't align themselves on their own--they are cracked into place, made to stand upright, speak clearly, correct that attitude, that attire is not suitable, do your job. Hm... And what job did this young man do, one had to wonder. In a suit like that? And so young, because he was definitely young, barely into his twenties, surely. And in a place like this... Not a lawyer, not a banker, not a politician--those types would not stumble through icy streets and into a church unless there was some humanity shattering irony about to befall them, an epiphany to see what dwelt at the ends of the strings they so casually tugged from above.
Gods among men do not step into churches unless they have fallen from their stained graces.
So none of those things, but still something unsavoury in some way, he was sure. Curiouser and curiouser... ]
And what of you, young sir? [His head cocked to one side as he spoke, the hat remaining upright but now angled atop his head but casting the shadows across another area of his face instead.] I wonder...Are you a lost lamb wandering in from the cold? You do not look much like one: you are neither quivering nor bleating.
Lambs are not nearly as quiet. They would rather hear the sound of their own cries than listen to what may be drawing up behind them. Are you familiar with such cries, young sir?
[He inclines his head back, peering curiously at the blonde over his cheekbones.
Without much in the way of warning though, he seems to crumple at the waist which melts into an elegant bow, the hat removed, head bent down low and his eyes closed.]
You must forgive me, for it appears I have forgotten my manners and allowed myself to digress all by myself.
You are right, I am no priest. I am in a similar progression, of smoke and mirrors and charming people as though they were snakes, however I am, in some respects, more forthright about my trickery. I am a travelling street performer, a clown, mostly.
[He straightens slowly this time, replacing the hat once again before extending a white-gloved hand to the young man before him.]
Unfortunately with the weather as it is business is bad and I was not expecting an audience in a location such as this. Had I known to expect company I would have ensured I were juggling at least. My apologies.
My name is Mana Walker. My apologies for such a delayed introduction, good sir.
... /lured.nebensonneDecember 11 2011, 05:01:10 UTC
[ ... he hadn't been concerned, at least.
it takes a while for it all to sink in, if less for his dense, overly-polite manner of speech as how unexpected his statements are. by the time he's done, giovanni's stance is visibly tighter, his shoulders half-hunched and his hand has flinched up a little bit, dragged up the fine, damp-darkened suit towards his abdomen - caught out by mana's unexpected bow, he'd started to reach for his gun unthinkingly. only now, as mana introduces himself, does giovanni slowly lower his hand again, exhaling softly through his nose.
it's not anything to be concerned with. he's not the only eccentric in the city.
still, giovanni has nothing to respond to that with but silence, for a while, his gaze blank and mouth down-turned a little. a 'clown'. his theatrics make it harder to decide if that's believable at all, whether that's proof for or against his honesty. but more confusing is the nuance caught up in that mess of pointless words, things that make giovanni's jaw constrict perceptibly, make the spine feel tight on his neck like gripping fingers.
are you familiar with such cries, young sir?
i am, in some respects, more forthright about my trickery.
... giovanni wonders about that. there's something about the stranger that unsettles him, between his motions, his half-hidden face, his words. because that question that hangs in the air, the one he can't answer, feels like it hits too close to be an accident. someone who knows the underground, maybe. it doesn't help that his lofty airs remind him of someone fairly close to home.
it's safer to assume he knows than to think he doesn't. and it's safer not to talk about it than confirm anything. isn't that how it usually goes?
so he finally lifts his head slightly, looking at the white-gloved hand extended towards him. the tips look a little dirty, which could have happened from touching any part of the church. he doesn't know quite what to do with that, either - so he does nothing. just looks at him.
for as much as mana apologises, giovanni is convinced he's not sorry at all. ]
That isn't really my kind of entertainment. It's better if you don't waste it. [ he adds a tight smile to his comment, though whether he means juggling specifically, or all of mana's 'smoke and mirrors' is something he leaves off elucidating any more than that.
he also leaves off returning mana's offered details with his own - silence being so often his answer to unsettled nerves.
[There's an upward incline of surprise in his voice as he speaks this time as he briefly glances down at himself in mock-disbelief. It's clowning, there's little else to it, as it's clear that he knows as well as this boy that he is no man of god.
When he pauses in his self-examination to look up once again the smile has not faltered but if anything it has altered from something polite to something a little more openly amused.]
Ah... I suppose if I do not look much like one then I must not be. It is just as well--I'm not suited for such things.
[His dark eyes track the young man as he moves, watching his body language, the way he carries himself, the manner in which he speaks. So many straight, taunt, trained lines in that body: the suit highlights this well. Of course he had no idea what manner of training was involved, and it could be any number of things, but humans don't align themselves on their own--they are cracked into place, made to stand upright, speak clearly, correct that attitude, that attire is not suitable, do your job. Hm... And what job did this young man do, one had to wonder. In a suit like that? And so young, because he was definitely young, barely into his twenties, surely. And in a place like this... Not a lawyer, not a banker, not a politician--those types would not stumble through icy streets and into a church unless there was some humanity shattering irony about to befall them, an epiphany to see what dwelt at the ends of the strings they so casually tugged from above.
Gods among men do not step into churches unless they have fallen from their stained graces.
So none of those things, but still something unsavoury in some way, he was sure. Curiouser and curiouser... ]
And what of you, young sir? [His head cocked to one side as he spoke, the hat remaining upright but now angled atop his head but casting the shadows across another area of his face instead.] I wonder...Are you a lost lamb wandering in from the cold? You do not look much like one: you are neither quivering nor bleating.
Lambs are not nearly as quiet. They would rather hear the sound of their own cries than listen to what may be drawing up behind them. Are you familiar with such cries, young sir?
[He inclines his head back, peering curiously at the blonde over his cheekbones.
Without much in the way of warning though, he seems to crumple at the waist which melts into an elegant bow, the hat removed, head bent down low and his eyes closed.]
You must forgive me, for it appears I have forgotten my manners and allowed myself to digress all by myself.
You are right, I am no priest. I am in a similar progression, of smoke and mirrors and charming people as though they were snakes, however I am, in some respects, more forthright about my trickery. I am a travelling street performer, a clown, mostly.
[He straightens slowly this time, replacing the hat once again before extending a white-gloved hand to the young man before him.]
Unfortunately with the weather as it is business is bad and I was not expecting an audience in a location such as this. Had I known to expect company I would have ensured I were juggling at least. My apologies.
My name is Mana Walker. My apologies for such a delayed introduction, good sir.
Reply
it takes a while for it all to sink in, if less for his dense, overly-polite manner of speech as how unexpected his statements are. by the time he's done, giovanni's stance is visibly tighter, his shoulders half-hunched and his hand has flinched up a little bit, dragged up the fine, damp-darkened suit towards his abdomen - caught out by mana's unexpected bow, he'd started to reach for his gun unthinkingly. only now, as mana introduces himself, does giovanni slowly lower his hand again, exhaling softly through his nose.
it's not anything to be concerned with. he's not the only eccentric in the city.
still, giovanni has nothing to respond to that with but silence, for a while, his gaze blank and mouth down-turned a little. a 'clown'. his theatrics make it harder to decide if that's believable at all, whether that's proof for or against his honesty. but more confusing is the nuance caught up in that mess of pointless words, things that make giovanni's jaw constrict perceptibly, make the spine feel tight on his neck like gripping fingers.
are you familiar with such cries, young sir?
i am, in some respects, more forthright about my trickery.
... giovanni wonders about that. there's something about the stranger that unsettles him, between his motions, his half-hidden face, his words. because that question that hangs in the air, the one he can't answer, feels like it hits too close to be an accident. someone who knows the underground, maybe. it doesn't help that his lofty airs remind him of someone fairly close to home.
it's safer to assume he knows than to think he doesn't. and it's safer not to talk about it than confirm anything. isn't that how it usually goes?
so he finally lifts his head slightly, looking at the white-gloved hand extended towards him. the tips look a little dirty, which could have happened from touching any part of the church. he doesn't know quite what to do with that, either - so he does nothing. just looks at him.
for as much as mana apologises, giovanni is convinced he's not sorry at all. ]
That isn't really my kind of entertainment. It's better if you don't waste it. [ he adds a tight smile to his comment, though whether he means juggling specifically, or all of mana's 'smoke and mirrors' is something he leaves off elucidating any more than that.
he also leaves off returning mana's offered details with his own - silence being so often his answer to unsettled nerves.
well. he does tell him one thing. ]
Giovanni.
Reply
Leave a comment