Second Stanza: [ACTION/WRITTEN/VOICE]

[burns_so_brightly]

[Sitting in the tea shop, Julian Bell is looking restless, his tea untouched and growing cold. He chews the end of his pen as his journal lies open on the table before him. All at once, he starts writing furiously.]

Expose the world, anatomize,
Strip clothes from skin, strip skin, then flesh, from bone.
Himself no surgeon, true, can sterilize,
But yet the self-infection can be shown.
Corrode and doubt; anesthetize the heart;
Morphia or curiosity drown the reviving smart.

Clear as white water in the stream we see
Shadowed the species of eternity;
The working process, self a working part:
For not one necessary fiction's grace
Can quite make mask th' observer's outward face,
Or thought one extra atom's movement start.

The moving pointer tells, and having told
Not the immediacy of hot and cold,
Nor yet the pale abstraction of a mind
(For algebra and instruments record
No immanent emergence of the Word.)
Tells solid, painful foothold all we find.

Why turn, why seek, why question for an end?
Why hope? Time flows: shows useless to defend
A cosy corner in the rising flood.
The tide is coming in: the dykes are down:
War, Terror, Poverty, swing through the town,
And the cold wind claims to be understood.

[It feels like it's been too long since he wrote. He's trying to get the juices going again, but this lazy, mind-numbing monotony of Luceti life is making it hard, so he started with something he's already written. Heck, maybe someone will give him feedback and he can better it. Some ten or fifteen minutes later, he picks up the journal and speaks.]

I think we should have a philosophy club here, or some such thing. Nothing exclusive, just a few inquisitive minds wanting intellectual stimulation. Mondays at eight in the tea shop. Any biters?

[OOC: Feel free to run into him around town as well as at the tea shop. He'll be getting groceries and checking out the library, and tonight, he'll be at Cloud Nine.

Also: the above poem was written by the actual Julian Bell and not me.  No profit made from it.]

Comments

[voice]

[all7seas]

What sorts of intellectual stimulation, hmm?

[Someone has been having a little too much of that, lately.]

[voice]

[burns_so_brightly]

Discussion. Religion, politics, philosophy, anything we like. Thinking minds thinking together. There was a society at Cambridge that used to do it all the time.

[voice]

[all7seas]

Cambridge the great University, you mean? [He's rather interested in this. Buffy had felt sad about not finishing college, to his understanding.]

[voice]

[burns_so_brightly]

Cambridge the great University! [A laugh.] I suppose so.

[herotypical]

...Am I still expected to bite, Jules?

[burns_so_brightly]

[A laugh.] Only if you want to. How've you been?

[herotypical]

[ a long, long breath. outwards. ]

Oh, you know. Prisoner-y. You?

[burns_so_brightly]

A little better than that. Anything wrong?

[Action]

[shadedsunlight]

[That night, Ginia will be playing at Cloud Nine, having a bit of fun. There'll be some jazz and various showtunes, all quiet and relaxing. She'll play for around and hour before taking up her duties as a bartender.]

[Action]

[burns_so_brightly]

[Julian is at the bar. He's been enjoying the live music all evening, and when she returns, he slides his empty martini glass toward her.]

That was amazing.

[Action]

[shadedsunlight]

[Ginia accepts his compliment with a modest smile and a bow of his head, taking his empty glass.]

You're welcome, Julian. Another, or something else?

Action; in town

[relictusdeus]

[The Devil forgemaster happens to be sitting atop a low roof as he's been fond of doing as of late, watching passersby with the intensity of a hawk. Lo and behold, he catches sight of a very familiar face - and is suddenly interested, unable to resist opening his mouth.]

Ah... if it isn't the man who ran away~. [His eyes roll skyward, his thoughts shifting momentarily to his lord's son, and to the traitorous Hector.] They all run, in the end. But not I~. [A soft, deep chuckle follows.]

[burns_so_brightly]

[It's the creepy guy again. Julian knows to turn around and walk away without speaking. He knows to do it. Remembering Anthony telling him to stay out of trouble for Guy's sake if he wouldn't do it for his own, he pries himself away from the sight to do just that.]

[relictusdeus]

[Still wearing a smile upon his lips, he permits Julian a ‘head start’ before he lazily uncrosses his legs and slides off the edge of the roof, landing sturdily, even gracefully for a fellow in heels. But he doesn’t so much take a step to catch up – running isn’t quite his thing, and a rather silly thing for him to be caught doing. Briefly focusing his energies, his body dissolves and a glowing portal opens across the cobblestoned street but a few feet away from where the poor man has wandered off. He emerges from it, very much intending to block his path.]

I had not finished. [Isaac remarks. The portal closes beneath him.] …Have you any manners? [Smirking, his gaze - appraising, probing, and fiercely hungry - slides down the man's face, and further still. In a lower voice, he adds:] Or shall I discipline you...?

[voice]

[faterecanted]

[It's the poem that catches Van's attention more than anything. He reads it several times before replying.]

I would be most interested, if you would allow a simple soldier to join you. [He is not just a soldier, and he is anything but simple.]

[voice]

[burns_so_brightly]

Soldiers above anyone. I've seen personally what you do, and I respect it. Julian Bell.

[voice]

[faterecanted]

Dorian General Van Grants. I'm afraid war is rarely a respectable business, Mr. Bell.

[voice]

[thatmadbastard]

Your commentary was always beautiful, even while it spoke harshly.

[Guy recognizes the poem immediately as something he's read a good many times. For on nights he thought of Julian back in London, he often picked up one of the poet's published collections. Works from Winter had always been a favoured one.]

I do like the idea of healthy intellectual conversation. It's been a bit lacking here.

[He doesn't introduce himself. He knows he doesn't have to.]

[voice]

[burns_so_brightly]

I was hoping you'd join.

[It's completely sincere, not merely polite. Julian doesn't bend over backwards to make his friends feel good about themselves. He has real esteem for Guy, so it's not needed.]

[voice]

[thatmadbastard]

I couldn't possibly resist, and I'm far more than willing to help you with the club.

[This is very much his cup of tea, so it all interests him. Julian Bell, good intellectual stimulation, and tea. All he needs is to bring the liquor to put in it!]

voice

[folklorist]

That's familiar. Julian Bell, isn't it? [ Not really a major reader of his works but Helios has enough time to have dabbled quite a bit. ]

I think a philosophy club would be rather exciting. You know, with all the different worlds there's bound to be differing school's of thought. And Luceti lends itself to being a rather broad topic of conversation.

voice

[burns_so_brightly]

[A very, very pleased grin can be heard.] Yes, it's Julian Bell! Would you be interested in joining, then, Mr...?

voice

[folklorist]

I've read a few of his poems. I believe there's some books with them in library actually. But it's Helios Sprensonne! I wouldn't be opposed actually. There's certainly enough to talk about when it comes to this sort of thing.

[action]

[fulltimeoz]

[he hears the poem and the announcement for the club, but he doesn't respond. It sounds like a good idea, actually, but it's the kind of thing he tells himself he might respond to later. Maybe.

...but probably not.

Where he can be found is Cloud Nine that night, gaze intent on the stage as his fingers tap lightly on the table in time with the beat. He still hasn't found a guitar, and he's missing it.]

[Voice] | derp, so slow...

[semper_cogitans]

[The poem is so abstract, Robert can barely begin to make sense of it. His poor logical mind pretty much ran into a brick wall the first sentence in.

Doesn't stop him from commenting on it though, half-curious and half-uncomfortable, and almost to himself:]

... I would... h-hardly attempt to use algebra to... r-record words... though, er, I s-suppose one could write an algorithm...

[Then, after a moment:]

... I-Intellectual stimulation...?