burns_so_brightly | Second Stanza: [ACTION/WRITTEN/VOICE]

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Second Stanza: [ACTION/WRITTEN/VOICE]

[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.]

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[A look Julian doesn't catch. He pulls on his skates.]

God, I haven't done this in so long. You'll have to teach me again.

Don't tell me you've forgotten everything!

[Guy fusses with the laces, which are far too long even after putting them through each hook and tying them at the top.]

You may not need me at all. Rather ridiculous predicament, don't you think, if we both end up stumbling about like drunken auditioners for Moscow's circus.

[Another laugh. He stands up, unsteady.]

Looks like I'm ready.

[Guy stuffs the extra loops inside the threaded laces and stands up, walking toward the rink.]

It will be worse on the ice. [A teasing smirk cast over his shoulder.]

[Grinning, Julian tries to start off with a smooth motion. Hey, not so bad...but his leg is traveling faster than his body already, and he stumbles around, stabbing his skates into the ice to regain his balance.]

Whoa!

[Guy follows, far more controlled than he had been on the night of the party. Still, there isn't much grace to his skating, though he stays upright wonderfully.]

I spent most of my time skidding on my coattails the last night I was about on the ice.

[He holds out a hand in case Julian needs it.]

The lack of gin certainly is steadying.

[Julian grabs Guy's hand and tries again, doing better this time. He laughs, and the laughter does not leave his eyes.] It would be!

Have you met a fellow who is... roguish, has unusually kept facial hair, tanned, and calls himself a pirate?

[He grips Julian's hand, and finds it as steadying for himself as it is for Julian. He grins in the light of Julian's mirth.]

I think so? Over the journals? Captain Swallow, or something.

Yes, our pirate Captain Sparrow. He and I had a bit of a race the last time I was here on this very rink.

[Holding Julian's hand... it's difficult to think of any other way he would rather be spending his afternoon. He can't stop looking at the poet's face, which does little for skating in a straight line. Hopefully Julian is paying attention!]

I won because I fell last, and because my fall was off the ice entirely.

[Not the most flattering story, but he's going for a laugh. Anything to see a smile on Julian's face.]

[It works. He does laugh, and the laugh dances in his eyes for some time after.] You wanna race now?

[Is that a challenge he sees in that sparkle?]

Apparently, you do! To the other end of the rink, then?

To the other end! [He gives Guy a playful shove to throw him slightly off balance and takes off.]

[Guy is stunned as Julian sets off, partially because he hardly expected something like this from him. Mostly, however, because he had intended to do something similar... a cheating move. He hadn't intended on setting this playful competition off with a shove, however!

He rights himself and begins to race after, several glides behind.]

OH WHAT HAVE WE HERE? VERY SPORTING!

[He laughs as he shouts ahead to the rogue cheater.]

[Guy brings out the playfulness in him, what can he say? Julian skates off with some degree of speed and grace, caught briefly by surprise by a flaw in the ice that makes him stumble two steps before continuing.]

Like you weren't going to do the same thing!

[Guy skids past, but reaches out for Julian's scarf to give it a playful tug.]

You were cleverer than I was!

[Not only does it throw Julian off-balance, but the scarf comes clean off in Guy's hand. Julian regains his balance quickly enough and presses on, completely forgetting about why he was wearing the scarf in the first place.]

[Guy skids on with the scarf whipping around in his face, which causes him to make a Great Lot of Noise, and for his path to wind considerably.]

[A sharp laugh.] Guy, watch out for yourself, now!

[All in good fun, but Julian realizes he's skaing after Guy now, not to race him, but to try to untangle the damned scarf from around his face before he hurts himself.]

[It seems that Guy is destined to win his races all the same way:

Flopped in a snow heap, fallen off the rink entirely. At least he's laughing! His hat has also come off.]

[Julian is laughing, too. He unsteadily tries bending down to help Guy up.]

[Guy reaches for his hand, then his laughing stops.

There are bruises on Julian's neck. Bruises. He lies there, with his hand in the poet's and studies them.]

Julian... what happened?

What?

[Oh. His scarf...OH. Julian's hand reaches to gingerly cover the bruises.]

Nothing.

[Not that a ring of bruises around someone's neck is ever anything.]

[Guy takes a deep breath through his nostrils, the cold stinging in his throat. He can understand why Julian wouldn't want to tell him. Despite secrets being kept in order not to upset Guy, he still knows they exist, that certain things are done to keep him more well-balanced.

He still wants to know. His face remains calm.]

I just want to know what happened, and that you're all right.

[Trying to make light of it.]

If I wasn't all right, I wouldn't be here. Now get up before you freeze your arse off.

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