Things and stuff

[tu_vas_triompher]

Right, so--Feuilly has been a busy guy in Milliways. He's translating this, painting that, learning things left and right--maybe a little too busy. But he's finally finished up some projects!

Two things are delivered, care of the bar. First, to Fawkes, the return of a library book in French, tied up in a neat package with a thick printed translation into English. Louis Pasteur, Selected Works, vol. 1. With it, a little bundle wrapped in gold tissue paper: inside, a fan. The card with it reads For M. Fawkes and the library - I hope you will not mind a small present. A thousand thanks for allowing me to help your work. J.R.L. Feuilly

And then, to Eric Northman, because he followed Harry's excellent suggestion of asking the bar what his customer's name is, a note saying that the first part of his fan commission is ready.

He's not following Harry's suggestion of bringing back-up to meet his customer. But hey, he's sticking around the bar, hoping his customer will show up while there are still plenty of people around.

He's painting while he waits: working out some skulls and roses and other such morbid-but-floral designs. Do please interrupt him, though.

Comments

[vive_lavenir]

Did someone say skulls and roses? Did someone say morbid-but-floral? Were they trying to summon a poet with a certain dark yet sentimental sensibility?

...well, like it or not, that's what they've done!

"What a lovely pattern," says Jehan, as he slides into the seat next to Feuilly with a book on horticulture in his hand. He's back to his usual doublet and thankfully-not-denim trousers, having temporarily abandoned his experiments with 1970s be-sequined disco shirts and bell bottom jeans.

[tu_vas_triompher]

Feuilly is always happy to summon a Prouvaire. He smiles sideways at him, a little wry. "You like it?" That's good! If Prouvaire likes it, he's going in the right direction. "I've been commissioned for a set of fans in this style. They have to look good in electrical light: red and normal. I'll have to play with the colors, but--would you say that it's morbid but also floral?"

He missed the bell bottoms and the disco shirts entirely, which is a small tragedy. Or maybe for the best.

[vive_lavenir]

Jehan considers this, tilting his head.

"I think the red light would look very well on it," he says finally. "It would give the skulls a bloody look, and deepen the color of the roses--and yes, ordinary electrical light should be fine, too."

He tilts his head the other way. "It's both morbid and floral, yes...though if I may suggest, although I have no skill with paints, I think a deeper red shade for the roses, and perhaps some purple notes?"

Jehan rights his head, and looks at Feuilly. "Who's the commission for?"

[tu_vas_triompher]

Ah, yes. Color advice from Jean Prouvaire. Feuilly nods gravely. But--why not-- he dabs in a little purple and deeper red on one of the roses. "But I'll have to see it under the light. You can't--you can't always predict how a light will affect things. --Mm, it's for someone who might be a vampire."

He glances over, half smiling. How does that suit Jehan?

[vive_lavenir]

Jehan nods seriously in response to Feuilly's talk of light.

"A vampire! Did he try to bite you?" Jehan sounds worried and protective, but also just plain envious.

[i_am_your_host]

The Master of Ceremonies wafts by in a haze of cigarette smoke and gin, pausing just enough to recognize the young fan-painting man and peer over his shoulder with no particular regard to personal space.

"Oh, that is exquisite work, darling," he purrs, tilting his head. "I know a few people who might get a tattoo of that."


[ooc: pretty much a placeholder for if I get my brain back!]

[tu_vas_triompher]

"A--tattoo?" Feuilly blinks. He's used to very little personal space; it barely registers. But tattoos, that's--sailors, prisoners. "I--I hadn't thought of that."

((No problem! Hullo hullo!))

[i_am_your_host]

"Oh, yes," he says, leaning back with a hand in his coat pocket and the other holding a cigarette. "I met a man once, an Irish sailor, who had tattoos of roses up his arm like a sleeve. Under each rose were the names of women-- his mother and all six sisters. Three roses had skulls beside them. I asked him what that signified, and he explained with a manly tremor in his brogue that they had passed away, and he hoped never to add another skull again to his arm within his lifetime. We then drank to his family, drank to love and loss, drank to Ireland, drank to Germany, and then-- well, the rest is rather a haze, but there was more drinking and I did get to see more of his tattoos on other areas of his body."

He smiles. Like a cat.

[tu_vas_triompher]

"Oh." He looks a little lost, rather than shocked; it's a good bet he missed the point at the end. Lost, and faintly concerned: "I hope he never did have to, to add another skull, then. --I've never thought much about tattoos--I haven't talked to many sailors--I suppose I should if I get the chance here. But tattoos, I suppose that's another kind of folk art, with its own, its own language--motifs--I'm sorry. I'm rambling."

[i_am_your_host]

He only smirks.

"That's quite all right, darling, you are adorable when you ramble. But yes, I think there is a language to tattoos as well. I only brought it up because the images you're painting are frequently seen as tattoos, in my time and in the future, I suppose. Or at least one version of the future that I've visited. The people who had them weren't sailors, however. They were-- well, young people at a very particular nightclub."

[freedom_is_grey]

"You're not a necromancer, are you?"

There's a woman sitting two seats down, white-haired and tattooed, and peering at the skulls adorning his work.

Her dog appears interested, too, and is big enough to be able to see. Hooray!

"I ask because of the skulls. Nevarrans seem to like them above all things, and I wasn't sure if that tradition continued in other worlds. So I thought I'd ask."

[tu_vas_triompher]

"A--?" The bewilderment on his face probably answers the question. "I don't think so? I'm not from Navarre..."

Is he a necromancer? Is that something to do with Spain? He's at least sure he's never been in Spain.

[freedom_is_grey]

"Oh. So no magic for you, then? Or from you?"

Woe.

She does not seem very downcast by this news, however.

"Huh. So might I ask what the skulls are about? Also the flowers, if you don't mind?"

[tu_vas_triompher]

"No? --I mean--no magic. Yes, of course, you can ask about the--that is, it's for some commissioned work. Fans. It's for fans? A set of fans that are 'morbid but floral.' So--" He waves a hand over his work. Skulls. Roses. Morbid but floral.

[freedom_is_grey]

"Oh, I see. Well. Well done on achieving that aesthetic!"

She grins, bright and crooked.

"Did you get a lot of commissions here? In Milliways, I mean."

[athelstanthescribe]

Athelstan has been hoping to see Feuilly, because he can pretty much count on him to be a friendly face and he needs as many of those as he can get.

Right now, though, he's just watching him paint with wistful eyes, flexing his hands as if to establish how well they're working today.

[tu_vas_triompher]

"Athelstan! How--how are you?" Um. Evidently not well. Feuilly bites his lip.

[athelstanthescribe]

He's certainly been better, but he is on the mend. The question gets a smile that's rueful but also genuine.

"Healing, if not as fast as I could wish - and could have, if I didn't have to go back. How are you?"

[tu_vas_triompher]

"I heard a bit about what happened. I'm--I'm glad you can make some use of the infirmary here, at least. --I'm all right." His turn to look rueful: he's clearly much better than Athelstan at the moment!

[athelstanthescribe]

And Athelstan is glad he is!

"The infirmary and a little magical healing, indeed. I should be all right now, if - if all goes well."

[onceaviking]

Eric stops by the bar and receives the note.
And spotting the little dead French arty type isn't hard.

So he walks over (swaggers really, it's a thing), tall and pale and wearing clothing that is not only black but so tight he might as well not be wearing them at all.

He's even brought cash. And he did in fact have some of the right currency, though not enough to cover the whole thing.
Not within easy reach.

His eyes are red rimmed.
His lips are pale.

He probably looks like what he is. If you know what he is.

[tu_vas_triompher]

...Yes, all right, if you know to look for it he is awfully pale, not just in a generally Scandinavian sort of way. Feuilly rubs the back of his neck as he stands up. "M. Northman?"

Just in case there's been an error somewhere along the way.

[onceaviking]

Eric nods.
"Yes," he says. "I got your note."

His teeth are strong and nice and even. And not at all pointy or fang-like.

[tu_vas_triompher]

Right, well. Feuilly nods. Right. Well. First things first. "I have your fan, sir--the first part of the commission. Let me show you, and you can tell me if it suits?"

It's in a bag, a little silk bag, storm-cloud grey; he hands it over with a little bow. The fan inside, he hopes will suit. He's proud of his work: all right, it wouldn't go far in the Academy Salon, it's the work of a skilled fan-painter and not an artist, but--he thinks it might still be fairly good. The woman's skin is a pearly pale pink, her surroundings are rich but not garish, a few dropped peony petals on the table in the foreground and a fichu tossed over the screen behind her suggest--activity-- All in all, Feuilly thinks it's what was asked for. To be fair, the woman's profile and the turn of her neck is perhaps more than a little reminiscent of the Sargent portrait he'd found, but it's not a direct copy, and anyway--you can do much worse than that, for a profile and a neck.

[onceaviking]

Eric takes the bag.
His fingers are long. And cold where they briefly brush against Feuilly's.
Icy.

He carefully takes the fan out of the bag and opens it with a small flick of his wrist, a strangely delicate, yes, feminine gesture for a man his size.

His face is still as he looks at the painting, taking in the details.
Still. Impassive.
Cold.

Then he smiles a little and looks back at Feuilly.
"She'll like this," he says.