Private Conversations

[dominioned]

The confessional before you is ornate and well maintained, ebony colored wood embellished with the visage of two angels. A jet black curtain separates the confessional from the rest of the Church, offering a surprising degree of privacy to any eavesdroppers nearby. Unlike the rest of Krakow, the inside is dimly lit by a small light bulb securely attached to the ceiling which emits a faint red light. While the atmosphere isn't exactly cozy, it is private.

A smooth voice calls out to you once you've sat down, familiar enough to identify the speaker despite the partition between you.

"Welcome welcome. I take it something is on your mind?"

We're in a museum now, Harry.

Comments

[dominioned]

[ His only answer to the first part is to keep smiling. That may be part of it, but even the Luminary couldn't teach Rem about faith. Probably. ]

Oh?

[bawcock]

[ Just as well!! If he Must die, at least his final thoughts will be of the beautiful beautiful Luminary. Except he's not actually going to die so whatever. ]

"Oh" he says. [ A somewhat weary smile. ] Let's do this another way. Say you walk into a dark, secluded garden to meet your buddy. Just as you're looking around, you hear a voice whispering "follow the roses" into your ear.

What's your first thought?

1/2 i blame you for this

[dominioned]

[ There are a couple of fatal errors here, all around. One: the garden wasn't dark, to Rembrandt at least. Two, he may not know understand what friends are but that doesn't mean he's a complete nincampoop when it comes to other areas, no definition needed. Three: as off kilter as he was a moment ago, his recovery time is pretty short.

He laughs. ]

Goodness, is that what you were thinking? Trust me, you would know if I was coming onto you. [ Leaning forward (or sideways in this case), he grabs a hold of whatever fabric he can reach to pull Erik closer. Museums are good for drawing out his red eyes, now laced with a smooth velvet tone. ]

[dominioned]

[ After a mere second he lets go with a full mouthed grin. ]

But that's not the case!

1/2

[bawcock]

[ He's half-disappointed Rembrandt knows how that sounds. If he didn't, Erik would be the one laughing right now! Too bad. Which he barely gets to think before Rembrandt takes his best shot at being sultry and he's being pulled in. ]

Huh?! [ Eloquently put! He's doing his best impression of a deer-in-headlights! His hands flounder for a second before he grabs Rembrandt with one hand—half for balance, half to push him back—and the branch with the other. ]

[bawcock]

[ It takes him a second or two to let go when Rembrandt does. Relieved, he breathes out and makes sure he's steady. ]

Sheesh! Careful with the branch! [ Give him another second to steady himself. ] Anyway, I did get the memo. Eventually. Didn't stop me from being terrified for a full minute that you'd turn around and hand me a rose, though.

[dominioned]

Do I really look like the type? [ His grin has relaxed, no mind being payed at all to the branch. ]

[bawcock]

[ Mind the branch!! Know what though? He's gonna think about this and study Rembrandt. Closely. Carefully. And after his pause ends— ]

Actually... yeah. [ Quite sincerely! What he doesn't add is: yes, if only to throw someone off balance. ]

[dominioned]

N’importe quoi. [ Cause French is the language of love or something and to emphasize how he feels, a rose is getting tossed at Erik's face. It's white. Where did it come from? They're on a branch it's not the biggest stretch! ]

[bawcock]

[ Instinctively reaching up to shield his face!! He grabs the rose after a fumble or two and then stares at it, wholly unimpressed. Hopefully there's no thorns on it! ]

I've been around the block enough times to know what that means. Looks like we share at least one language, eh? [ He holds the rose out to Rembrandt. Take it, he doesn't want it!! ]

[dominioned]

Besides Polish? [ Graciously he accepts the rose and then lights it on fire. And it had no thorns because he has better manners than that! Or something. ]

[bawcock]

If you can even count that one. [ A tragic but fitting end to the tale of the rose (neither of them wanted). ]

[dominioned]

You wound me so, rejecting yet another gift I've given you. [ Essential endgame info, that he's the one who gave you the ability to understand Polish. ]

[bawcock]

Uh, why would you want us to understand Polish? And how the heck did you manage that? [ This doesn't feel like essential endgame info, 0/10! ]

[dominioned]

My secret. [ Finger pressed against his lips. ] I could have given you the ability to speak German, but that seemed pointless given the locale. And if you couldn't converse with it each other that would just be awful, hm?

[bawcock]

That depends on who does the talking. [ A grin!! ]

[dominioned]

If you speak of the Lady, she would have found another way to make you listen to her. She really hates being ignored. [ Letting his hand drop to the side, lightly leaning back on the branch. ]

[bawcock]

Now I almost wish you had. I think we all would've taken her a lot less seriously if she had to play charades—or do an interpretative dance—every week.

[dominioned]

I doubt she would have let me get away with that for too long. [ But he sounds appreciative of the idea. ]

[bawcock]

Only because dancing "you need to kill each other" isn't as effective as yelling it from a clock tower.

[dominioned]

This is true, but she also has two left feet.

[bawcock]

Oh? [ Now it's his turn to rock the branch!! He plops his chin on his palm and then his elbow on his knee. ] That's an interesting thing to know about a person.

Is this the part where you admit you've danced with her before?