He tears out the page he was working on, and flips it over for a clean side, abandoning the meditative meticulous circles for big sweeps of a rough sketch, Justine's face all in magenta, loose evocative lines, her hair jagging and frizzing into abstraction, a halo of wild possibility.
"He decides what is possible and what is impossible here, for the most part. Right now, there are...perturbations he has always claimed he does not control, and I personally believe him. When they pass, I think he should be able to make your restoration possible."
He tucks the pencil behind his ear, and reaches out to brush a few of her tears away.
"One thing I know about you, that I believe is still true, is that you have always loved new experiences. I know it must seem a long time. But what if we made a game of it, to try as many lovely things as we can, while they are still all new again?"
She reaches up to cover her face, letting him brush those tears, letting John soothe her with his touch.
She wants to sit here and despair. She wants to cry and cry and cry. She wants to - to learn more about art. Ad she wants to see new colors. She wants to try and read the poems in her notebooks.
"Alright," she finally decides, wiping her face and looking between the both of them.
Snacks are easy. He always keeps a certain amount of them on hand. His jacket provides a small tupperware with cookies as fresh as the day he made them. He'll hand that to Jedao. Then he'll kiss her hair as he slips away to stand. The violin comes to him just as easily.
And he will play a song of her, of the Justine he knows. Something beautiful and a little off course, something delicately rich and dizzyingly complex, filled with contradictions. Joyful minor keys and sorroful majors, sweeping in a dance.
A gift, for her. To hear herself in a way that she never would be able to otherwise.
He opens the box and shares the cookies. It's much harder to cry when you have a snack to eat. Jedao remembers that from another life, when he had a small child who needed to be comforted from scrapes and scares. He sits back and encourages Justine to cuddle against him so that they can both listen.
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Re: near end of shoe flood
"He decides what is possible and what is impossible here, for the most part. Right now, there are...perturbations he has always claimed he does not control, and I personally believe him. When they pass, I think he should be able to make your restoration possible."
He tucks the pencil behind his ear, and reaches out to brush a few of her tears away.
"One thing I know about you, that I believe is still true, is that you have always loved new experiences. I know it must seem a long time. But what if we made a game of it, to try as many lovely things as we can, while they are still all new again?"
Re: near end of shoe flood
She wants to sit here and despair. She wants to cry and cry and cry. She wants to - to learn more about art. Ad she wants to see new colors. She wants to try and read the poems in her notebooks.
"Alright," she finally decides, wiping her face and looking between the both of them.
Re: near end of shoe flood
"Would you like me to play some music for you?"
Re: near end of shoe flood
He was so annoyed about it, until he could finally enjoy them for himself.
Re: near end of shoe flood
Music. And snacks. They're such small things, but she wants to know them. Experience them all for the first time.
She brushes the rest of her tears away. "Alright," she says in a shaky voice. Shaky but brave. "I'd like music. And - snacks."
Re: near end of shoe flood
And he will play a song of her, of the Justine he knows. Something beautiful and a little off course, something delicately rich and dizzyingly complex, filled with contradictions. Joyful minor keys and sorroful majors, sweeping in a dance.
A gift, for her. To hear herself in a way that she never would be able to otherwise.
Re: near end of shoe flood