05-10-2020, 04:05 PM
Her hands were trembling a little. But this was progress, right? Better than the utter breakdown that had followed her glimpse of the man on the tube. Right? Still, her eyes squeezed shut, blotting out the bright outline of the world. Because if he was real, then what of the rest? For a mad moment she contemplated scattering the sheets dropped in her lap to the wind; relinquishing possession and responsibility both. Escaping. But there wasn’t even any wind, and she knew with grim certainty that more would follow these sooner or later. The flood never stopped, and she could not escape it.
The air fled her lungs instead, and she deflated, unsure what to do next.
Then her good hand pressed over her mouth as a new thought surfaced, all those disparate facts bubbling up together with sudden revelation. The Pope. That had been the Pope.
A voice sounded behind, a little slow to nudge into her stupor, and presently she decided that at least it saved her from the awkwardness of rallying herself from the step. That name haunted her, but the shock was wearing thinner now. When her gaze finally pulled up, this time she studied him properly. Her eyes were still fantastically wide, though softened by the slow ripple of curiosity now. It was only the realisation that unlike the drawing below he was staring straight back at her which roused her from the discomfort of looking so deeply at another. He wasn’t even old.
And god but she’d drawn him winking.
Her throat cleared. She didn’t look down again, but she did lean to rest her forearms on her lap like maybe he hadn’t already seen. At least judging by the wry twist of amusement to his mouth, he did not consider it blasphemy. Or offensive blasphemy anyway. She offered a small smile in return, wriggling her toes inside her boots while she plumbed her depths for words. She didn’t usually flounder for them, but then it didn’t appear to be the usual sort of day so she was fairly sure she could forgive herself.
“I thought you’d be old,” was what she ended up saying. “Somehow it never occurred to me that you’d be him.”
Probably not the most eloquent words to ever leave her lips, but though she hesitated into quietness then it was not from embarrassment. She was wary of really thinking back to the stack of drawings in her lap; the animals and the shard and the vines, and most of all the way their memory twisted something up inside like the most terrible grief, but there was something staunchly comforting in the presence of him opposite. Because whatever it was that had bled from her fingertips and frightened her so badly, he shared something of it. The burden had never been split before, perhaps only because she had never been forced to confront it. Nox’s warnings of the Vatican drifted somewhere distant, but looking up at him then, lit from behind, she felt she could tell him anything.
“Father Ando said something about a portrait, but it seems unlikely now that you came here for a commission. Do you…” She paused again, brow flickering with the hint of a furrow, like she was not fully committed to the question that followed. “Do you know what they mean?”
The air fled her lungs instead, and she deflated, unsure what to do next.
Then her good hand pressed over her mouth as a new thought surfaced, all those disparate facts bubbling up together with sudden revelation. The Pope. That had been the Pope.
A voice sounded behind, a little slow to nudge into her stupor, and presently she decided that at least it saved her from the awkwardness of rallying herself from the step. That name haunted her, but the shock was wearing thinner now. When her gaze finally pulled up, this time she studied him properly. Her eyes were still fantastically wide, though softened by the slow ripple of curiosity now. It was only the realisation that unlike the drawing below he was staring straight back at her which roused her from the discomfort of looking so deeply at another. He wasn’t even old.
And god but she’d drawn him winking.
Her throat cleared. She didn’t look down again, but she did lean to rest her forearms on her lap like maybe he hadn’t already seen. At least judging by the wry twist of amusement to his mouth, he did not consider it blasphemy. Or offensive blasphemy anyway. She offered a small smile in return, wriggling her toes inside her boots while she plumbed her depths for words. She didn’t usually flounder for them, but then it didn’t appear to be the usual sort of day so she was fairly sure she could forgive herself.
“I thought you’d be old,” was what she ended up saying. “Somehow it never occurred to me that you’d be him.”
Probably not the most eloquent words to ever leave her lips, but though she hesitated into quietness then it was not from embarrassment. She was wary of really thinking back to the stack of drawings in her lap; the animals and the shard and the vines, and most of all the way their memory twisted something up inside like the most terrible grief, but there was something staunchly comforting in the presence of him opposite. Because whatever it was that had bled from her fingertips and frightened her so badly, he shared something of it. The burden had never been split before, perhaps only because she had never been forced to confront it. Nox’s warnings of the Vatican drifted somewhere distant, but looking up at him then, lit from behind, she felt she could tell him anything.
“Father Ando said something about a portrait, but it seems unlikely now that you came here for a commission. Do you…” She paused again, brow flickering with the hint of a furrow, like she was not fully committed to the question that followed. “Do you know what they mean?”