[ Claude doesn't know exactly what Felix will need to do in order to prepare, but he feels comfortable assuming part of it. He wouldn't claim to know everything about the man and his possessions, but he'd place much greater odds on his not having a violin at hand. So, he'll need to secure one. He must be years out of practice, but he's agreed to their private performance exchange, an agreement that wasn't qualified by the promise that he'd be terrible and it would be a complete waste of time. The sort of things Claude might expect if Felix had objectively assessed his ability and found it wanting.
So, he'll be practicing.
One week for one song.
Claude's sure he can source something in the lute family quickly enough. The trick will be to find the time to learn a popular Leicester Alliance song from scratch. When he'd known a slightly different instrument, and however well he'd played it then, he hasn't touched it for six years now. Really, he would benefit from more time.
But, it's as though he can read the smirk in that text. So be it. If he really bungles it, Felix can have a laugh at his expense. ]
Oh, probably. But, when you put it like that, I can't ask for it, right? I'll prepare melodic little miracle, just for you.
[Felix absolutely hates the way something warm swells up in his chest when his eyes pick up the words melodic little miracle. He knows Claude's just being his usual self, teasing him, making light of the situation that, in all honesty, should be taken lightly. Yet here he is, pursing his lips tightly, believing that'll somehow keep his cheeks from getting any pinker.
It's a good thing they're not making this exchange in person.]
Whatever. Just make sure you're ready when the time comes.
[ A good thing, indeed. Claude's good at inferring tone from Felix's messages, especially after all this time, but he's not psychic. Nothing in what he receives intimates that his words had that sort of effect, so he keeps nice and oblivious.
His mind focused instead on the first step: finding an instrument. ]
Sure, sure. Let's say that time is next Sunday, your quarters?
[Sorry for the delay. For some reason, I thought I had responded to this but it turns out I didn't. And then life happened? Timeskip here okay? Or start over on a new meme? Or...?]
While Felix -- somehow, perhaps through the grace of the goddess or divine intervention of any sort -- is able to procure a violin from a vendor out in town without alerting anyone of his rather expensive purchase, it's finding the time to practice in secret that's the problem. Apparently, the one week where he doesn't want to hole himself up in the training area is the one where the likes of Caspar and others are aching for some last-minute sparring practice before a monthly tournament being held the following week.
So, essentially, Felix is forgoing sword practice with a specific goal in mind...in favor of violin practice for just one song for one person. There's irony to be found somewhere in there, for sure.
The Goddess Tower, or what remains of it, isn't as secluded as he'd been led to believe. More than once he's found some couples (or more...) canoodling there. Rather than berate them and kick them out, and then have to explain why he's there, he left them be and tried his luck elsewhere.
The library, the stables, the gazebo outside of the dining hall... Since when were there this many people around Garreg Mach?
By the third night, he's ready to give up and play the lullaby by ear, accuracy be damned. That was before he overheard Annette "whispering" with Mercedes about "someone" asking for books related to Leicester Alliance arts. No names were given but Felix had a pretty sure guess who the curious cat was.
The fourth night, he picks the roof that overlooks the water. The same one from a while back where he and Claude had shared mindless chatter because he couldn't sleep. It's nice up there, cozy even, and he's able to practice in relative peace. Even if it means risking discovery from anyone threatening to climb around up there after hours. He's lucky -- no one comes around that night, or any of the following two nights.
It's the evening of the seventh night and he's seated on his bed, the violin in its case on the bedside chair where Claude will, eventually, sit. Felix has managed to get some practice in. Not enough to his liking (but then, when is there enough practice for a perfectionist like him?), but he's much more confident in his ability now than he was when he first issued his challenge. More time would be ideal but he's got too much pride to ask for more -- especially after he had all but insinuated Claude would need more time, anyway. Felix isn't keen on knowing what his foot tastes like.
There's some shuffling around heard next door. He tries not to lean up against the wall for a better idea of what the noise is -- he's certain he'll find out soon enough.]
[ Unsurprisingly, it proves logistically impossible to procure an oud or tanbur. Even if one could be sourced within a week, he kind of (absolutely) needs as much of the week as possible to practice. In that way, he's true to his word: he said he could play the the lute, and it's a lute that he procures, a lute that he'll have to play.
The instruments are similar enough that it isn't quite like teaching himself anew, but the first night's plenty awkward. He has little problem finding a place to practice out of earshot, which proves a priority for Claude as well. Less out of any oddly placed pride, and he'd be as difficult to embarrass in this as he is with most things. More, that his awareness of the movements in the monastery includes Felix, a comment that he's been strangely sparse at the training grounds, odd sightings at the stables, the gazebo, and never for long. It doesn't take a mind like Claude's to deduce what he's up to, and if Felix means to surprise, Claude has every intention of meeting him.
Out of earshot, then. Easy. Having let himself into all manner of places as a student, he makes use of an underground nook. Strong acoustics and, better yet, with the door shut sound doesn't carry.
Instead, the problem is the music. He's never cared for sheet music, in large part because it seemed that all the merchants sold were stuffy hymns exalting the goddess and her merry saints. In small part, because the rigorous lines chafed against his predisposition to a freer form. But he hasn't got a choice in this. There isn't a convenient band of wandering Alliance musicians visiting Garreg Mach from whom he could learn and he hasn't played a note in Fodlan. Books it is, and finding one of those with any sort of discretion proves so arduous, by the third day he's legitimately concerned that he'll have to ask for more time.
That, or play a song distinctly and unmistakably not of the Alliance. Which remains a possibility, if not his first choice. On the fourth day, Hilda produces a miracle, chirping that she'd liked the piece so much a few years back, her brother had thrown himself into learning it. (With fond disgust, she added, "Of course, like everything else he does, he played it perfectly," but as Claude hadn't told her just why he needed the book, and Holst wouldn't leave the locket, he's unable to take advantage of that unexpected teacher.)
So it was that Claude spent the first three nights learning the lute, practicing by manually transcribing the songs he'd played those years before onto those strings. On the fourth, both the music book and another from the library he arranged open, side by side, frowning as he taught himself to read the notations. The second book an introduction to that language, as he'd never played from paper where he'd grown. On the fifth and sixth, he's able to throw himself fully into the piece.
On the seventh, Claude flips again through the pages borrowed from the Gonerils, debating for the sixth time whether to bring them to their mini-recital. For the sixth time, he rules against, now with the finality of the last grains of sand trickling through the glass. Claude claps the book shut and tosses it onto the haphazard pile on his bed, then scoops up the lute. Positive that he's heard Felix in his adjacent room, Claude squares his shoulders and resigns himself to the mediocre show he's about to give.
Stepping out of his room, he swings the door shut, locking with habit. A few more steps and he's knocking on Felix's door, resisting the urge to announce himself with bombastic reference to a private concert -- deferring to Felix's preference for discretion. And really, he couldn't say he disagrees. ]
[Felix hears Claude's approach before his knuckles rap against the door. A benefit of living so close to him, he supposes.
He doesn't hop up and answer the door right away, although he's well aware time is of the essence here: if he leaves Claude out there too long, someone might spot him at Felix's door and by breakfast, there will be murmurs of a certain Golden Deer visiting a certain Blue Lion's quarters; or worse, Claude will grow antsy and eventually start singing or howling or anything loudly enough to gain the attention of Felix and anyone for miles around. So he moves quickly and efficiently, fixing the coverlet on his already-made bed, making sure there's enough space for them along with cups and a pitcher of still-cool water he'd snuck up from the kitchens, and, finally, giving himself a once-over in his mirror and fixing his appearance.
And then, after promptly realizing what he's just done, he messes his clothes up but keeps his hair picture-perfect. Just because.
The door opens a few moments after that, and Felix stands at the threshold, his eyes squinting with suspicion.]
...no one followed you, correct?
[Followed him, for less than thirty feet of space. Yet, he's dead serious. Or seems to be, as he widens the door just slightly so that it doesn't make too much noise, and gestures for Claude to step right on in.]
[ Hey, give him a little more credit. He truly couldn't say he disagrees. People always talk: that remains as true now as it had when they were students, but these days, Claude both wants and needs to cultivate a different sort of flavor on those wagging tongues. Not that he would avoid associating with anyone for that reason, but there's associating, and there's howling outside Felix Hugo Fraldarius's room on a Sunday night.
So, no, even if Felix had determined to truly keep Claude waiting, he wouldn't have begun to sing or howl or deliberately drawn attention to himself in an outlandish manner. No matter his brief temptation.
As to just what he might have instead done, it seems it will remain a mystery, as Felix opens the door, clothes a little out of order but hair neat, eyes narrowed, asking a really rather hilarious question. If he could hear Felix through the wall, then surely Felix had heard him. Claude raises his eyebrows, the standard swing of his smile angling comical as he cranes back his head a moment, looking pointedly between his door and Felix's.
He doesn't ask, Seriously?, as it's quite clear that Felix is ridiculously serious. Instead, he plays along, his expression and tone making no secret of his amusement. ]
Nooope, no. In the seven steps it took to reach your room from my own, I managed to shake off all pursuers.
[ And he steps right in, noting the well made bed and cups with pitcher. A surprisingly thoughtful set up, plain as it is. Once the door's shut, he tilts his smile over his shoulder. ]
I've heard you disappointed many of your friends at the Training Grounds this week.
[For a few choice seconds there, Felix considers slamming the door on Claude's face.
But he doesn't, for reasons, and instead steps aside as his neighbor traipses on into his room as bombastic and overly-dramatized as ever. Felix doesn't reply right away, just rolls his eyes and shuts the door tight behind them.
He's ready to make a throwaway comment, something like a whatever or, typical -- then Claude's words snap his way, fast, like an unparried attack, and Felix is left with no choice but to take the brunt of it and act like he's unaffected by it.
(Except he clearly is.)]
That's because my mind was elsewhere, for a change.
[ So far, so fairly ordinary. Less the particulars of these circumstances, and more Felix's behavior. Silly though the question, Felix's wariness at the door wasn't surprising, really, and his curt scraping of manners (Have a seat, or don't), is about what Claude would expect.
What's notable is his admission, what Claude could press on, an easy needling, as tempting and as dangerous as a hallway serenade: that his mind had been elsewhere. Focused enough on their musical challenge to loosen his grip on the sword for an entire week. Not that Claude thinks for so much as a fraction of a second that Felix's skills were affected, or that he hadn't trained at all. But it is notable. ]
Ha, I'm guessing, for that change, our minds were in roughly the same place. I'm sure I was utterly charming mental company.
[ Drawing any further attention to it, any serious attention to it, runs the risk of ruining it. It being this, or something, or both, or several more things. And he's looking far too much forward to Felix's piece. Even to embarrassing himself.
So, that's all for that, and as though Felix had said, Welcome to my room, please do take a seat!, Claude looses a sunny smile, ]
Thanks,
[ and takes advantage of one of those chairs, crossing an ankle over his knee and resting the lute over a thigh. ]
As much as I know you love small talk... who goes first?
[As much as he's loathed to admit it, it's hard to not be amused by Claude's antics sometimes. Like now, for instance. Felix rolls his eyes and shakes his head, tries not to think too much about how easily Claude can not only worm his way into his personal space without Felix minding too much, but also threaten to make him laugh on top of it all.
As Claude sits, so does Felix on the bed, his legs criss-crossed; the violin and the bow lay neat and undisturbed on the bedspread beside him.]
Age before beauty.
[He smirks as he gestures out toward Claude and his lute.]
[ At this juncture, unfortunately for Felix and his curmudgeonly bristle, Claude believes he knows him too well to take it personally (never mind that he'd never really taken it personally). After all, he might roll his eyes, might shake his head, but he allows Claude to sit there. Basically invited him.
Invited, allowed, and now startles a snort out of Claude. Sure, Claude might think he knows Felix to some (alarmingly) comfortable degree, but Felix doesn't usually talk up his own physical appearance. That's always been more Claude's self-inflating line. The guy can still surprise him, which really, this entire private concert stands as testament to. Both are good sorts of surprises.
Mischief crackles into the edges of his grin, vibrates in his voice. ]
Good for you, Felix! For a while there, I was concerned you didn't recognize what a good-looking guy you are. Modesty's virtuous and all, but there's modesty and then there's total oblivion.
[ And Claude doesn't seem all that bothered by the suggestion of either 1) Felix being more attractive than he is or 2) Claude being notably older than Felix. In fact, he has to figuratively bite his tongue against that amused delight, before he asks if Felix thinks he actually looks older, is it the beard, that's kind of the point, say it's the beard.
He does bite, nice and figurative, then twists his expression into a grimace as he looks down at the lute. Having left his gloves in his room, he lifts it in his bare hands, finding the proper grip. ]
And speaking of oblivion.... don't worry, kiddo. This old man has the wisdom not to quit his day job.
[Of course it's the beard. But Felix makes it a point to not say anything at all about it, lest he inflate Claude's ego. Or worse: inspires him to shave it off.
Again, Felix rolls his eyes, this time more exaggerated than the last, followed by a dismissive wave of his hand.]
Whatever. Come on, you've had an entire week to prepare for this. Just play. Unless you mean to tell me you're just stalling because you're afraid?
[Resorting to his own version of calling Claude a chicken wasn't at all on Felix's list of things To Do, but he figures if an opportunity presents itself and there's not much of a risk in taking it, then, hell, he should take it.
He leans back on his hands, shrugs his shoulders.]
Unless you'd rather I play first to spare you the embarrassment?
[What's this, a self-effacing remark from the guy who just referred to himself as good-looking?]
How fortunate for Felix that human anatomy does not seem to permit eyes to roll out of one's head. But, hey, there's a first time for everything, and Claude sure believes Felix has got it in him to make his own path. The question is, would Claude like to be there to see them spin right out? To be the probable cause?
As tempting as it would be to pose that question to Felix, he would be (fairly and rightly) accused of delaying the inevitable, so Claude exercises sufficient self-restraint to keep it to himself.
Instead, he raises his eyes from the lute, rounded in mock, haunted sincerity. ]
Oh, petrified. Once I've lost your good opinion, whatever will I do with myself?
[ And if Felix feels like being especially predictable, he might say that Claude never had his good opinion to lose. That's about what Claude expects, anyway.
More than Felix making the offer he does, suggesting as he does that his performance would surely make Claude more confident in his own. Maybe if Claude had actually had the whole week with the lute, he'd believe it. As it is -- ]
I'm pretty sure we'd just be postponing my embarrassment. But, if you're offering...
[ Leaning back himself, leaning the neck of the lute against his shoulder, daubing out that grin, satisfied and askew. ]
Claude's dramatic enactments earn him a good old-fashioned deadpan stare. Not the coldest Faerghus has to offer, at least, even coming from Felix...which might say a lot by itself. He saves the obvious retort, that Claude never had his good opinion to begin with, and just plucks up the violin and bow from beside him.]
Since you're insisting so badly...
[At least, that's the narrative Felix is going with should they ever have to tell this story to another soul. Not that he'd want to -- it's nice keeping these little meetings between them. They're not clandestine...just...theirs.
He tries not to think about that any further as he settles the instrument onto his shoulder, nudges it around a little before settling his chin comfortably -- or as comfortably as possible, given everything -- on the rest. The bow doesn't move from his side, however.]
...and before I start, I don't want to hear any critiques until after we're both done, if at all. Got it?
It remains as true now as it has each and every time that Felix has previously levied him with a stare or glare, the vast range between this look and the most iced and venomous. Really, this one's almost toasty in comparison to the worst of them, and the worst of them hadn't phased Claude, either. After all, this, too, keeps true: if looks could kill, he'd have rotted years before his grandfather had announced a surprise heir.
So he smiles in response, beatific in his immunity, watching as Felix actually takes up the violin. Though it only delays the inevitable, it's true that he's far more eager to hear Felix play than to make his own poor performance. Claude may be difficult, if not impossible, to embarrass, but if he works at something, he likes to have something to show for it.
If Felix wants him to insist badly to set this stage, Claude will oblige. Little as he, too, intends to share this with any other. ]
That's me, horribly insistent. I'm a very demanding and entitled kind of Duke, you know?
[ His grin sprawls, lazy and not remotely assertive, and when he raises his hand in a fist, it's more playful than adamant. ]
If not a very critical one. I hadn't been planning on critique, but I guess I'd better brace myself for your unforgiving tongue...
[Spoiler alert: it's not fine by him, not at all, because Felix, while prickly and pouty and acerbic in nearly every possible way on the outside, is actually rather sensitive at times, depending on where the critique is coming from. Not many people on that admittedly short list -- thank the goddess -- to possibly include one very demanding and entitled kind of Duke, and he's keen on keeping it that way.]
And just so you know: I won't play this again, so don't ask me.
[With that as his only warning, Felix picks up the bow and, after envisioning himself alone in his room at night as he often did while in practice, he begins to play.
The lullaby isn't a complex piece by any means, which makes all sorts of sense since it's an old song intended to help children relax and fall asleep. Felix had heard it plenty of times during his own childhood, so now it's just a matter of remembering to hit the right notes and not drag anything out too long, lest he wants things to take a melancholy turn.
Well, more melancholy than they already are.
The urge to speed things along and hurry through the entirety of the song is urgent but Felix likens it to swordsmanship practice: haste makes waste, best to just breathe easy and take it slowly, one step -- or note -- at a time; if you fumble, just continue on with the routine.
Felix doesn't fumble, although once or twice, his speed threatens to get ahead of him. He manages to reel it in, clenched chin digging into the cloth of the rest with mild frustration each time, and to his own immediate surprise, he gets through the entire lullaby without issue.
When he's done, he drops the bow onto the bed beside him.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ Claude doesn't know exactly what Felix will need to do in order to prepare, but he feels comfortable assuming part of it. He wouldn't claim to know everything about the man and his possessions, but he'd place much greater odds on his not having a violin at hand. So, he'll need to secure one. He must be years out of practice, but he's agreed to their private performance exchange, an agreement that wasn't qualified by the promise that he'd be terrible and it would be a complete waste of time. The sort of things Claude might expect if Felix had objectively assessed his ability and found it wanting.
So, he'll be practicing.
One week for one song.
Claude's sure he can source something in the lute family quickly enough. The trick will be to find the time to learn a popular Leicester Alliance song from scratch. When he'd known a slightly different instrument, and however well he'd played it then, he hasn't touched it for six years now. Really, he would benefit from more time.
But, it's as though he can read the smirk in that text. So be it. If he really bungles it, Felix can have a laugh at his expense. ]
Oh, probably. But, when you put it like that, I can't ask for it, right? I'll prepare melodic little miracle, just for you.
no subject
It's a good thing they're not making this exchange in person.]
Whatever. Just make sure you're ready when the time comes.
oops, *a* melodic little miracle...
His mind focused instead on the first step: finding an instrument. ]
Sure, sure. Let's say that time is next Sunday, your quarters?
...i didn't notice /)(\
i'm so glad |D
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The room is fine, Claude. Don't make me regret agreeing to this.
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ooc;
ooc;
let's do the time warp again
While Felix -- somehow, perhaps through the grace of the goddess or divine intervention of any sort -- is able to procure a violin from a vendor out in town without alerting anyone of his rather expensive purchase, it's finding the time to practice in secret that's the problem. Apparently, the one week where he doesn't want to hole himself up in the training area is the one where the likes of Caspar and others are aching for some last-minute sparring practice before a monthly tournament being held the following week.
So, essentially, Felix is forgoing sword practice with a specific goal in mind...in favor of violin practice for just one song for one person. There's irony to be found somewhere in there, for sure.
The Goddess Tower, or what remains of it, isn't as secluded as he'd been led to believe. More than once he's found some couples (or more...) canoodling there. Rather than berate them and kick them out, and then have to explain why he's there, he left them be and tried his luck elsewhere.
The library, the stables, the gazebo outside of the dining hall... Since when were there this many people around Garreg Mach?
By the third night, he's ready to give up and play the lullaby by ear, accuracy be damned. That was before he overheard Annette "whispering" with Mercedes about "someone" asking for books related to Leicester Alliance arts. No names were given but Felix had a pretty sure guess who the curious cat was.
The fourth night, he picks the roof that overlooks the water. The same one from a while back where he and Claude had shared mindless chatter because he couldn't sleep. It's nice up there, cozy even, and he's able to practice in relative peace. Even if it means risking discovery from anyone threatening to climb around up there after hours. He's lucky -- no one comes around that night, or any of the following two nights.
It's the evening of the seventh night and he's seated on his bed, the violin in its case on the bedside chair where Claude will, eventually, sit. Felix has managed to get some practice in. Not enough to his liking (but then, when is there enough practice for a perfectionist like him?), but he's much more confident in his ability now than he was when he first issued his challenge. More time would be ideal but he's got too much pride to ask for more -- especially after he had all but insinuated Claude would need more time, anyway. Felix isn't keen on knowing what his foot tastes like.
There's some shuffling around heard next door. He tries not to lean up against the wall for a better idea of what the noise is -- he's certain he'll find out soon enough.]
it's just a jump to the left
The instruments are similar enough that it isn't quite like teaching himself anew, but the first night's plenty awkward. He has little problem finding a place to practice out of earshot, which proves a priority for Claude as well. Less out of any oddly placed pride, and he'd be as difficult to embarrass in this as he is with most things. More, that his awareness of the movements in the monastery includes Felix, a comment that he's been strangely sparse at the training grounds, odd sightings at the stables, the gazebo, and never for long. It doesn't take a mind like Claude's to deduce what he's up to, and if Felix means to surprise, Claude has every intention of meeting him.
Out of earshot, then. Easy. Having let himself into all manner of places as a student, he makes use of an underground nook. Strong acoustics and, better yet, with the door shut sound doesn't carry.
Instead, the problem is the music. He's never cared for sheet music, in large part because it seemed that all the merchants sold were stuffy hymns exalting the goddess and her merry saints. In small part, because the rigorous lines chafed against his predisposition to a freer form. But he hasn't got a choice in this. There isn't a convenient band of wandering Alliance musicians visiting Garreg Mach from whom he could learn and he hasn't played a note in Fodlan. Books it is, and finding one of those with any sort of discretion proves so arduous, by the third day he's legitimately concerned that he'll have to ask for more time.
That, or play a song distinctly and unmistakably not of the Alliance. Which remains a possibility, if not his first choice. On the fourth day, Hilda produces a miracle, chirping that she'd liked the piece so much a few years back, her brother had thrown himself into learning it. (With fond disgust, she added, "Of course, like everything else he does, he played it perfectly," but as Claude hadn't told her just why he needed the book, and Holst wouldn't leave the locket, he's unable to take advantage of that unexpected teacher.)
So it was that Claude spent the first three nights learning the lute, practicing by manually transcribing the songs he'd played those years before onto those strings. On the fourth, both the music book and another from the library he arranged open, side by side, frowning as he taught himself to read the notations. The second book an introduction to that language, as he'd never played from paper where he'd grown. On the fifth and sixth, he's able to throw himself fully into the piece.
On the seventh, Claude flips again through the pages borrowed from the Gonerils, debating for the sixth time whether to bring them to their mini-recital. For the sixth time, he rules against, now with the finality of the last grains of sand trickling through the glass. Claude claps the book shut and tosses it onto the haphazard pile on his bed, then scoops up the lute. Positive that he's heard Felix in his adjacent room, Claude squares his shoulders and resigns himself to the mediocre show he's about to give.
Stepping out of his room, he swings the door shut, locking with habit. A few more steps and he's knocking on Felix's door, resisting the urge to announce himself with bombastic reference to a private concert -- deferring to Felix's preference for discretion. And really, he couldn't say he disagrees. ]
and a step to...months later
He doesn't hop up and answer the door right away, although he's well aware time is of the essence here: if he leaves Claude out there too long, someone might spot him at Felix's door and by breakfast, there will be murmurs of a certain Golden Deer visiting a certain Blue Lion's quarters; or worse, Claude will grow antsy and eventually start singing or howling or anything loudly enough to gain the attention of Felix and anyone for miles around. So he moves quickly and efficiently, fixing the coverlet on his already-made bed, making sure there's enough space for them along with cups and a pitcher of still-cool water he'd snuck up from the kitchens, and, finally, giving himself a once-over in his mirror and fixing his appearance.
And then, after promptly realizing what he's just done, he messes his clothes up but keeps his hair picture-perfect. Just because.
The door opens a few moments after that, and Felix stands at the threshold, his eyes squinting with suspicion.]
...no one followed you, correct?
[Followed him, for less than thirty feet of space. Yet, he's dead serious. Or seems to be, as he widens the door just slightly so that it doesn't make too much noise, and gestures for Claude to step right on in.]
!!!!! <33333
So, no, even if Felix had determined to truly keep Claude waiting, he wouldn't have begun to sing or howl or deliberately drawn attention to himself in an outlandish manner. No matter his brief temptation.
As to just what he might have instead done, it seems it will remain a mystery, as Felix opens the door, clothes a little out of order but hair neat, eyes narrowed, asking a really rather hilarious question. If he could hear Felix through the wall, then surely Felix had heard him. Claude raises his eyebrows, the standard swing of his smile angling comical as he cranes back his head a moment, looking pointedly between his door and Felix's.
He doesn't ask, Seriously?, as it's quite clear that Felix is ridiculously serious. Instead, he plays along, his expression and tone making no secret of his amusement. ]
Nooope, no. In the seven steps it took to reach your room from my own, I managed to shake off all pursuers.
[ And he steps right in, noting the well made bed and cups with pitcher. A surprisingly thoughtful set up, plain as it is. Once the door's shut, he tilts his smile over his shoulder. ]
I've heard you disappointed many of your friends at the Training Grounds this week.
https://media1.tenor.com/images/96563b7dbe1025194610c2b0da86e4a2/tenor.gif
But he doesn't, for reasons, and instead steps aside as his neighbor traipses on into his room as bombastic and overly-dramatized as ever. Felix doesn't reply right away, just rolls his eyes and shuts the door tight behind them.
He's ready to make a throwaway comment, something like a whatever or, typical -- then Claude's words snap his way, fast, like an unparried attack, and Felix is left with no choice but to take the brunt of it and act like he's unaffected by it.
(Except he clearly is.)]
That's because my mind was elsewhere, for a change.
[He gestures to one of the chairs.]
Have a seat, or don't.
https://media.giphy.com/media/1cv7Gwf0Utdeg/giphy.gif
What's notable is his admission, what Claude could press on, an easy needling, as tempting and as dangerous as a hallway serenade: that his mind had been elsewhere. Focused enough on their musical challenge to loosen his grip on the sword for an entire week. Not that Claude thinks for so much as a fraction of a second that Felix's skills were affected, or that he hadn't trained at all. But it is notable. ]
Ha, I'm guessing, for that change, our minds were in roughly the same place. I'm sure I was utterly charming mental company.
[ Drawing any further attention to it, any serious attention to it, runs the risk of ruining it. It being this, or something, or both, or several more things. And he's looking far too much forward to Felix's piece. Even to embarrassing himself.
So, that's all for that, and as though Felix had said, Welcome to my room, please do take a seat!, Claude looses a sunny smile, ]
Thanks,
[ and takes advantage of one of those chairs, crossing an ankle over his knee and resting the lute over a thigh. ]
As much as I know you love small talk... who goes first?
no subject
As Claude sits, so does Felix on the bed, his legs criss-crossed; the violin and the bow lay neat and undisturbed on the bedspread beside him.]
Age before beauty.
[He smirks as he gestures out toward Claude and his lute.]
obligatory: https://i.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/newsfeed/001/873/967/de1.gif
Invited, allowed, and now startles a snort out of Claude. Sure, Claude might think he knows Felix to some
(alarmingly)comfortable degree, but Felix doesn't usually talk up his own physical appearance. That's always been more Claude's self-inflating line. The guy can still surprise him, which really, this entire private concert stands as testament to. Both are good sorts of surprises.Mischief crackles into the edges of his grin, vibrates in his voice. ]
Good for you, Felix! For a while there, I was concerned you didn't recognize what a good-looking guy you are. Modesty's virtuous and all, but there's modesty and then there's total oblivion.
[ And Claude doesn't seem all that bothered by the suggestion of either 1) Felix being more attractive than he is or 2) Claude being notably older than Felix. In fact, he has to figuratively bite his tongue against that amused delight, before he asks if Felix thinks he actually looks older
, is it the beard, that's kind of the point, say it's the beard.He does bite, nice and figurative, then twists his expression into a grimace as he looks down at the lute. Having left his gloves in his room, he lifts it in his bare hands, finding the proper grip. ]
And speaking of oblivion.... don't worry, kiddo. This old man has the wisdom not to quit his day job.
knew what it was before i clicked it
Or worse: inspires him to shave it off.Again, Felix rolls his eyes, this time more exaggerated than the last, followed by a dismissive wave of his hand.]
Whatever. Come on, you've had an entire week to prepare for this. Just play. Unless you mean to tell me you're just stalling because you're afraid?
[Resorting to his own version of calling Claude a chicken wasn't at all on Felix's list of things To Do, but he figures if an opportunity presents itself and there's not much of a risk in taking it, then, hell, he should take it.
He leans back on his hands, shrugs his shoulders.]
Unless you'd rather I play first to spare you the embarrassment?
[What's this, a self-effacing remark from the guy who just referred to himself as good-looking?]
good
So, Felix likes the beard, does he?How fortunate for Felix that human anatomy does not seem to permit eyes to roll out of one's head. But, hey, there's a first time for everything, and Claude sure believes Felix has got it in him to make his own path. The question is, would Claude like to be there to see them spin right out? To be the probable cause?
As tempting as it would be to pose that question to Felix, he would be (fairly and rightly) accused of delaying the inevitable, so Claude exercises sufficient self-restraint to keep it to himself.
Instead, he raises his eyes from the lute, rounded in mock, haunted sincerity. ]
Oh, petrified. Once I've lost your good opinion, whatever will I do with myself?
[ And if Felix feels like being especially predictable, he might say that Claude never had his good opinion to lose. That's about what Claude expects, anyway.
More than Felix making the offer he does, suggesting as he does that his performance would surely make Claude more confident in his own. Maybe if Claude had actually had the whole week with the lute, he'd believe it. As it is -- ]
I'm pretty sure we'd just be postponing my embarrassment. But, if you're offering...
[ Leaning back himself, leaning the neck of the lute against his shoulder, daubing out that grin, satisfied and askew. ]
no subject
On that, he is going to plead the fif.Claude's dramatic enactments earn him a good old-fashioned deadpan stare. Not the coldest Faerghus has to offer, at least, even coming from Felix...which might say a lot by itself. He saves the obvious retort, that Claude never had his good opinion to begin with, and just plucks up the violin and bow from beside him.]
Since you're insisting so badly...
[At least, that's the narrative Felix is going with should they ever have to tell this story to another soul. Not that he'd want to -- it's nice keeping these little meetings between them. They're not clandestine...just...theirs.
He tries not to think about that any further as he settles the instrument onto his shoulder, nudges it around a little before settling his chin comfortably -- or as comfortably as possible, given everything -- on the rest. The bow doesn't move from his side, however.]
...and before I start, I don't want to hear any critiques until after we're both done, if at all. Got it?
no subject
;)It remains as true now as it has each and every time that Felix has previously levied him with a stare or glare, the vast range between this look and the most iced and venomous. Really, this one's almost toasty in comparison to the worst of them, and the worst of them hadn't phased Claude, either. After all, this, too, keeps true: if looks could kill, he'd have rotted years before his grandfather had announced a surprise heir.
So he smiles in response, beatific in his immunity, watching as Felix actually takes up the violin. Though it only delays the inevitable, it's true that he's far more eager to hear Felix play than to make his own poor performance. Claude may be difficult, if not impossible, to embarrass, but if he works at something, he likes to have something to show for it.
If Felix wants him to insist badly to set this stage, Claude will oblige. Little as he, too, intends to share this with any other. ]
That's me, horribly insistent. I'm a very demanding and entitled kind of Duke, you know?
[ His grin sprawls, lazy and not remotely assertive, and when he raises his hand in a fist, it's more playful than adamant. ]
If not a very critical one. I hadn't been planning on critique, but I guess I'd better brace myself for your unforgiving tongue...
no subject
[Spoiler alert: it's not fine by him, not at all, because Felix, while prickly and pouty and acerbic in nearly every possible way on the outside, is actually rather sensitive at times, depending on where the critique is coming from. Not many people on that admittedly short list -- thank the goddess -- to possibly include one very demanding and entitled kind of Duke, and he's keen on keeping it that way.]
And just so you know: I won't play this again, so don't ask me.
[With that as his only warning, Felix picks up the bow and, after envisioning himself alone in his room at night as he often did while in practice, he begins to play.
The lullaby isn't a complex piece by any means, which makes all sorts of sense since it's an old song intended to help children relax and fall asleep. Felix had heard it plenty of times during his own childhood, so now it's just a matter of remembering to hit the right notes and not drag anything out too long, lest he wants things to take a melancholy turn.
Well, more melancholy than they already are.
The urge to speed things along and hurry through the entirety of the song is urgent but Felix likens it to swordsmanship practice: haste makes waste, best to just breathe easy and take it slowly, one step -- or note -- at a time; if you fumble, just continue on with the routine.
Felix doesn't fumble, although once or twice, his speed threatens to get ahead of him. He manages to reel it in, clenched chin digging into the cloth of the rest with mild frustration each time, and to his own immediate surprise, he gets through the entire lullaby without issue.
When he's done, he drops the bow onto the bed beside him.]