[ 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}
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.]