plot twist twistin' my heart 'til it's hollow
band-aids for all my scraped knees
Bastien's comment is the equivalent of setting a fire under Clem's ass. He is already stressed and uncomfortable, wary of this man who could so easily shatter the one relationship he has formed in this god awful new land, and then he tries to chide him for his defensiveness. It's far softer than Clem has ever heard though which grants a certain level of appreciation, even if his shoulders spike in discomfort to shield himself from the words. Clem turns his frustrated gaze to their host, trying in vain to swallow the tide of helpless vitriol rising like gorge in his throat. "She shouldn't have to hear it in the first place," he insists, at least having the sense to keep his voice low with everyone around them. "It's rude, and she's married, and we're in public." It's grumbled more than anything, hands tightening around himself, feeling like he has already fucked up this introduction. That Rexanna will be disappointed in him for going toe-to-toe with her husband so swiftly, when he had only wanted to defend her.
If he still had the lungs to breathe, they'd be coming swiftly, uncontrollably. There are so many people here, and Clem feels like he's drowning, fingers clutching his bracelet tightly in a vain attempt at stabilizing himself. Rexanna's words are far more comforting, and Clem manages a weak smirk of retribution at the idea that the man is a deserter as well as a perv. But he still whispers a quiet 'sorry' to the woman as the room begins to burst into motion, everyone taking up their paint colors and mural spots.
Clem buries himself in his work, painting abstract waves and a dark horizon, clueless to any artistic rules he should be subscribing to. Only jerked out of it at the command to switch, he gathers his materials and shuffles over, silent and unobtrusive. Clem just wants to paint, there's too many people and he doesn't wanna talk. This was far more interesting. Amun's silver streaks are pretty, and though he doesn't like the man much from his first impression, he's too enamored with the idea of collaborative art to intentionally ruin it. So instead he carefully draws off this lines with his paintbrush, using the silver as highlighting streaks to his blue, mimicking the harsh strokes of the prior painter's swiped fingers.
If he still had the lungs to breathe, they'd be coming swiftly, uncontrollably. There are so many people here, and Clem feels like he's drowning, fingers clutching his bracelet tightly in a vain attempt at stabilizing himself. Rexanna's words are far more comforting, and Clem manages a weak smirk of retribution at the idea that the man is a deserter as well as a perv. But he still whispers a quiet 'sorry' to the woman as the room begins to burst into motion, everyone taking up their paint colors and mural spots.
Clem buries himself in his work, painting abstract waves and a dark horizon, clueless to any artistic rules he should be subscribing to. Only jerked out of it at the command to switch, he gathers his materials and shuffles over, silent and unobtrusive. Clem just wants to paint, there's too many people and he doesn't wanna talk. This was far more interesting. Amun's silver streaks are pretty, and though he doesn't like the man much from his first impression, he's too enamored with the idea of collaborative art to intentionally ruin it. So instead he carefully draws off this lines with his paintbrush, using the silver as highlighting streaks to his blue, mimicking the harsh strokes of the prior painter's swiped fingers.
blankets when i had bad dreams
felt like nothin' could hurt me
CLEMENTE
