Clemente
the difference between a garden
and a graveyard
is what we choose to put in the soil
Clem wrinkles his nose in exaggerated disgust at the comment and wink the potter sends his way. First of all, gross. Even if his fangs poke out the side of his mouth when his lips twitch in betraying amusement. Short-lived though it is. "I mean yeah, logically and whatever, but can't I still punch him in th' junk in private?" Despite his grumbling it's clear his hackles have been smoothed, aware of the truth in Amun's words. Wessex and The Voice both advocate for cohesion, and their words are like gospel to Clemente.
Clem leans over to watch with narrowed eyes as Amun outlines on the paper. The letters themselves are memorized, but the sounds and how they connect still give him trouble. Breadth of vocabulary is still a whole other box of snakes. "Can I keep this when yer done?" Pointing a finger at where Amun has written all of this down. "I jus' wanna be able to write notes and stuff on the notice board. Maybe read better in the future." Already he has learned so much, and Clem eyes the older man, wondering how much he can truly ask for. "Can ya...can ya tell me 'bout The Voice?" A distraction from his current studying, but Rexanna's word is the only one he has to go on. His last visit had been pleasant, a clear presence but no face to face. He dreads the idea of being the only Ascended their creator will not visit.
