[She glances down at the floor a few seconds, thinking, before meeting his eyes again.]
Or perhaps not. Perhaps you stopped him from doing something loathsome, or horrifying. Perhaps there was a justification for why he hated you in his mind, yes, but that doesn't mean you were inherently wrong, Ardyn.
[He gives her a look that flickers with the faintest appreciation at her attempts to twist it around with a positive spin.]
...Yes, I know. It's foolish to jump to conclusions when we don't have the full narrative available to us. Any number of things could have led up to that point.
But everyday it bothers me that I don't know what. You'd feel the same way, I'm sure.
[To say the least. Bothers isn't the right verb; vex might better suit. He'll certainly hear all about it; she can't imagine she won't spend hours scowling down over the inconsistency of all the jumbled memories.]
. . . that's three. The train, the healing, and the animals. The fourth?
[She grabs a spare sheet of paper, and hey, that's not a half-bad doodle of a figure with a wing sticking out of his coat. She's got the length wrong, though; she's imagining something half an arm's span.]
[He grabs at another pen next to him, clicking it and doodling on a sticky note. Ardyn's no artist, but it also isn't too bad. I mean, it obviously looks nothing like this but pretend he's drawn the wing-arm part rather accurately.
Which, much as I'm fascinated by your other one, is the only lifetime that truly interests me.
[She tugs the drawing back towards her as she says that, avoiding his eye. Peeling off the top note, she begins doodling a more fleshed out version of that outfit. She is fairly good at drawing-- not so much so to be a professional, nothing like that, but good enough she must practice in her spare time.]
Tell me what else you wore.
i can't believe you made me write out his disaster of an outfit
[Rosalind, are you sure this is a route you want to go down? Once you visualize his canon outfit, you cannot unsee it.]
Well... from top to bottom. First, a hat. Much like the one I wear in this lifetime. I had a long black coat on, sporting something like a... cloth mantle? With a floral print. It had a hoodie, as well. Underneath that was a vest, and a shirt with a high, frilly sort of collar. A burnt orange scarf. Pinstripe pants, olive green. What else?
[ardyn n o]
Black boots, or was it just shoes with boot covers? I don't recall looking at my feet that often. Ah, and fingerless gloves. [A generalized sweep of his hand.] All in dark hues, unless otherwise noted. Black and greys. I'm sure there are details I'm forgetting...
[She murmurs that as she draws. It's not a perfect rendition, not at all, but it's fairly close. It's . . . not a pretty picture, good lord, but that's no fault of the artist. Ardyn, why do you dress this way.]
Surely not! [He feigns being utterly shocked. (Speaking of silly.) Fingers splayed against chest, he says-] Even I indulge in inanity now and again. It's refreshing.
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[She glances down at the floor a few seconds, thinking, before meeting his eyes again.]
Or perhaps not. Perhaps you stopped him from doing something loathsome, or horrifying. Perhaps there was a justification for why he hated you in his mind, yes, but that doesn't mean you were inherently wrong, Ardyn.
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...Yes, I know. It's foolish to jump to conclusions when we don't have the full narrative available to us. Any number of things could have led up to that point.
But everyday it bothers me that I don't know what. You'd feel the same way, I'm sure.
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[To say the least. Bothers isn't the right verb; vex might better suit. He'll certainly hear all about it; she can't imagine she won't spend hours scowling down over the inconsistency of all the jumbled memories.]
. . . that's three. The train, the healing, and the animals. The fourth?
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The attire I used to wear! [He grins.] What a glorious thing it was. I had a wing, you know.
[what.]
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[She grabs a spare sheet of paper, and hey, that's not a half-bad doodle of a figure with a wing sticking out of his coat. She's got the length wrong, though; she's imagining something half an arm's span.]
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No, not quite like that.
[He grabs at another pen next to him, clicking it and doodling on a sticky note. Ardyn's no artist, but it also isn't too bad. I mean, it obviously looks nothing like this but pretend he's drawn the wing-arm part rather accurately.
He slides the sticky note pad to her.]
There.
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[You Final Fantasy weirdo, but at least there's not 308138 zippers.]
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Aesthetic, or even maybe symbolic. Why else would I wear something so... impractical?
[And that's a harsh criticism coming from a man who dresses as, ah, eccentrically as Ardyn.]
If I was a healer, maybe I was a religious man as well.
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[The words are out of her mouth before she realizes it, and she wrinkles her nose.]
. . . though it's certainly possible.
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You'll not offend me. I'm not a particularly religious man myself.
...Well. Not in this lifetime.
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[She tugs the drawing back towards her as she says that, avoiding his eye. Peeling off the top note, she begins doodling a more fleshed out version of that outfit. She is fairly good at drawing-- not so much so to be a professional, nothing like that, but good enough she must practice in her spare time.]
Tell me what else you wore.
i can't believe you made me write out his disaster of an outfit
Well... from top to bottom. First, a hat. Much like the one I wear in this lifetime. I had a long black coat on, sporting something like a... cloth mantle? With a floral print. It had a hoodie, as well. Underneath that was a vest, and a shirt with a high, frilly sort of collar. A burnt orange scarf. Pinstripe pants, olive green. What else?
[ardyn n o]
Black boots, or was it just shoes with boot covers? I don't recall looking at my feet that often. Ah, and fingerless gloves. [A generalized sweep of his hand.] All in dark hues, unless otherwise noted. Black and greys. I'm sure there are details I'm forgetting...
sorry i'm NOT sorry
[She murmurs that as she draws. It's not a perfect rendition, not at all, but it's fairly close. It's . . . not a pretty picture, good lord, but that's no fault of the artist. Ardyn, why do you dress this way.]
What the hell is the point of fingerless gloves?
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Obviously my palms were cold. But my fingers were not. [/sarcasm]
What do you have against fingerless gloves?
[Don't YOU also want to dress like a hobo????]
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[And she has no room for silliness in her life, thank you.]
Save in the winter, but I assume these were more for aesthetic purposes than practical ones.
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[At least he's self-aware enough to admit that much.]
But let's backtrack a bit. What's wrong with silliness?
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Everything.
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[Good grief. She's not so humorless as to roll her eyes at his little display, but it's a close thing.]
And self-indulgent. There's nothing wrong with it in private, but at work, or day to day? No.
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Being silly only in private is such a depressing concept. Surely you can't be that solemn all of the time-
[He pauses, pretending to realize something.]
Oh. You're just self-conscious, aren't you?
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I can be as solemn as I please, as long as I please. Self-consciousness has nothing to do with it.
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What's the saying? "Your face will get stuck like that"?
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[He knows the one. The smug one.]
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