[ Yes, he's moping. And he feels justified for it—Clea has just turned his entire world upside down and inside out with this information, and he longs to discuss it more with her, although he knows she won't be amenable to it. Of course, she wouldn't think that it matters. His questions have nothing to do with achieving her goal here. They're only to satisfy his own curiosity, help him slot the pieces here into place.
And yes, he's curious about her in particular. About the ways in which someone from Lumière—he has not yet begun to think of them as Painted, although he understands on some level that that's what they are—might differ from their counterpart. Are there parts of Clea that are unique to her, missing from her facsimile? Are there parts of him that are lacking, too?
He says none of this. ]
You sound as if you're trying to convince yourself, [ he points out instead, eternally annoying. ]
[ She could pretend that he's wrong, but it would be false. She is convincing herself, because the part of her that wants to mire herself in this mess should not be listened to. It is a weakness borne out of grief and not to be indulged. They can't afford for her to indulge her weaknesses: Everyone else is already doing so.
Someone needs to be reasonable. Logical. Take care of the manners that need to be attended to instead of throwing a tantrum. ]
Some of us can't indulge our every whim.
[ It doesn't even matter. He has a pale imitation of her. Either there's enough similarity that it's an acceptable substitute (the idea makes Clea visibly shudder), or it's little different than a servant crossed with a dog, in which case he would be put off by her lack of subservience.
The only reason she hesitates at all is he wears her brother's face. Uses his voice. A face and voice she thought she'd never see again. She has to remind herself that she still hasn't. Aline is insane, but she is talented. As are many great artists. ]
Well, you know me. I love indulging my every whim.
[ She acts as if she's the only one who feels any responsibility here! Yes, her responsibilities are outside this Canvas and his inside, but the weight she's just placed on his shoulders is a large one. A weight that would feel lesser if shared, but—
Clearly, that's not the way this is going to go. ]
All right. [ It's more resignation than acceptance.
Unable to completely rid himself of the fraternal affection he feels, there's a little disappointment in his voice as he says, ] Then adieu, Clea.
[ She bites her tongue, tasting blood. He does indulge his every whim, including his whims to sulk. To wheedle, and to manipulate. To inspire guilt in others who had never asked for it. It would be an unfair retaliation: He is not her Verso and who other than Aline knows how deeply he resembles him? (To answer that question is a path to madness that Clea refuses to walk.)
There is something interesting in the distance. It makes it far clearer where Alicia's manipulative tendencies come from. Her desire to be coddled. ]
I will check back at an appropriate time. Adieu.
[ She does not use his name. That name belongs to someone else, someone she is not ready to say goodbye to yet. The woman's form slowly dissolves away, leaving only yellow petals, shimmering with Chroma, on the ground nearby his feet. The rest of Lumière continues on with their lives, unaware of the monumental shift that had just happened. ]
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no subject
And yes, he's curious about her in particular. About the ways in which someone from Lumière—he has not yet begun to think of them as Painted, although he understands on some level that that's what they are—might differ from their counterpart. Are there parts of Clea that are unique to her, missing from her facsimile? Are there parts of him that are lacking, too?
He says none of this. ]
You sound as if you're trying to convince yourself, [ he points out instead, eternally annoying. ]
no subject
[ She could pretend that he's wrong, but it would be false. She is convincing herself, because the part of her that wants to mire herself in this mess should not be listened to. It is a weakness borne out of grief and not to be indulged. They can't afford for her to indulge her weaknesses: Everyone else is already doing so.
Someone needs to be reasonable. Logical. Take care of the manners that need to be attended to instead of throwing a tantrum. ]
Some of us can't indulge our every whim.
[ It doesn't even matter. He has a pale imitation of her. Either there's enough similarity that it's an acceptable substitute (the idea makes Clea visibly shudder), or it's little different than a servant crossed with a dog, in which case he would be put off by her lack of subservience.
The only reason she hesitates at all is he wears her brother's face. Uses his voice. A face and voice she thought she'd never see again. She has to remind herself that she still hasn't. Aline is insane, but she is talented. As are many great artists. ]
no subject
[ She acts as if she's the only one who feels any responsibility here! Yes, her responsibilities are outside this Canvas and his inside, but the weight she's just placed on his shoulders is a large one. A weight that would feel lesser if shared, but—
Clearly, that's not the way this is going to go. ]
All right. [ It's more resignation than acceptance.
Unable to completely rid himself of the fraternal affection he feels, there's a little disappointment in his voice as he says, ] Then adieu, Clea.
Et fin?
There is something interesting in the distance. It makes it far clearer where Alicia's manipulative tendencies come from. Her desire to be coddled. ]
I will check back at an appropriate time. Adieu.
[ She does not use his name. That name belongs to someone else, someone she is not ready to say goodbye to yet. The woman's form slowly dissolves away, leaving only yellow petals, shimmering with Chroma, on the ground nearby his feet. The rest of Lumière continues on with their lives, unaware of the monumental shift that had just happened. ]