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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on May 23, 2009 21:54:07 GMT -5
How Nicolas found a side door to the cathedral, something of a brilliant little trap-door, and managed to open the door as though the lock were as thin as a toothpick (in fact, so easily that George would not know there had been a lock unless he inspected the door as he followed him in), wouldn't be apparent. But he gestured idly behind himself for George to follow him up to the belltower, and no matter how long it had been since he'd been up there, he certainly remembered the trip.
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Post by George Boleyn on May 23, 2009 22:04:44 GMT -5
All was well for Nicolas, as George did not inspect the lock behind him, although he did give it a dubious look (but thought no more on it, really, for he was used to castles which had all number of unclocked doors and exits). He was too busy following Nicolas, and trying not to trip over the stairs in the dark. For all the bright moonlight outside, it didn't touch here, and the there was no light but for the windows. The place of prayers and candles were not where they were headed, and George could see barely a thing. He was dependent on Nicolas, and grateful for his lead, and only assumed that Nicolas had been this way so many times he could do it in the utter dark.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on May 23, 2009 22:18:47 GMT -5
Nicolas could not just see the stairs, but could see George, too, his careful lovely eyes glancing around somewhat hesitantly as he climbed the stairs. Something in his manner - his clothes, perhaps? - reminded him vaguely of Armand, but it was a dim memory, not recent; not even from immortality, the little dusty demon in his Renaissance clothing... But this realization faded away and he continued on.
The belltower was better illuminated, though not at first. Then one entered in and gazed at the moonlight filtering down from a very high window, and it changed everything. Nicolas was light-footed, light-hearted once in. He turned in a circle, skirt of his frock coat flaring, to face George, tilting his head and regarding him with something nearly a smirk. "Ever been anywhere like it, George? I would bet you hadn't."
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Post by George Boleyn on May 23, 2009 22:35:15 GMT -5
George shifted from one foot to the other, watching Nicolas caper about as if untouched by his good mood. But, after a minute, he smirked, slowly crossing his arms. "Oh, you'd lose that bet." But he was very appreciative of the bell tower, nonetheless, for all his pretend- while going to stick his nose in the air haughtily, he became interested in the ceiling, and the ropes from the bells disappearing up into the shadows, and peered up at them wonderingly.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on May 23, 2009 22:41:44 GMT -5
"Tell me what better you've seen," said Nicki, again tempted to sift into his mind and see it for himself. My, George did tempt him in varying ways. "I'm certain it can't compare. We ghosts, you know, pass all our time in shadows and cobwebs and would appreciate your passing on cheery images of mortal luxury."
He was remarkably dusty from having tromped up first, catching cobwebs, catching dust, all of it in his hair, or on the arms and elbows of his velvet jacket. There was a fine layer of dust on his cheek, and if George came close enough he'd notice that it was not like dust on a normal face - more like that on a porcelain doll's. But Nicolas didn't notice this, and headed back towards the bell's ropes, hands idly in his pockets.
"Bobbing Jack again, hm? Or something else?"
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Post by George Boleyn on May 23, 2009 22:52:47 GMT -5
"Oh, play something a little more somber, I should think," George said laughingly, and then, a shrug. "A king's own chapel. Gold, and stained glass, laquer, marble and wood. A king's multiple castles- paintings, stonework, cobwebs, rushes on the floor, tapestries on the walls." A king's prison. No, not quite. He was the only one.
George didn't notice the dust- not on Nicolas, or on himself, although he had considerably less. He probably wouldn't until they left, into some better-lit area- if Nicolas' hair and jacket were gilded silver, well, George would just blame that on the earlier dust, and perhaps the moonlight from the window above.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on May 24, 2009 10:32:22 GMT -5
"Tell me what you'd like, then," asked Nicolas in earnest, reaching out and wrapping one of the ropes around his hand, appreciating the feel of it, the texture. He didn't pull it, but he sorely wanted to. It would be simple, so simple, to figure out a song on these bells, any song George wanted to hear them ring out.
"I'm afraid I'm none too fond of kings. Revolutionary, as I said. Mad and heathen and for the people. I'm sorry if that frightens you dreadfully," he said amiably, glancing up at the bells and humming something softly to himself.
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Post by George Boleyn on May 24, 2009 12:18:11 GMT -5
George watched him take an eager hold on a bell rope. "Mmm," he said noncommittally. Yours might be the better way and I'm none too fond of them either were the vaguely thought out replies floating in his head, but George held his tongue, too used to paranoia to be so brazenly treasonous. Henry couldn't do anything more to him, but France's king would have spies too, and were George ever to go to court - which he would, yes, he must, eventually- there was nothing he wanted to blemish him beyond what already did.
"Surprise me."
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on May 24, 2009 12:35:36 GMT -5
Nicolas' lip twitched, but he didn't quite smile. He wanted to do it, to give in and surprise him, but he wanted to play something George would recognize - such would be the greater surprise, wouldn't it? There wasn't any way to find out what George knew without giving anything away, however, without... and he was sort of timid, sort of frightened to find out what it might be like... But he gave in to the desire, and, glancing back at George sort of thoughtfully, tentatively, lightly, brushed against his mind, slid in. Wanted to be so careful and precise, not to get manic, not to be struck by something about George, not to become enamored of it - it was so hard to keep all his own thoughts in order.
He caught a flicker of George's bitterness, that despair, that paranoia, but shied away from it or from seeking its cause, and withdrew at the first glimmer of music that he picked up on. Painless, perhaps, but Nicolas was shaking a little. He turned back to the bells, a slight smile coming into his mouth, and started his song - it was cheerier than George had recommended, but it wasn't a drinking song, even though Nicolas imagined, from vague perceptions about it that he'd noticed, he'd either heard it in a bar or a brothel - or an inn, perhaps. Candlelight, something like that - maybe someone had been playing outside, a festival going on? He couldn't be certain, but he was content with that.
He only wanted to succeed in surprising George.
((I left that open-ended on purpose. Please don't make it something that ruins his mood. :/))
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Post by George Boleyn on May 24, 2009 12:53:45 GMT -5
George stared in surprise, again, at Nicolas now pulling on the ropes. Then, he began to laugh, but the sound was swallowed by the overwhelming ringing of the bells. It was so loud that it felt as though they were both enveloped in noise, so loud it vibrated against George's bones, a song he'd last heard playing in the streets, pricking up his ears in one of the dark little taverns to hear the celebration of the birth of a girl to the king. Anne's daughter. He couldn't imagine how Nicolas knew it, or how common it was, but he also couldn't think on it now, no, the bells were too loud, and drowned out everything but the moment.
Brilliant, it was brilliant, and George was grinning like a madman to hear this. He couldn't think why it would cause anyone despair, even the anticipation, but there it was- the pang before Nicolas had started playing, some brief, bleak impression of stone walls and red hair, pain, flash of city streets at night, something that made George's brows draw together and his head hurt. It was gone now, he'd think on it later.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on May 24, 2009 13:10:58 GMT -5
((OF COURSE YOU WOULD USE AN ARMAND IMAGE. I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN.))
George's laughter might have been drowned out by the bells, but Nicki could still hear it. He was exceptionally good at this, after all - swifter than a mortal, stronger, so that moving from one to pull on another, no matter how great a tug it required - and he was enjoying himself immensely. Nothing so sweet and simple as ripping away on the violin, no, but he had all of Paris as his audience, playing some English folk-song or other that sounded to him to be as old as Armand. Goodness, George was from a strange place, wasn't he?
Uneasy for a moment, he wondered if George fit his theory, the one he'd so somberly explained to Armand - if George had died and was back, now, as Nicolas still sometimes supposed he was - if they really were, more or less, ghosts. Armand's explanation, negation, had been Lestat's existence, but after having met him, Nicki was not so certain. Lestat had changed in some way. Maybe it was more than that he had gone from mortal to immortal; maybe he had died.
He brushed off this unpleasant, prickly thought and focused on the song, feeling almost like the bells - and though he told George he was a heathen, religion had meant something to Nicki, something very great, once - were turning him and George and everyone in Paris into light. The combination of the sacred bells ringing and the song being such a simple, light-hearted one seemed to be transformative, cleansing without being torturous. He was almost done with the song when he glanced over his shoulder at George with the same need to be pleasing him, hopeful and expectant, face and lips flushed and eyes sparkling with an excitement that any mortal could share.
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Post by George Boleyn on May 24, 2009 17:45:04 GMT -5
Between the music vibrating in his bones, drowning out thought, and Nicolas' flushed, happy face, how could George resist? He caught Nicolas up from the side, one hand tangling in his dusty, curly hair, and kissed him.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on May 24, 2009 18:05:28 GMT -5
Nicolas was completely taken aback in the first moment, releasing the rope just after the last bell had tolled, almost not knowing what to do with his hands now. He, of course, didn't think he'd at all done anything to provoke this, didn't at all imagine George would be interested... and certainly didn't suppose he'd been flirting with him or at all led him to believe Nicolas had interests of that nature in his fellow man. Most accurately, perhaps, he hadn't dared suppose...
The vibration of the bells nowhere near fading, Nicolas tilted his head, cupped George's, fingers sliding into his dark curls, and leaned back into the kiss with unsurprising passion.
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Post by George Boleyn on May 24, 2009 19:59:14 GMT -5
It was over quickly enough. George remembered himself. But he wasn't about to pretend he hadn't done it, nor to let this throw him into a somber mood- and he could, so quickly, all he had to do was think about the last man he doomed with a kiss- but no, he pulled away and took ony a step back, eyes slitted with his (rather satisfied) smile and nearly as bright as Nicolas' in their own, mortal way.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on May 24, 2009 20:45:32 GMT -5
It faded with the strength of the bells, but, like the music, did not diminish into nothingness, but rather a kind of quiet awe. It was good for Nicki George had pulled back when he had, because Nicolas was too pale and too underfed to pass as human for long under such scrutiny, and it really was very close; beyond that, he was too hungry to keep from pushing further, and too quick to throw himself into these things to do so, either. And had they progressed just a bit farther, he probably wouldn't have taken his pulling away very well.
"I never... would have thought you... " He spoke rather softly, eyes bright with wonder, before smiling at him, really almost shyly.
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