[Well, as Jehan was used to being laughed at, and Courfeyrac had prefaced by mentioning that exhaustion made him giggly, he only grinned in response, flattening his nose against his shoulder a little bit, mildly self-conscious of the butterfly kisses and his own wording, but much, much lighter feeling than he had been just a half an hour ago.]
What could you possibly be thanking me for, précieux petit riant oiseau?
[Knowing it was so much more natural than thinking it, no? A lot more to do with sentiment, than logic. He really did know and appreciate Reynaud's worth.
Still, where he might have smiled, he only pressed his nose a little flatter and half-groaned, brow wincing; unsorted by the returned praise.]
I do not think it possible that I can or have kept anyone the more sane, here. You have always had a good head upon your neck, and wisdom lurking behind your prancing words. The legs of a fawn, the manner of speaking of a warbling bird; but the mind of lion, surely?
[Nudging him, again coming close to a smile, before he paused.]
What a creature I am. You make me sound so mythical.
[He pulls away just slightly so he can look at Jehan again, licking his lips in an almost anxious habit. He could say a lot, really, in answer to Jehan's prodding... However, the lack of sleep was taking its toll on him, keeping him from being able to make sense of everything going through his mind. So, instead, Jehan gets the following answer:]
Trusting me enough for all of this, even though you know how I could be in life. Giving me the chance to love you and be here for you.
[Agreed, staring up at him as he made a nervous gesture and growing a little more sombre by that cue, recovering from his slumping posture and beginning to sit up a little on his own, eyeing him.
It... admittedly was still surprising. Whenever Courfeyrac said something that went below skin deep; his own skin. He felt deeply, and thought deeply, Jehan was sure; and he shared warmth profusely, and truly meant those things that he said. But being so geared towards others, Jehan found a disconcerting lack of notice in dealing with himself. He was comfortable with it, and wouldn't press him to be otherwise than comfortable...
But still. In the very few moments there were like this, it was a reviving reminder that sometimes, even Reynaud could be exposed to topics that... well. That Jehan, maybe unfairly, kept from him.]
...Is it not a chance you have given me also? But. How should I say it, Reynaud...
I know that you could never intentionally hurt anyone. So, your intentions are not frightening, to me. I trust them.
[Perhaps he did not (even still) entirely trust his interest to stay steady; but that was not something he could ever blame him or anyone for. Feelings would do as they pleased...
He gave his hand a light squeeze.]
I will not lie and say it is entirely easy. But surely, the most worthy thing I have ever done. And the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me.
[Courfeyrac tried to wrap his mind around what Jehan was saying... Or rather, what he wasn't quite saying. Because even with the lack of sleep and everything going on, he could tell Jehan was holding back a little. Still, he wouldn't press. He knows that nothing good could come from talking about more sensitive matters when they were running on such little sleep.]
Then that's all the more reason for me to thank you. And to make sure you know just how thankful I am for all of this. You know that I am not the best at any of this and you still trust me and let me love you. That is more than anyone has ever granted me before.
[He listened, then only slowly raised a brow at him, face otherwise impassive and seemingly as reluctant as his mind to give away too much.]
Cher... would that you knew the term 'true speaker', but I somehow doubt it? You do not dabble enough in old literature for that, though the term is popular-- was popular-- among writers of our time.
The true speaker is the new Muse-- [He paused here, to give him another look; a little bit of a request that he stay with him, if possible.
Jehan was equally guilty of rambling as he was of being too quiet... and those he was close to suffered the rambling edge. Exhausted, he somewhat doubted his ability to make sense at a ramble... but this felt important, and he would try.]
Greek Gods went the way of lead medicines; namely, to a scientific grave; and the Muses of our time were no longer considered to be Mnemosyne's children. The muses of our time were men and women, called 'true speakers'; the one who gives a voice to a poet's feelings. The poet, when taken with such a speaker, is called the 'Muse-poet'; and his job... put bluntly, is to obsess over the true speaker. From a distance.
[He paused a moment, wetting his lips, knowing that this probably made little sense so far, and the point he wanted to make might be far from Courfeyrac's mind yet. He made an embarrassed half-gesture with his free hand, apologetic, and soldiered on.]
What I want to say to you, Reynaud, is that you are by all definitions the perfect example of a true speaker. You have always been unobtainable by nature, but so filled with love and greatness yourself, that even in knowing they cannot keep you, people have been drawn to you. It is not that anyone would not grant you such love, or trust; only, that you have always been the exact sort of person who can be a monarch over hearts and drive a man; or woman; to write rather than drink. Perhaps both.
[Here, a light smile.]
...Then who could have expected to really keep you? I was very much in love with someone unobtainable when I first met you, and I would have been happy to be sombre in another such a fruitless chase, within reason. Poets, I think, almost enjoy such arrangements.
What I am taking a long road to say is this. If you thank me for trusting you, then I must thank you; for deciding to be within reason, obtainable, fruitful-- towards me. For me. Even if I fail sometimes, to really believe it. For it is beyond belief, at times.
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timeasmymeasure
[Action]
Date: 2013-09-29 04:31 am (UTC)What could you possibly be thanking me for, précieux petit riant oiseau?
[Action]
Date: 2013-09-29 05:03 am (UTC)[Because he really did consider it a compliment. Even as strangely it had been phrased, he knew just how Jehan had meant it.]
For giving me this chance and being what keeps me sane on this ship.
no subject
Date: 2013-09-29 05:21 am (UTC)[Knowing it was so much more natural than thinking it, no? A lot more to do with sentiment, than logic. He really did know and appreciate Reynaud's worth.
Still, where he might have smiled, he only pressed his nose a little flatter and half-groaned, brow wincing; unsorted by the returned praise.]
I do not think it possible that I can or have kept anyone the more sane, here. You have always had a good head upon your neck, and wisdom lurking behind your prancing words. The legs of a fawn, the manner of speaking of a warbling bird; but the mind of lion, surely?
[Nudging him, again coming close to a smile, before he paused.]
Giving you what chance, cher?
no subject
Date: 2013-09-29 05:33 am (UTC)[He pulls away just slightly so he can look at Jehan again, licking his lips in an almost anxious habit. He could say a lot, really, in answer to Jehan's prodding... However, the lack of sleep was taking its toll on him, keeping him from being able to make sense of everything going through his mind. So, instead, Jehan gets the following answer:]
Trusting me enough for all of this, even though you know how I could be in life. Giving me the chance to love you and be here for you.
no subject
Date: 2013-09-29 05:53 am (UTC)[Agreed, staring up at him as he made a nervous gesture and growing a little more sombre by that cue, recovering from his slumping posture and beginning to sit up a little on his own, eyeing him.
It... admittedly was still surprising. Whenever Courfeyrac said something that went below skin deep; his own skin. He felt deeply, and thought deeply, Jehan was sure; and he shared warmth profusely, and truly meant those things that he said. But being so geared towards others, Jehan found a disconcerting lack of notice in dealing with himself. He was comfortable with it, and wouldn't press him to be otherwise than comfortable...
But still. In the very few moments there were like this, it was a reviving reminder that sometimes, even Reynaud could be exposed to topics that... well. That Jehan, maybe unfairly, kept from him.]
...Is it not a chance you have given me also? But. How should I say it, Reynaud...
I know that you could never intentionally hurt anyone. So, your intentions are not frightening, to me. I trust them.
[Perhaps he did not (even still) entirely trust his interest to stay steady; but that was not something he could ever blame him or anyone for. Feelings would do as they pleased...
He gave his hand a light squeeze.]
I will not lie and say it is entirely easy. But surely, the most worthy thing I have ever done. And the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me.
no subject
Date: 2013-09-29 06:12 am (UTC)Then that's all the more reason for me to thank you. And to make sure you know just how thankful I am for all of this. You know that I am not the best at any of this and you still trust me and let me love you. That is more than anyone has ever granted me before.
no subject
Date: 2013-09-29 06:36 am (UTC)Cher... would that you knew the term 'true speaker', but I somehow doubt it? You do not dabble enough in old literature for that, though the term is popular-- was popular-- among writers of our time.
The true speaker is the new Muse-- [He paused here, to give him another look; a little bit of a request that he stay with him, if possible.
Jehan was equally guilty of rambling as he was of being too quiet... and those he was close to suffered the rambling edge. Exhausted, he somewhat doubted his ability to make sense at a ramble... but this felt important, and he would try.]
Greek Gods went the way of lead medicines; namely, to a scientific grave; and the Muses of our time were no longer considered to be Mnemosyne's children. The muses of our time were men and women, called 'true speakers'; the one who gives a voice to a poet's feelings. The poet, when taken with such a speaker, is called the 'Muse-poet'; and his job... put bluntly, is to obsess over the true speaker. From a distance.
[He paused a moment, wetting his lips, knowing that this probably made little sense so far, and the point he wanted to make might be far from Courfeyrac's mind yet. He made an embarrassed half-gesture with his free hand, apologetic, and soldiered on.]
What I want to say to you, Reynaud, is that you are by all definitions the perfect example of a true speaker. You have always been unobtainable by nature, but so filled with love and greatness yourself, that even in knowing they cannot keep you, people have been drawn to you. It is not that anyone would not grant you such love, or trust; only, that you have always been the exact sort of person who can be a monarch over hearts and drive a man; or woman; to write rather than drink. Perhaps both.
[Here, a light smile.]
...Then who could have expected to really keep you? I was very much in love with someone unobtainable when I first met you, and I would have been happy to be sombre in another such a fruitless chase, within reason. Poets, I think, almost enjoy such arrangements.
What I am taking a long road to say is this. If you thank me for trusting you, then I must thank you; for deciding to be within reason, obtainable, fruitful-- towards me. For me. Even if I fail sometimes, to really believe it. For it is beyond belief, at times.