forum A Gentleman? // OxO // Closed

Started December 09, 2019 by @ElderGod-Icefire

tune

“I should head to my room to look through my luggage as well.” Francis stood you from his seat. Francis offered another smile. “Thank you so much, for everything, Monsieur.” He fixed the cuffs of his sleeves.

Elizabeth excused herself quietly, heading to her own room in a rustle of skirts.

Jack took a deep breath. "Thank you." He said to Pierre, echoing Francis and offering a smile as well, flashing matching dimples in each cheek.

Pierre smiled. "Yes, you're quite welcome." He replied. "Have a good night."

Francis returned the good wish before turning back to go to his room. He placed his hands in his pockets, eager to get some rest. He stepped inside his room, and as usual, closed the door behind him. He peeled off his coat, hung them in the wardrobe, and slipped off his shoes. Without bothering to untie his hair, he fell onto his bed, hugging one of the pillows for comfort.

Jack went to his room, and poked through the luggage stacked inside. He finally, finally found his violin, and got it out. He plucked the strings, checking the tuning and tuning it up. He tucked it under his chin, took a deep breath, and began to play. He played quietly, though he knew the sound would likely still carry through the rooms.

Francis, who hadn’t fallen asleep yet, lifted his head at the sound of the violin. He blinked tiredness from his eyes, sitting up on his bed to listen. Was that Jack? It had to be, no one else mentioned they played violin—at least not so close to his room. It was beautiful, and he happily stayed up to listen while he played. He knew he couldn’t compliment him for it now; he would wait for later, more than likely the next day. The sound of the muffled music made his heart swell. It reminded him of home.

Jack played a few scales, then paused, thinking. After a few minutes, he began to play an Irish tune that he had learned when he was younger. He took a deep breath, and continued to play for a long time, eventually sitting down on the bed instead of standing.

Francis closed his eyes as the sound of the violin turned into a song. A smile spread across his face—he didn’t recognize it, but it was lovely. He lifted his face to the ceiling and rested his hands on his knees, tapping his thumb to the pace of the music. He listened for the duration of while Jack played, and he lost track of the time.

Jack ended up playing for far longer than he had meant to, before finally letting the notes fade into silence, and began putting the instrument away, careful and gentle as he set it in its case. He took a deep breath, and then sat on the bed again, linking his fingers together.

Francis opened his eyes again when he heard the violin stop. He had fallen back onto the mattress, resting his hands intertwined over his stomach. He missed the music, but he found that it had left him feeling satisfied and happy, even now that silence had taken over the room again. He let out a sigh through his nose, silently deciding he was ready to fall asleep now.

Jack changed into bedclothes and lay down in the bed. He felt tired, more drained than he had anticipated, and just wanted to sleep, at this point. He pulled the blankets over himself.

Francis finally mustered they energy to pull himself to the head of the bed. He wriggled under the blankets, pulling them up over his shoulders. He rested his head on one pillow, and hugged another with his arms. He found it was more difficult to sleep when he wasn’t hugging something.

Jack fell asleep after a while, and for once his sleep was deep and dreamless. He wished, though, that he had someone to hold him. He was quite definitely the little spoon, and preferred to be held whenever possible.

Francis fell asleep shortly after his head hit the pillow. He dreamed about this that reminded him of his brother—the good things. Things like summer days and the flower wreathes he wore, and even Jack. Jack had reminded him of his brother more and more throughout the night, along with the reminder of home.

(kk)

Jack was standing just a little closer to Jules than would be considered proper as they walked, his hand brushing against the French boy's or touching his arm, a faint smile on his lips whenever he looked at Jules. Elizabeth stoically ignored her brother, but paid attention as Jules guided them around the museum that the city kept, which contained art, history, and other things all in the same beautiful building. They would go to the opera next.

Francis walked beside Elizabeth, staying a proper distance away from her, even if he did cast several glances in her direction. For the most part, he watched Jack and Jules curiously. Was Jules returning any interest? When he wasn’t watching Jack or glancing at Elizabeth, he scanned the walls of the museum. His mouth was agape, amazed at the beauty of the building and the history.

Jules treated Jack politely, if a little shyly. The French boy didn't seem to know quite what to make of Jack's flirtatiousness. Jack was undeterred, admiring the art and the boy beside him in the same breath. Although the admiration for Jules was spoken far, far quieter than everything else he said.

Francis ignored the Jack’s comment of admiration, unsure of what he really heard or not. He fixed his attention on an artwork he found particularly admirable. He very lightly touched Elizabeth’s shoulder to point it out to her. “I like style of painting,” he murmured with a smile. He clasped his hands behind his back again after gesturing to the painting.

Elizabeth blinked, looking at the painting and tipping her head a little. "Yes. It's lovely." She agreed with a faint smile.

Jules looked over. "Ah! That one was painted by a…how do you say it? Un artiste local? Oh! Local artist! An artist from this area." His French accent softened the vowels of his words as he spoke.

“Oh! How wonderful,” Francis smiled, taking a few more moments to admire the painting. “Local artists are far more talented than they’re often given credit for,” he noted. “Even the ones in England aren’t talked about very much. All the popularity is in foreign, some centuries old paintings. Which are very admirable, but the more local paintings are just as breathtaking.”