Nate Suchinda didn’t disagree with the notion that a lot could be said about him. Some of what could be said was blatantly false, like him being a raging egomaniac, because really, he only ever got into arguments which were justified and where he clearly was vindicated, as his (relatively) clear disciplinary record attested to. Others, sure, had a bit more validity to them, like the fact that he did have a bit of a temper. Again, this was all within due reason, because hadn’t Tina Cortez been asking for it when she decided that the best course of action was to lose her English presentation script, and then ask him about reprinting it for an individually-graded task?
She really had been. End of story.
That was besides the point, really, the point being that a notion which certainly fit into that first category was that of him not being a good student. Would a not good student still show up to class battling both sleep deprivation and a hangover first thing Monday morning? That answer was once again obvious. Duh. That point still stood, because even if Nate’s, well, everything was regretting that specific course of action, his sense of duty could rest easy. Obviously, that sense of resting brought no actual rest upon him, leaving only eyebags to accumulate on other, preexisting eyebags, but the sentiment still remained.
All that sentiment almost turned out to be for naught when Ms. Walsh, in all of her infinite wisdom, told him to ditch the sunglasses in AP Calc. Bitch move, seriously, but in all of his own infinite grace, Nate complied, even if that meant his red-rimmed irises were now available for all the class to see.
It had been a couple hours since that minor humiliation, and seeing as how he wasn’t exactly a glutton for punishment, Nate had decided to make the most of his lunch by going down to the art room. Actual food wasn’t on today’s menu. Instead, there was mental nourishment at stake, the extent to which he briefly pondered as he made his way to the classroom in question. Turn down that hallway there, make a right next to this classroom, it was all muscle memory, pushing bone-tired feet forward.
Just like reflex, he found himself in front of the door. It was open, just a crack, and so Nate obliged its wishes by pulling it open all the way, the room’s contents now exposed to the entire hallway. Of course, that was when he took a few sure steps inside, and that was when the nightmare started.
There it lay, his piece, desecrated, destroyed. Okay, maybe not literally destroyed, but its spirit was crushed all the same, contorted and constrained beneath layers of crochet-made carnage. Strings of yellow, pink, red and so much more, ensnaring his work, his piece de resistance, his raison d'être, his all these other artistic terms quickly fleeing his brain in favor of red hot rage, because there he was, because of course he was.
“You.”
A single whispered word, spewing vile venom, because what else could be said? For all the sights to see on this particular day, Sylvain Kessler was certainly one that did not spark joy.
Balasana
(Child's Pose), tagging zee - in the art room! (private for now)
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Nate's venom-soaked greeting was met with frantic chewing while Sylvain finished his mouthful of cold pad thai noodles.
"Can I help you?" He asked once his mouth was clear. He managed to keep his tone mostly even, with just the slightest gleeful lilt slipping into it.
((Sylvain Kessler continued from High Steaks))
Sylvain often ate lunch in places other than the cafeteria, largely because he liked to multitask while eating and wanted to minimize the chances of other people spilling their food on his book or project or whatever happened to have consumed his interest that day. His presence in the art studios at this hour wasn't out of place at all. Technically it couldn't be proven that he was doing anything out of line.
...Okay, the school had cameras so if Nate really wanted to make something of it, there was proof that Sylvain was the yarn bandit, but nobody could prove malicious intent.
Sylvain was situated in a corner of the room, well away from the ceramics station (you'd think with a school this size, with this sort of funding, they could afford to put in an individual ceramics studio, and then they could lock that up to keep everyone but the ceramics students out, and this kind of thing would be avoided, but anyway). He was perched on a stool like a gargoyle, crouching with his knees up while he held the container of leftovers that constituted today's lunch in one hand and his chopsticks in the other.
Shit, was this culturally appropriative to eat in front of Nate like this? Sylvain didn't even know off the top of his head if you were supposed to use chopsticks with Thai food, they'd just come with the takeout last night. Damn. Better direct the conversation away from that.
"You're not looking so hot, man. You need to lay down? I think the couch in the drama room is free."
"Can I help you?" He asked once his mouth was clear. He managed to keep his tone mostly even, with just the slightest gleeful lilt slipping into it.
((Sylvain Kessler continued from High Steaks))
Sylvain often ate lunch in places other than the cafeteria, largely because he liked to multitask while eating and wanted to minimize the chances of other people spilling their food on his book or project or whatever happened to have consumed his interest that day. His presence in the art studios at this hour wasn't out of place at all. Technically it couldn't be proven that he was doing anything out of line.
...Okay, the school had cameras so if Nate really wanted to make something of it, there was proof that Sylvain was the yarn bandit, but nobody could prove malicious intent.
Sylvain was situated in a corner of the room, well away from the ceramics station (you'd think with a school this size, with this sort of funding, they could afford to put in an individual ceramics studio, and then they could lock that up to keep everyone but the ceramics students out, and this kind of thing would be avoided, but anyway). He was perched on a stool like a gargoyle, crouching with his knees up while he held the container of leftovers that constituted today's lunch in one hand and his chopsticks in the other.
Shit, was this culturally appropriative to eat in front of Nate like this? Sylvain didn't even know off the top of his head if you were supposed to use chopsticks with Thai food, they'd just come with the takeout last night. Damn. Better direct the conversation away from that.
"You're not looking so hot, man. You need to lay down? I think the couch in the drama room is free."
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“And?”
That was all Nate could reply with, rage still within just enough to prevent anything other than single-word barks from forcing their way out of his mouth. What, was laying down meant to fix the fact that his project was covered in yarn? The fact that a whole month of work now had at least twelve hours of dedicated deshittifying added to it? Or, most pertinently, the fact that Sylvain was still in the room daring to ask about his wellbeing, holding some moldy ass pad thai?
Shit. Had he just been staring there, glowering at him? With a roll of his eyes, Nate gulped down the saliva thrashing around in his throat, the taste bitter but enough of a salve to both his wounded ego and his flushed cheeks. Fuckin’ prick, ugh, but whatever. More important things to get at, like the ruined piece.
“Doesn’t change the fact that my work got fucking trashed, man,” he continued, gesturing at what remained of it, voice kept steady still as eyes were kept narrowed.
Because fine, he couldn’t prove that Sylvain did it, not at this present moment, and he did not need to deal with his parents breathing down his neck again. That was it’s own shit, just like the mess right here, and having to deal with those twin demons was enough for Nate to back down. A bit.
Hesitantly, Nate proceeded forward, to get a closer look at the mess, and fuck. It was an even bigger mess up close, which was expected, sure, but seeing the extent to which it was submerged in such…dark materials still wasn’t comforting. With a harsh exhale, Nate closed his eyes and pressed two fingers to his forehead, in an attempt to stop from going off at the asshole right over there. Sheesh, was being a good person such a hassle.
“…You do realize how much time it’ll take for me to clean this up, right?”
There. An olive branch. Well, if Sylvain deigned to go and pick it up. Nate sure as hell wasn’t placing one in his hands.
That was all Nate could reply with, rage still within just enough to prevent anything other than single-word barks from forcing their way out of his mouth. What, was laying down meant to fix the fact that his project was covered in yarn? The fact that a whole month of work now had at least twelve hours of dedicated deshittifying added to it? Or, most pertinently, the fact that Sylvain was still in the room daring to ask about his wellbeing, holding some moldy ass pad thai?
Shit. Had he just been staring there, glowering at him? With a roll of his eyes, Nate gulped down the saliva thrashing around in his throat, the taste bitter but enough of a salve to both his wounded ego and his flushed cheeks. Fuckin’ prick, ugh, but whatever. More important things to get at, like the ruined piece.
“Doesn’t change the fact that my work got fucking trashed, man,” he continued, gesturing at what remained of it, voice kept steady still as eyes were kept narrowed.
Because fine, he couldn’t prove that Sylvain did it, not at this present moment, and he did not need to deal with his parents breathing down his neck again. That was it’s own shit, just like the mess right here, and having to deal with those twin demons was enough for Nate to back down. A bit.
Hesitantly, Nate proceeded forward, to get a closer look at the mess, and fuck. It was an even bigger mess up close, which was expected, sure, but seeing the extent to which it was submerged in such…dark materials still wasn’t comforting. With a harsh exhale, Nate closed his eyes and pressed two fingers to his forehead, in an attempt to stop from going off at the asshole right over there. Sheesh, was being a good person such a hassle.
“…You do realize how much time it’ll take for me to clean this up, right?”
There. An olive branch. Well, if Sylvain deigned to go and pick it up. Nate sure as hell wasn’t placing one in his hands.
Nate was conveniently skating over all the time that it had taken Sylvain to brighten up his basic-ass piece of pottery over there, but whatever. "Like... thirty minutes with a pair of scissors? Hour tops?" He guessed. He wasn't actually sure how long it took to de-yarn the stuff he yarn bombed; he'd never taken any of it down himself. People did that on their own if they were so inclined.
He shifted his weight on the stool. He'd mostly been sitting like that because we was waiting for someone to walk into the room. It annoyed people when he sat weirdly, for whatever reason. He could hold a crouch for a long time without getting sore, but he was kind of precariously balanced right now, what with his hands full. The stool creaked and shifted slightly with him; one of the legs was warped or slightly shorter than the others, leaving a gap between its end and the floor unless you leaned on the front of the stool.
"If you skip a class, you could probably get it done and still have time for a nap on the couch. Or run down the hall to see if the vending machine has any Gatorade." Nate's hair was brighter than his complexion normally, by merit of his hair being pink, but yikes. Even Sylvain had to take pity on a man who was suffering.
Not that Nate was likely to appreciate anything Sylvain did or said for him, because Nate had apparently had his sense of humor surgically removed as a child. An emergency operation which had saved his life, but at what cost? What cost, Nate?
He shifted his weight on the stool. He'd mostly been sitting like that because we was waiting for someone to walk into the room. It annoyed people when he sat weirdly, for whatever reason. He could hold a crouch for a long time without getting sore, but he was kind of precariously balanced right now, what with his hands full. The stool creaked and shifted slightly with him; one of the legs was warped or slightly shorter than the others, leaving a gap between its end and the floor unless you leaned on the front of the stool.
"If you skip a class, you could probably get it done and still have time for a nap on the couch. Or run down the hall to see if the vending machine has any Gatorade." Nate's hair was brighter than his complexion normally, by merit of his hair being pink, but yikes. Even Sylvain had to take pity on a man who was suffering.
Not that Nate was likely to appreciate anything Sylvain did or said for him, because Nate had apparently had his sense of humor surgically removed as a child. An emergency operation which had saved his life, but at what cost? What cost, Nate?
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See? As was his right, Nate had placed down the olive branch, and as was his right, Sylvain was the one who stooped down and picked it up, even if he was doing so in literally the smarmiest way known to man.
“…You have a point.”
Did his teeth grind while he said that? Okay, maybe, but it still didn't change the honesty of his statement. Even if he seethed under his breath as he continued to look Sylvain right in the eyes. Because, fine, it was true he could probably get out of AP Lit considering Ms. Turner pretty much wanted him as the gay son she never had, which was its own bucket of shit, but whatever. Still, even if he could fix the damage to the sculpture, what about the damage to his pride?
That was going to take some deep reflection.
Now wasn’t the time to be reflecting on the life choices that he’d made which led him up to this point, though. Instead, it was time to snip away all of the crap festooned onto his art. Grabbing a pair of nearby scissors from the nearby table with unsteady hands, Nate focused once more on the yarn monstrosity. Sticking his tongue out as he focused, he gripped the scissors tight as he reached forward and-
Missed the sculpture entirely. Nate blinked repeatedly, trying to ascertain that the sculpture was indeed right in front of him, all the while feeling the stare of no, not judgement, but something even worse: amusement. Probably.
Sucking up the feeble remnants of his pride, Nate looked back at Sylvain, all so casually perched in his stool like he probably practiced, and had all the inclination in the world to throw him the bird. Instead, he fixed him with another dead, sleep-deprived gaze.
“You could help, y’know.”
Nate was certain that Sylvain knew that fact, and that Sylvain knew that Nate knew another fact, that fact being Sylvain as a complete asshole who got off on seeing people suffer, but it wasn’t really time for facts. Rather, it was time for this nightmare to be over.
“…You have a point.”
Did his teeth grind while he said that? Okay, maybe, but it still didn't change the honesty of his statement. Even if he seethed under his breath as he continued to look Sylvain right in the eyes. Because, fine, it was true he could probably get out of AP Lit considering Ms. Turner pretty much wanted him as the gay son she never had, which was its own bucket of shit, but whatever. Still, even if he could fix the damage to the sculpture, what about the damage to his pride?
That was going to take some deep reflection.
Now wasn’t the time to be reflecting on the life choices that he’d made which led him up to this point, though. Instead, it was time to snip away all of the crap festooned onto his art. Grabbing a pair of nearby scissors from the nearby table with unsteady hands, Nate focused once more on the yarn monstrosity. Sticking his tongue out as he focused, he gripped the scissors tight as he reached forward and-
Missed the sculpture entirely. Nate blinked repeatedly, trying to ascertain that the sculpture was indeed right in front of him, all the while feeling the stare of no, not judgement, but something even worse: amusement. Probably.
Sucking up the feeble remnants of his pride, Nate looked back at Sylvain, all so casually perched in his stool like he probably practiced, and had all the inclination in the world to throw him the bird. Instead, he fixed him with another dead, sleep-deprived gaze.
“You could help, y’know.”
Nate was certain that Sylvain knew that fact, and that Sylvain knew that Nate knew another fact, that fact being Sylvain as a complete asshole who got off on seeing people suffer, but it wasn’t really time for facts. Rather, it was time for this nightmare to be over.
Sylvain sucked in air through his teeth as quietly as one could do so. He shouldn't laugh at Nate when Nate was a wreck of a human being right now, but. It was funny. Laughter was a natural urge, not just to Sylvain, but to the world at large. Laugh and the world laughs with you, et cetera.
"In a minute," he said cheerfully. He lifted his hands, drawing the attention back to his lunch and utensils. "Hands are full." Also he needed to figure out how to unfold himself to get down from this stool before he would be going anywhere. Getting up had been easy, but now Sylvain had gotten a little too clever for his own good and trapped himself on an island in a sea of gravity waiting to pull him down if he moved wrong, with no friendly tables in arm's reach on which to set his food.
He could always ask Nate to help him down if he got desperate, he supposed, but that sounded like it'd end in disaster for both of them with the state that Nate was in.
"In a minute," he said cheerfully. He lifted his hands, drawing the attention back to his lunch and utensils. "Hands are full." Also he needed to figure out how to unfold himself to get down from this stool before he would be going anywhere. Getting up had been easy, but now Sylvain had gotten a little too clever for his own good and trapped himself on an island in a sea of gravity waiting to pull him down if he moved wrong, with no friendly tables in arm's reach on which to set his food.
He could always ask Nate to help him down if he got desperate, he supposed, but that sounded like it'd end in disaster for both of them with the state that Nate was in.
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The sensation of teeth biting into tongue was familiar enough that it didn't jolt Nate any, but it was enough to prevent him from spitting something else out. Something sharp, something cutting, something filed away in his brain for use at a better date. Duly, that something was replaced with a nod to Sylvain, Nate recommitting himself to his present task.
An eyebrow remained raised, of course. He wasn't sacrificing all of his dignity.
Still, he could and as such would behave. It was easy enough, then, to put aside the simmering stew of his anger. Instead, he concentrated on his hands pushing scissors through yarn. It gave easily enough, and although the tool in Nate's hands wasn't as familiar to him as the clay encased just a few inches away, the snipping and cutting provided a steady enough rhythm for Nate to focus on this one task and no other.
Maybe there was still the faint sound of laughter stagnant in the air, and perhaps the chill of the air conditioning created goosebumps on the back of his neck, but those were easy enough to put out of his mind. Even with the jackass.
An eyebrow remained raised, of course. He wasn't sacrificing all of his dignity.
Still, he could and as such would behave. It was easy enough, then, to put aside the simmering stew of his anger. Instead, he concentrated on his hands pushing scissors through yarn. It gave easily enough, and although the tool in Nate's hands wasn't as familiar to him as the clay encased just a few inches away, the snipping and cutting provided a steady enough rhythm for Nate to focus on this one task and no other.
Maybe there was still the faint sound of laughter stagnant in the air, and perhaps the chill of the air conditioning created goosebumps on the back of his neck, but those were easy enough to put out of his mind. Even with the jackass.
Sylvain leaned forward a little, shifting his weight onto the balls of his feet. The stool shifted accordingly and creaked in warning. Well, this was a fine pickle. He could try to sit - that was the most obvious solution - but the risk there was that he might be taking up too much of the stool's surface already with the way he was crouched on it. If he lowered himself to sit properly, he might slide over the back edge and fall.
Pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek in concentration, Sylvain instead slowly started to rise, holding his arms out as he precariously stood. The stool wobbled again, uneven leg thumping against the floor. He wondered if the noise he was making was distracting Nate from the arduous task of taking a pair of scissors to some yarn.
"You think I could jump down from here without wiping out and spilling everything?" He wondered aloud, not particularly bothered if Nate didn't care to answer him.
Pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek in concentration, Sylvain instead slowly started to rise, holding his arms out as he precariously stood. The stool wobbled again, uneven leg thumping against the floor. He wondered if the noise he was making was distracting Nate from the arduous task of taking a pair of scissors to some yarn.
"You think I could jump down from here without wiping out and spilling everything?" He wondered aloud, not particularly bothered if Nate didn't care to answer him.
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“You’re welcome to try,” Nate quipped back without looking, hoping that the tone of his voice was able to imply that Sylvain was equally welcome to break his neck in the process of the aforementioned jumping. Leap, fall, and with a sickening crack, lay on the floor, silenced forever. All without Nate needing to lift even a single finger. The best of both worlds.
Pondering on that for a moment was enough to distract Nate from the scissors held by his actual fingers, and the two other courses of action he was considering. Namely, hunkering down and continuing to cut through yarn, or throwing the scissors at Sylvain’s head. On one hand, only one of those options was actually productive and led to the amelioration of this complete mess. On the other, however, throwing some scissors seemed like literally the most cathartic thing Nate could do pretty much ever. In summary, a very harrowing decision.
Of course, because landing in the principal’s office this close to graduation was nowhere near part of Nate’s senior year plans, he put down the scissors to let all the throw-at-head impulses abate. Still, it wasn’t as if he could concentrate with the surrounding commotion.
Instead, it was time to look to the fool on the stool. Leaning forward onto the table, supporting his head with his fists, Nate kept his head and eyes locked on Sylvain.
“So, you gonna jump? We haven’t got all day.”
Pondering on that for a moment was enough to distract Nate from the scissors held by his actual fingers, and the two other courses of action he was considering. Namely, hunkering down and continuing to cut through yarn, or throwing the scissors at Sylvain’s head. On one hand, only one of those options was actually productive and led to the amelioration of this complete mess. On the other, however, throwing some scissors seemed like literally the most cathartic thing Nate could do pretty much ever. In summary, a very harrowing decision.
Of course, because landing in the principal’s office this close to graduation was nowhere near part of Nate’s senior year plans, he put down the scissors to let all the throw-at-head impulses abate. Still, it wasn’t as if he could concentrate with the surrounding commotion.
Instead, it was time to look to the fool on the stool. Leaning forward onto the table, supporting his head with his fists, Nate kept his head and eyes locked on Sylvain.
“So, you gonna jump? We haven’t got all day.”
Mm. What was that phrase, the one in French that people always pontificated about when they stood on a ledge? The French had terms for all of those morbid and dreamy things, much like the Germans had long and oddly specific words that consisted of other words mishmashed together. Whatever it was, this was the prime opportunity for Sylvain to do some pontificating of his own while he rocked back and forth on the edge of the stool.
It'd drive Nate crazy, he was sure, but Sylvain couldn't remember the phrase. Ah, well. He bent his knees just slightly and then jumped.
Nate did not cheer like Sylvain thought he might if Sylvain had been standing on a proper ledge.
He didn't spectacularly wipe out, which was good, but the impact of a landing that he didn't completely stick and the stumble that followed it jarred him enough to bounce some of the food out of its container. It plopped defiantly onto the floor.
"Ah damn," Sylvain said, but he was laughing.
It'd drive Nate crazy, he was sure, but Sylvain couldn't remember the phrase. Ah, well. He bent his knees just slightly and then jumped.
Nate did not cheer like Sylvain thought he might if Sylvain had been standing on a proper ledge.
He didn't spectacularly wipe out, which was good, but the impact of a landing that he didn't completely stick and the stumble that followed it jarred him enough to bounce some of the food out of its container. It plopped defiantly onto the floor.
"Ah damn," Sylvain said, but he was laughing.
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Nate laughed too, an ungraceful guffaw far from the cool he'd been attempting to project. He made a token attempt at grace, covered his hand with his mouth, but no amount of that could disguise the laughter. Not that he really was trying to, though, especially not when he could potentially pass it off as him simply laughing along with Sylvain. A simple rib, rather than schadenfreude.
Ah, Sylvain wasn't the type to care about such things anyways. Such a blatant lack of care for one's body or reputation was not often coupled with an abundance of shame. In concert with that line of thought, Nate continued to look over at him, laughter now forming into a crooked grin, eyebrow raised in amusement rather than skepticism.
"Very impressive."
By their standards, this was the equivalent of pledging undying love to one another. Nate's parents would have been so proud. This one thing was probably but a speck in the tapestry of their animosity, but he was determined to stretch if out as long as possible.
That, or Sylvain would screw it up by virtue of being Sylvain. So, a very likely outcome.
Ah, Sylvain wasn't the type to care about such things anyways. Such a blatant lack of care for one's body or reputation was not often coupled with an abundance of shame. In concert with that line of thought, Nate continued to look over at him, laughter now forming into a crooked grin, eyebrow raised in amusement rather than skepticism.
"Very impressive."
By their standards, this was the equivalent of pledging undying love to one another. Nate's parents would have been so proud. This one thing was probably but a speck in the tapestry of their animosity, but he was determined to stretch if out as long as possible.
That, or Sylvain would screw it up by virtue of being Sylvain. So, a very likely outcome.
"I am the picture of grace and poise." Sylvain took an exaggerated bow, careful not to spill anymore of his food. He set the container on the nearest table and poked the chopsticks into the noodles so that they stood up in place, and then he went in search of paper towels.
It didn't bother him that Nate was probably laughing at him more than with him; Sylvain had never been the self-conscious sort. A lot of the time, if someone was laughing at you, they wouldn't admit it unless they were looking to pick a fight. That meant, if you were the one being laughed at, you could play it off cool, take it in stride, and you were always the good guy.
This was kind of nice though, Nate not being pushed to semi-murderous by Sylvain's very presence. To be perfectly honest, Sylvain didn't think he'd started the choppy relationship between them; Nate had always seemed like Sylvain's very existence grated on him, and well, Sylvain couldn't do anything about the fact that he existed. If that was where they were to begin with, everything he did was likely to push Nate's needle further into the Danger Zone, so he might as well keep a hand on the reins.
He wasn't into class clown antics, exaggerating parts of himself or playing up self-deprecation for a bit of goodwill. His little stumble had been just that, and coincidentally, it had a good outcome. He wasn't going to intentionally do it again, but a nice moment was a nice moment.
"What's it supposed to be, anyway?" He asked as he wiped up the fallen food in a folded paper towel. "Your sculpture, I mean."
It didn't bother him that Nate was probably laughing at him more than with him; Sylvain had never been the self-conscious sort. A lot of the time, if someone was laughing at you, they wouldn't admit it unless they were looking to pick a fight. That meant, if you were the one being laughed at, you could play it off cool, take it in stride, and you were always the good guy.
This was kind of nice though, Nate not being pushed to semi-murderous by Sylvain's very presence. To be perfectly honest, Sylvain didn't think he'd started the choppy relationship between them; Nate had always seemed like Sylvain's very existence grated on him, and well, Sylvain couldn't do anything about the fact that he existed. If that was where they were to begin with, everything he did was likely to push Nate's needle further into the Danger Zone, so he might as well keep a hand on the reins.
He wasn't into class clown antics, exaggerating parts of himself or playing up self-deprecation for a bit of goodwill. His little stumble had been just that, and coincidentally, it had a good outcome. He wasn't going to intentionally do it again, but a nice moment was a nice moment.
"What's it supposed to be, anyway?" He asked as he wiped up the fallen food in a folded paper towel. "Your sculpture, I mean."
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Nate gave a mocking round of applause as Sylvain bowed, smile somehow still on his face. Not being driven to anger by Sylvain's antics? Actually finding it somewhat entertaining? Yeah, he definitely had way too much to drink last night. There was no other explanation. Well, other than finding Sylvain's follies entertaining. Still a change from finding them infuriating, but he could deal.
Meaning he could deal with the question being levied at him by Sylvain himself, which, well, was actually a good question? That probably would've been.a good time to then go thrown in a nasty little retort, something pertaining to asking whether Sylvain ever had an interest in actual art, but Nate rarely had opportunities to ever discuss his pieces, so...
"It's a naga."
Nate motioned over to his still yarn-covered sculpture, before surmising that three words was probably not the best explanation. "They're snake-like water creatures, I guess? Meant to be divine beings in the Mekong."
Meaning he could deal with the question being levied at him by Sylvain himself, which, well, was actually a good question? That probably would've been.a good time to then go thrown in a nasty little retort, something pertaining to asking whether Sylvain ever had an interest in actual art, but Nate rarely had opportunities to ever discuss his pieces, so...
"It's a naga."
Nate motioned over to his still yarn-covered sculpture, before surmising that three words was probably not the best explanation. "They're snake-like water creatures, I guess? Meant to be divine beings in the Mekong."
"Right, the half-snake, half-human things?" Sylvain tossed the paper towel containing the remnants of the food into the trash and leaned on the table. Close enough to maintain a conversation, but still safely out of scissor range should Nate's innate desire to stab him suddenly return. Sylvain only vaguely knew where the Mekong was, assuming that Nate meant the river, so he was just not going to mention it in case it was something else entirely and also if he was totally off the mark geographically. Social studies weren't his strong point.
He could see it in the sinuous shape of the sculpture now. Snakes were classic symbolism, but what they symbolized varied from person to person, unless you were just boring and you fell back on making them represent evil. Sylvain didn't know what, if anything, naga symbolized. Probably not evil, based on what little Nate said.
"What makes them divine?"
He could see it in the sinuous shape of the sculpture now. Snakes were classic symbolism, but what they symbolized varied from person to person, unless you were just boring and you fell back on making them represent evil. Sylvain didn't know what, if anything, naga symbolized. Probably not evil, based on what little Nate said.
"What makes them divine?"
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- Joined: Wed Aug 08, 2018 9:21 am
"...What makes them divine?"
So, okay, Nate wasn't repeating the question because he didn't know the answer to the question. That point had to be made very clear. Nate, for one, wouldn't have been cuaght working on somehing he didn't know the proper context for, of course. He wasn't an idiot, after all. The question wasn't what surprised him. The fact that the question was being asked by Sylvain? That was the real doozy.
To buy time and also look contemplative as he quickly thought over the ramifications of trying to actually hold a conversation, Nate looked over to the sculpture in question, now significantly less yarn-covered. Now that he was looking over it, it became much easier to see all that was wrong with it. Needed more color there, just a little touch up here, little tweaks to really make it pop. Avoiding the white-haired elephant in the room, duh, but he was getting back to that.
"Well, they're meant to control the rivers. Like, giant balls of light rise up above the Mekong, and they're said to be the ones who make them."
Nate shrugged.
"Cool story, huh?"
So, okay, Nate wasn't repeating the question because he didn't know the answer to the question. That point had to be made very clear. Nate, for one, wouldn't have been cuaght working on somehing he didn't know the proper context for, of course. He wasn't an idiot, after all. The question wasn't what surprised him. The fact that the question was being asked by Sylvain? That was the real doozy.
To buy time and also look contemplative as he quickly thought over the ramifications of trying to actually hold a conversation, Nate looked over to the sculpture in question, now significantly less yarn-covered. Now that he was looking over it, it became much easier to see all that was wrong with it. Needed more color there, just a little touch up here, little tweaks to really make it pop. Avoiding the white-haired elephant in the room, duh, but he was getting back to that.
"Well, they're meant to control the rivers. Like, giant balls of light rise up above the Mekong, and they're said to be the ones who make them."
Nate shrugged.
"Cool story, huh?"