l’aimer toujours

[betenoir]

WHO: Renoir & OTA
WHEN: August & September
WHERE: Etraya
WHAT: Shenanigans
WARNINGS: Spoilers (Marked)





Closed by Request ⚔ Contact Me ⚔ Tagged for Spoilers

Spoilers include the end of act II and involve act III

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OTA | Sector 5 Church

[betenoir]

Act 2 Spoilers

[Two weeks after the mission, Renoir settles into a comfortable routine. He explores fascinating locations and returns to his apartment come the night. But his heart sometimes considers not returning at all. Losing his family, after reuniting in this world, threatens a descent into madness. Now he lives alone and his excursions become something to fill the void. The absence of his son is painful. The world need not be so.

Early in the morning, he enters an abandoned church deep within the city, followed by a brood of companion bots. One became two and two became three. Now three has become five. The scent of lilies and flowers infuses the air as he summons his easel and canvas. He mixes paint on his palette and chooses a clean brush - and begins working on his unfinished painting.

Those who enter will hear his low and warm voice echoing near the flowers.]

The most important element of painting is drawing. Without drawing you cannot express your emotions. If you cannot draw, you cannot create great art. But treating it as an academic exercise stifles your expression. Life is fluid and dynamic. Why should art be otherwise? It is more important to draw what you want to draw.

[He is teaching the companion bots - some wearing headbands resembling brushes - about art. Three are watching him paint. Two are squiggling random lines that show nothing of anything. His bemusement echoes; like a father being patient with his children.]

Your efforts are reasonable. But this is unfinished.

[He instructs his student by turning its paper to a fresh page.]

Try something new.

[thisisontherecord]

( Two weeks, and Lois has been cataloging the city's disparate parts. There's a certain restlessness she hadn't expected when pulled first to San Francisco, where the city lived and breathed and moved like a city, then to Etraya, which fills itself with hollow spaces and softly whirring robotic joints. Or the trolley, which has ceased its fast track to the island of snakes and the fast-food joint nestled between them.

Lois doesn't know how to sit idle. She's been reading back through the message board, building her own understanding of what's been documented there, but it's not complete, and she's not done. She needs to be out and moving in-between spending time with Clark and Jon, and everyone else she's building connections with as contacts or allies or whatever they need to be in the context of Etraya's conceit.

This church feels as abandoned as a number of other buildings, only quieter with it: floral scents drifting out along with a voice when she's close enough to hear. Lois follows the trail of both, quirking her eyebrows when she sees the source and his companion bot entourage. Is he hosting a painting class with the bots? She watches from beyond the flowers, one hand hooked in her front pocket of her slacks: she may be stranded away from her closet at home, but Roxx has been generous when she's picked through for clothing along the lines of her preferred business-casual-and-comfortable style. )

Would you say the companion bots make for dedicated students?

[betenoir]

[Renoir raises his hand, lifting his brush from the paint to ask for silence. There is no need to glance over his shoulder to paint the picture of a confident woman. Her voice had interrupted before he heard heels striking stone. Now she weaves her words deftly into his lecture, suggesting she is well practised in public speaking.

He bows his head in concession, acknowledging her with his attention directed towards his painting. Perched on a stool, he blocks the canvas, hiding her line of sight with his tall frame. The silence he asked for becomes clear when he focuses on a series of brushstrokes. The companion bots are likewise engrossed in their work.

Or is this play for them? He slides off his perch, resting his brush and palette upon the table, following which they are replaced with the cane resting against the edge.]

I believe they have the potential.

[He turns to face her but indulges in casting his gaze across his class. There is the weight of expectation in his studious face.]

But these are early days. Do you discipline a child who has just picked up a brush? No. You let them draw.

[thisisontherecord]

( He indicates for silence, and she takes that time to study his actions first, the mien of a dedicated artist, before she likewise studies the reactions and responses of the companion bots gathered around. A couple with the crowns of brushes are particularly interesting. Lois wonders if it's meant to reference anything, or if it's like the scarves she's seen on various companion bots, little markers of individuality.

The question about discipline and children hits just off to what it would have three weeks ago. Back before she'd met her alternate universe future son, which is a series of revelations that don't strictly apply to her, while likewise defining how she's approaching aspects of being in Etraya.

(She's never been a mother. Now, she is, while she isn't.) )

Tends to depend on the parent. You have to value art and the experience of learning to realize you need to step back. Let them create first.

[1a1a1a]

[Lex hasn't had to do information gathering, or scouting out places on his own for sometime, being in Etraya has certainly changed that. He wishes he had a few interns at least someone around to do some of this for him.

Not that he's incapable, but being in a lab is far more comfortable then trekking around a city.

He really should change that. Build a car? Aircraft? Super suit? Something.

That's why the companion bots certainly caught his attention, though he didn't approach the church until a bit later. He's not sure why he expected something more nefarious than ... what is this guy trying to do? Teaching some robots to paint? Who does that?

Still he's going to walk up, not to the man, but to the companion bots to take a closer look.]

How complex are the processors in these?

[betenoir]

[To learn how to draw is to learn how to paint. One must grasp the fundamentals of art by embracing it as a whole; one must understand its foundations as much as its heights.

His attention returns to his own work. But his ears prick with the opening of the door, footsteps that echo on the floor. His eyes settle on the man as soon as he enters his field of view - not so much intending to speak as to study.

But his question sounds alien. Processors?]

You ask something I cannot answer. There are people here who understand these constructs better than I.

[Processors. Processes. Functions. His mind cannot connect the dots. The constructs he is familiar with defy logic. The technology he understands and only the earliest kind of radios.]

[1a1a1a]

[Lex doesn't understand artists. He understands science.]

You don't understand them, yet you're trying to do ... what exactly? Some sort of art project?

[He especially doesn't understand the logic behind art.]

late but I finished the game and no longer fear spoilers XD

[nimbuster]

[Cloud comes here pretty frequently. He tells himself it's just to look after the flowers, even if they really don't need looking after since Aerith's magic still lingers in this place. He comes to water them and talk to them anyway a few times a week. He can't hear it if they respond, of course, and considering there's no Lifestream here, he doubts they do. But he does it anyway. For Aerith's sake.

Today he's not expecting a painting lesson for companion bots, of all things, when he arrives. He pauses near the flower bed to watch and listen for a minute or two.]

Funny place for an art lesson.

[His tone is casual and curious, not hostile.]

yeees let's mosey :D

[betenoir]

[Renoir continues painting on his canvas. He is used to people coming to watch him work, and has learned never to fear creating art with others in the room. His wife was his greatest encouragement and worst critic. He learned from her strict instructions and stopped doubting his work. She helped him unlock and explore his emotions.]

Art can be peculiar.

[Not to mention his choice of student is downright bizarre. Like the most symbolic of his work.]

Do you draw, jeune homme?

[Young man. Compared to a mountain like himself? This boy is as young as a sapling.]

~

[nimbuster]

Me? Nope. I just came for the flowers.

[For now, though, he shifts a little so he can peer at the man's canvas more closely.]

Why the bots? I bet there's plenty of people here who'd wanna learn.

OTA | Cafe Millenia

[betenoir]

[Renoir prefers the outdoors, where everything feels peaceful, though he misses the heat of summer or the pleasure of a spring breeze. He craves wine poured from a bottle and the music of an establishment that remains open until midnight.

But what he misses is what life was like before.

Now he is enjoying a table outside a cafe familiar to those he frequented before his world broke apart. Lavender grows beneath the windows, scenting the air with a calming fragrance. He stops drinking his coffee, chooses a subject and begins sketching their likeness onto paper.

Perhaps they notice what he is drawing? Or perhaps they notice he is drawing them?]

[rudelanguage]

[surely there are stranger things to sketch, but Antigone is far from mundane, either.

the little creature has slunk through some hedges like a wary thief, but all that grace and care seems to drain out of the body like she were a sieve. for a few moments, it's like she's standing idle on purpose, eyes cloudy and unfocused before some dish-clinking around the cafe makes an ear flick and sense seem to come back.

she darts her gaze around before double-taking, catching the man's eyes on her, and slowly, fur starts to bristle on her tail as a cat's would. fingers flex and clench, and she watches like a hunted thing, as though expecting some form of assault.

May as well. Fuck it. Get it over with. Grizzled fuck.]

[betenoir]

[Vibrant. Alive. Imposing.

The strange creature, roughly half his height, catches his eye because of her colour moreso than the noise. His attention fixes on her green hair, paws and claws; her white and pink fur; the bizarre mixture of tints woven into her clothing. Are those blacks, blues and oranges the colours she has chosen for herself?

His eyes drop to the notebook open upon the table. He sits upright in his seat and sketches her between glances, his curiosity the primary inspiration behind his art. The crossed pattern on her scarf makes him cock his head to the side - and that is when he is perceived in turn.

She looks tense.

He picks up his notebook and turns it around, revealing his earliest draft, communicating not with his cane but his work. Maybe she understands art. Maybe she understands nothing. It hardly matters when this moment is reality.]

[rudelanguage]

[there's a beat of blank-faced nothing before Antigone's eyes refocus and actually start to comprehend what's being shown; admittedly, first thought was it was going to be words, more things she can't understand. but that's not the cases.

connecting the loose gesture and blocking of shape and patterns takes a few seconds more before her ears flatten.]

What for?

[her voice is a little hoarse, throat dry; too much running and hiding, not enough hydrating.]

CW: Brief mention of animal blood

[godsandbats]

[The last mission took a toll on Kirk and since returning to Etraya, he’s mostly holed himself up in the Tower of Justice. So far, the few times he’s come out have always been after sundown. He doesn’t want to deal with humans if he can help it. Just do a short hunt for deer blood or a quick supplies run and that’s it.

It’s almost midnight when Kirk lands nears the cafe after succeeding in another deer hunt. Unlike Hernan, Kirk’s stamina for flight isn’t as abundant and he needs short rest stops more often. He had already wiped off the animal’s blood around his mouth and chin but some still remains on his Batman suit, namely on the normally white chest area.

He softly sighs. Another night, another meal to keep the beast at bay.

He then turns his head to the cafe. His melancholy had briefly distracted his enhanced senses and he finally realizes a person nearby]

[betenoir]

[Renoir looks busy under the lamplight. His fingers smooth down the edge of his notebook, caressing it like a lover. His brow pinches while looking down at the woman upon the page. She calls to him from her prison, and he embraces her from behind, supporting her spine against his palm.

He is drawing from memory, too devoted to ruin her by copying somebody else. This woman is someone he has loved all his life.

But the matter is complicated. Life often is and, as often does, interrupts him. He hears someone walking nearby and gently closes his notebook.]

[sonofzod]

[ The mission leaves Hernan feeling ambivalent. Though it did wonders to reaffirm is loyalty to Kirk - on that point, there's never any doubt. But everything else has left him shaken in a way he's not used to. He's sure of himself, confident in who he is and how he fits into the world.

But with Clark's arrival and Superman2 taking up space in the list of usernames on the network, Hernan's also been forced to confront the idea that he is the aberration. He'd seen the divergence point before: Jor-El losing his hand before Clark could be conceived. But the questions linger: What if Zod had been a few seconds late? What if Zod's shot missed? What kind of man would he be right now?

He hates that these things linger like a bad cloud without a moment's respite from them. He hates that it eats away at him like that lion had. Speaking of--

Hernan spots Renoir drawing from where he is in the sky and decides to replace one problem with another. He descends silently, lands gently and sits down without asking permission. ]

Who is that? [ He points to the notebook. ]

[betenoir]

[The man descends in silence, claims the opposite chair in silence. The downturn in his own expression suggests offense at a lack of decorum. But he refuses to reveal emotion after decades of insolence from a man who is far more important.

That and he suffered a lifetime of disappointment in people who look exactly alike. Now he paints to find peace, and reclaim that sense of control. Now he has to tear away his attention to attend to an inconvenience.]

Somebody else who lived here.

[Was he a member of their band of kidnap victims? Or does he resemble a son? The two share an undeniable likeness.]

[herofhopeless]

[Clive has been sitting at the cafe for a bit. He had stopped to get something to eat and get himself a coffee. The weather was wonderful, so he opted to sit outside and let the gentle sounds of nature wash over him. If Etraya was anything in times like these, it was peaceful.

He sits there, food finished, hands curled around his coffee mug, and watches the world around him in comfortable silence. Though he does have a niggling feeling he is being watched. He tries to ignore it. If something tries to attack him here, he is sure he can at least start to handle it. Decades of training beat his desire to stay still and he turns just in time to make eye contact with Renoir.

Clive blinks. Is Renoir... drawing him?

He raises a hand in a small wave before putting it back around his cup, exactly as it was before.]

Do you want me to stay still?

[betenoir]

[Renoir feels that emptiness inside him - ever exhausting, ever encroaching - growing with Verso's absence. He feels like it chases him no matter where he chooses to call, snapping at his heels. But unlike his wife he does not hide. He chooses to confront reality and clings to the familiar. He paints to discover a sense of control. He paints in order to gain command over his fear. His son will not return. He paints to forget knowing he never shall.

He raises a hand to ask for momentary silence. One elegant movement that lasts a number of seconds and he has the outline of his upper body.]

Life is spontaneous. Would I not want this picture to be so?

[Lines drawn and words remarked, he brings his hand down. He can move. He can talk.]

[sophielicious]

(She's just unwinding a little bit. Devil's Trill Sonata in her earphones, her hands busy with whatever game she decided to play that afternoon, except she catches a glimpse of the stranger with his pencil and paper. He's not writing, he's drawing... What, exactly? Look, God forgive her, she's better, but she's not perfect yet, and she's a little curious... So borrowing his optical nerve it is.

Oh. It's her. Yeah, that gives her grounds to telepathy talking since he totally invited it by drawing her and this makes sense and is normal, she's gonna mess with him just a tiny bit.)

/No, no, my eyes are 10% more captivating than that./

[betenoir]

[Renoir's brow furrows. Had he heard that? His mind, all too eager to return to the solace of drawing, ascribes it to his imagination and rebounds to his work.

Focus.

He has always found peace in drawing, in whatever he feels like painting, where he finds order in the chaos. In this moment, he is content. Little else brings pleasure these days, after losing the company of his confidante. How does one exist apart from someone to whom you are so close she feels like the other side of your heart?

In the end, drawing is similar to painting. He would say the two are intimately related - like himself and his wife. His work with a pencil is as foundational to his paintings as she is to him.]

Vivi | Sector 5 Church (Spoiler-Free)

[betenoir]

[Two weeks after the mission, Renoir settles into a comfortable routine. He explores fascinating locations and returns to his apartment come the night. But his heart sometimes considers not returning at all. His apartment is an office not a home. So these excursions become something to fill the void. The absence of his family is painful. The world need not be so.

Early in the morning, he enters an abandoned church deep within the city, followed by a brood of companion bots. One became two and two became three. Now three has become five. The scent of lilies and flowers infuses the air as he summons his easel and canvas. He mixes paint on his palette and chooses a clean brush - and begins working on his unfinished painting.

The next visitor will hear his low and warm voice echoing near the flowers.]

The most important element of painting is drawing. Without drawing you cannot express your emotions. If you cannot draw, you cannot create great art. But treating it as an academic exercise stifles your expression. Life is fluid and dynamic. Why should art be otherwise? It is more important to draw what you want to draw.

[He is teaching the companion bots - some wearing headbands resembling brushes - about art. Three are watching him paint. Two are squiggling random lines that show nothing of anything. His bemusement echoes; like a father being patient with his children.]

Your efforts are reasonable. But this is unfinished.

[He instructs his student by turning its paper to a fresh page.]

Try something new.

<3~

[ornitiers]

[Vivi takes the chance now they are back at Etraya to continue his explorations. To find out more about this place. Given it seems to serve as a base of sorts that they return to in between missions. He's wandering when he hears someone in the church, pokes his head in and sees the companion bots, his head tilting in curiosity as he watches for a moment.]

They're learning to paint?

[His curiosity gets the better of him as he takes in the scene. If these companion bots could learn something like art, maybe he could as well.]

[betenoir]

[Renoir turns his head across his shoulder. Oh, the young one. He returns his gaze to the constructs that have caught the other's curiosity.]

Non. Right now they are learning to draw.

[The fundametals for those who have never created; only been created. His own head tilts in curiosity as he watches their progress. The repeating patterns of spirals, all perfectly curved.]

One must learn to draw before they can paint.