etrayalogs | l’aimer toujours

More than usual these days. But surely I would disrespect you more by being flippant?

[His tone remains solemn and thoughtful. It is an attempt to communicate. But he does honestly realise he has suffered from a lack of human interaction since before coming here.

The olive branch of sharing his own mood is as much as he can manage to offer.]

I believe most would not welcome such insincerity.

[He could ignore this man but does not. He could dismiss him but he listens. He could deny his feelings but accepts them.]

Edited 2025-08-29 04:24 (UTC)

[ He could call it disrespectful, but he doesn't. Ultimately, he doesn't care about Renoir's mood. Especially if his melancholy stems from a son who has gone home. There's nothing to be done about that. Etraya won't let him escape the bounds of the bubble. He's tried. ]

I don't think it matters much.

[ Not to the people here. They all have their own problems and one sad old man is likely not one of them. Hernan, however, feels a bit differently. ]

I want to ask you something.

Take a seat.

[He does not fear easily. He has little to feel concern for with the gift of her protection. But he has always feared more for his family than himself.

No, that would be dishonest. He fears losing more family.]

I know why you are here.

[Not for the wounds he had inflicted but the fact their encounter happened there, in a place where one's mind was not their own. Still, disrespectful is declining the invitation to take a seat and talk. There are manners to be respected for this man well as himself.]

[ Hernan regards the old man -- deceptively ordinary in how he presents himself. Any other day, any other time, he would not have spared Renoir a second glance or thought or spared a moment to consider who he might be under all of that mystique. Other people outside of his orbit never truly concerned him, outside of preventing their untimely gruesome deaths.

Not until he came here and they had to become his concern.

He shouldn't, but he sits. ]

You're a mind reader too?

[ That isn't what he was going to ask, but the amused quirk of his lips proves for a moment the more serious matter can be set aside for some levity. ]

I need not read your mind to understand your interest, monsieur.

[Renoir politely says, cocking his head to the side. His emotional distance allows a similar impression of being unconcerned by people unless they enter his orbit. There is a simple order to his world that can be summed up in a phrase.

La famille avant tout. Family before all.]

[ Perhaps not. It didn't take any special detective work to understand Hernan's curiosity. He'd arrived with all of the bravado of a man not used to having any push back against his abilities. Not any that could do so much damage that he had to retreat to avoid being killed.

The idea sits distastefully in his mouth. ]

What did you do to me?

[Fingers delicately rest along the upper edge of his sketchbook, his opposite hand balancing its weight by cusping the spine. He lowers it flat across the table; a drawing masterfully crafted from charcoal. Blacks seep into grays, greys bleed into various shades of white.

The colors all dissolve together to the point the work resembles a painting.

His fingers are stained with the medium, used as brushes to create and communicate. The blackness brings to mind the magic that had surrounded his cane.]

Nothing that I would have done had you left me in peace.

[Actions have consequences. But being a fair man he raises his hand.]

But I understand most were suffering a lapse in their conscience, if not their judgement.

[The fact he is speaking openly might suggest he knew what he was doing.]

[ The image is beautiful and Hernan does spare a moment to admire it. He'd never bothered with the arts. It seemed a trivial, meaningless pursuit, all things considered. His pursuits were more self indulgent than anything. Beautiful women, soft beds, luxury vacations. Nothing that required any sort of introspection, like he imagines Renoir's artwork needs.

He spends too much time in his head as it is. He certainly did not need to do it as a hobby too.

He shakes his head, unsatisfied with the answer. ]

That's not what I meant. I am invulnerable. [ Typically. Unless exposed to red sunlight or kryptonite. That Renoir could make him bleed sits sourly on his stomach. He doesn't imagine Renoir carries kryptonite on him, thought the thought had crossed his mind. They were strangers and as far as Hernan could tell, Renoir had no knowledge of his weaknesses. Unless someone told him. Still, the question sits unanswered: ]

What did you do to me?

I would be glad to explain. But considering your aggression, I would hope you understand my reluctance to put myself at a disadvantage.

[This might not offer the answer the other needs, but he affords the younger man respect by granting him honesty. He has wasted enough time watching people around him lie. There are people he must be able to protect - and if he must protect them from this man then so be it.]

But I am not violent without reason. [He begins wiping his fingers with a rag.] I am perfectly content to let others be unless they make themselves my enemy.

[And he sounds tired - like humans in general have tried doing that.]

Edited 2025-09-27 03:27 (UTC)

[ Hernan should have expected this. He had not been exactly nice to Renoir, and he's come into this with his usual 'bull in china shop' approach because he's always left the diplomacy to Bekka and Kirk. He could salvage this. Play nice and appeal to Renoir's ego, but that leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He could still play nice, though. ]

I am not your enemy yet.

[ But I can be is a thought he pushes down. ]

I'm only trying to understand a little bit more about my own biology.

[Renoir scrutinises Hernan without emotion and indulges in silence for a while. This man wears the mask of a liar - a mask he knows intimately thanks to his son - after showing him a mask of bravado and arrogance.

He angles his head and lowers his brows.]

Your biology? Forgive the observation but you look human to me.

[Then again, one could say the same about him.]

[ Until his powers came, Hernan thought himself as ordinary as any other boy. But the truth is? Hernan's no more human that Renoir is. He never was. ]

I am Kryptonian. The last of my kind.

[ Clark and Jon notwithstanding. ]

[Renoir says nothing for a moment. He looks pensive about the subject.]

I imagine such knowledge carries a large burden.

[I imagine. Hernan has chosen to talk, but he has chosen to utter nothing observational or presumptive. How can he when he barely understands this man? It would be disrespectful. His low voice simply mirrors the understanding of how heavy some burdens can be.]

[ It did, if he were honest. Not just knowing he was the last Kryptonian, but that his father is the person responsible for his current state. It's something he hasn't dealt with directly. He doesn't want to.

But he shrugs like it doesn't matter. ]

I've learned to live with it.

[ A glance at Renoir. ]

But you understand why I'd like to know how you were able to hurt me when that's usually not the case.

[The need for answers. He understands that, too. He cants his head towards his shoulder. How can he share his knowledge without revealing too much?]

My world has a unique geography. [He murmurs to himself, uncertain geography is the right word.] One cannot find the energy that exists there within anything like this sun.

[He gestures his hand towards the false heavens of this place.]

I suppose you have your own word to describe such force. For myself it is simply what it is, and I am simply what I am.

[Human?]

[ The answer is. Puzzling. And he spends a few quiet moments with it to see if he could make sense of what Renoir means. If it didn't feel so absurd, he'd almost say Renoir meant magic. But that's bizarre. Too bizarre to be correct. ]

It was magic?

[ But it wouldn't hurt to ask. ]

[Renoir bows his head in thought.]

Other people describe it as such.

[He flattens his manner and allows his words to become the end of everything. His abilities are neither magic nor science. But he simply accepts their reality - their blessing as a gift - for what they are. What use has he for explanations when he knows the cause?]

[ He thinks about that moment Kirk found him, beaten and nearly torn to shreds on the porch of that little house they shared on Earth and it just feels so absurd to be brought so low by cheap parlor tricks. He almost laughs, could feel the start of it bubbling up his throat. But he cuts it short, so the sound is a fleeting kind of tch instead.

There'd been nothing cheap about it at the time. Another weakness to consider. He frowns and cannot help but wonder if there are anymore he should be concerned about. Renoir wouldn't know, so he's not going to bother. ]

What do you describe it as, señor?

[ Look at him, being respectful. ]

I hardly describe it as anything. Reality is what it is.

[Except when it's not. But he has already started offering considerations and opinions and it feels nice to discuss home. Though he cannot claim his world is perfect.]

Like I mentioned, my world has unique geography, so for me all this is normal. But I suppose you might consider it a form of manipulating reality.

[His voice is low and warm, a murmur of thought and nothing more.]

[ Reality that intrudes on Hernan's. That warps it and turns it inside out and upside down and sideways. Reality that means Hernan has to change the way he moves in the world because he cannot always bend it to his will. He cannot because sometimes the world snaps back. ]

It must be normal for mine as well, for me to be weak to it.

[ He frowns. Deeply. ]

[Renoir tilts his head towards his shoulder. This man speaks like reality is something that intrudes on your level, rushing towards you from either side, rather than being imposed from above.]

Doubtful. [He speaks with the certainty of a man who understands why.] But it is what it is.

[Reality. His words cycle the same phrase he spoke the minute before.]

[ It is what is it is. He hates that saying. Because it did not apply to him. At least, it never used to. He could bend the world to fit, strong arm it into place. And now he cannot. Because there are people, there are things that can stop him.

It makes him feel. Unsure.

He hates that too. Hernan needs a moment or two by himself and he very nearly takes off without a word, but he decides to be polite. ]

Thank you for your time.

[ And then he's gone, taking off straight up into the sky with a boom. ]

l’aimer toujours

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lost the notif

No worries! <3

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