davinky?

The big one? He’s collected the context, is pointed in the right direction of the path she’s laid out, and still a curious expression flits across his face. Had he more time in church than a library, he would have added horror. “You have a particularly unorthodox viewpoint on religion, Ms. Fehr,” he comments, for once it nearly borders on ambivalence, close to acceptance. After all this time with her, it certainly ranks low amongst the other questionable acts, including the drink that’s served, that stares back up at him.

There are a thousand protests that turn his tongue red, and a jaw that locks them down, clenching and unclenching in civil unrest. Eyes are shaped by disapproval, morphing into silent pleas. Finally, a strained sigh flares through the nose while hesitation still swims in his arm, how it gradually brings it up to his mouth before a whiff is taken, drawing back. “Is this undeniably fit for consumption?”

“thank you!” comment taken as compliment, after all who didn’t want to be unorthodox. or orthodox. or both! she figures as long as it’s not being said with a frown, there was nothing wrong with it. “i studied philosophy not religion, but it’s kind of the same thing when you really try to think about it.” she didn’t try to think about it. there wasn’t really a point, it was all in good fun back in those days. 

“it totally has to be. i mean it was made by a real bartender!” although the barrier to entry might have been low on such qualifications, she still says it for his benefit. “i bet they’d show you a license if you really wanted to ask.” this wasn’t exactly the type of party where people just showed up and did what they wanted to, that would be the one starting in a few hours down where the real clubs were. but one thing at a time. “not poisoned for sure. come on! cheers!” she tipped her shot back, swallowing quickly, almost without time to taste what she’d actually had. it was a survival instinct, to always drink what you were given, but be careful not to taste it. she looked expectantly at him to follow, “well?”

“Would be brilliant, that would. Could always have a bit of a swim in about anything, yeah?” What did he know about fashion or clothes at all? A cover-up conjured up about as much to him as anything else, something in the mind that resembled a dressing gown, something to wrap around her with a little belt at the waist. Nothing much to it but the most basic outline. “Don’t think she’d let me have a quick gander if that was all there was to it, do you?” he asked, a grin tickling his face in jest before hiding it up behind a drink.

There was a great many deal of things to share. Clem brings up the idea straight from the back of his head, a smile left behind from the dig, as easy to uncover as the rest. “Course! Though, won’t be able to say no if she wants it all to herself, have to say. Will have to make it out to the both of us otherwise, yeah? The duchess and me.” It had a particular ring to it, one that echoed through the glow offered up to the artist in front of him. “Nothing to worry yourself over. Wouldn’t dream of taking her cover-up away from her! Would make me a bit of a rogue, it would. Can’t have that any.”

if there’s one thing positive to be said about clementine fehr, it’s that she’s always been a good sharer. perhaps it was the birthright of a twin to always know that they were going to have to give up at least half of whatever it was they wanted. the concept of having to share anything is readily and whole heartedly agreed upon, expect under one circumstance— “you definitely have to ask. otherwise it’s not really a gift.” sage wisdom, colored by a banana milkshake. 

but the advice finds itself lost as her mind flits over to the next topic that’s been presented. there’s something fancy about being called duchess, better suited to art than some other pet names might have been. it was a shiny object to hold attention. of course cal was dating a duchess, he had a british accent after all. “gotta respect her boundaries.” spoke from a girl who doesn’t know the meaning of the word. “duchesses have a lot of authority over rogues,” or was it elves over dwarves? she could never keep all the different types of d&d games straight. “could make a really big mess of the situation i’ll tell you that.”

He has never bred the words she thinks are befitting to his character, and it allows him, if for only one fleeting moment, to ponder their true origins and how they are related to her impression of him. As it evaporates, he is no closer to reaching a conclusion, and its remnants are left scattered and abandoned like wreckage across his face in curious forms. “No, I don’t believe I would express myself in that manner,” he tries to correct, but it is forged weakly, veins of future ruin imminent. There is no Scott that he is able to recall, at least not one of personal association. It grows to be a moot point; she is headed towards the very object he has tried to warn her of.

“It’s no intent of mine to stifle your… mood, Ms. Fehr,” he attempts, following hopelessly after, “but in this particular instance, it appears to be my bounden duty to repeat my grievances with this endeavor.” Are they having a great time, though? The blinking of his eyes betrays his rippling confusion before the vision flickers away, returning just as swiftly. “I suppose we are to a fair extent,” he mumbles in agreement, as if a louder volume is too great for the words to handle, but it doesn’t smooth out the lines that are forming across his brow. “With that being said, wouldn’t it be prudent to see it as an indicator that this is an unnecessary addition to the evening?”

“there’s no grief!” how could there be at a halloween party! she could think of a lot of different adjectives for it, spooky, terrifying, spiritual, terror laden— and the list went on. but that was the whole point! and even better, he agreed! if they were having a good time then there was only one answer, to ride it until the wheels fell off. and even then it might be able to skid a few more feet. the drinks were set down in front of them, little to answer for except that if she wasn’t taking one then she’d take two. 

“when there’s an open bar, that’s a sign from the big one.” there was no such thing as an unnecessary addition. if that was true, then life would have been something else entirely. something much sadder, and it wasn’t any more. it was all the good things that it could possibly be. “to not be a prude. come on— bottoms up!”

“Don’t know the half of it. Clever as it gets! Runs circles ‘round the lot of us, she does.” Proud of her as if she was his and his alone, utterly without claim yet acting as if it was a matter of destiny instead of marriage license. It was the daydreamer’s will. He was in good company, fanning the clouds, spreading them further together until crashing them into reality. “Might need a new bather to wear, she might. Been trying to have her take a swim with me for the longest. Might just do the trick, all this,” he added with a charmed grin, somehow boyish in its playful virtues.

“Could do with a plaque,” he encouraged, enthralled already by the idea with a fist propping up the side of his head in thought. “Adds on to what she has hanging already that way, yeah? Makes it a bit of her collection, that does. An original Clem, hasn’t got one of those yet! Time to change all that, innit?”

“girls do love clothes.” there’s nothing concrete in her statement, the kind of nebulous shrug that just means that she likes buying new clothes. it was the whole reason why she’d tried her hand at costume designing, the pops of color. “i can’t make a swim suit, but i could totally make a cover up.” something crocheted with flowers to match. call that an installation and collaboration— she was nearly warhol. 

“that’s perfect! i mean if she’s a collector, what’s a better gift?” people liked to have unique things, and she liked to help work on them. life was about the experiences, no matter where they came from and what they lead to. “she’s so welcome to have the first original clem.” although she’s not quite sure who the she in question is, it doesn’t exactly matter. the point is not to add to a gallery, but to help cal. and he seems just as excited at the prospect. “i mean it’ll kind of be yours too, if you wanted to share.” different plaque names pop in to her head, all dependent on his answer. was it for a woman, was it for a couple, only one person knew and it wasn’t her. “the cover up can be all hers though.”

One curse word is the equivalent of a verbal gunshot. It smacks into Fabian, rippling down his spine to crook it back from its straight posture. His skeleton is a rigid mess, sinews knotted up in the face while his eyes remain on her, unable to stray. “Ms. Fehr, please, if you could lower your tone,” he began, words molded to be swept away, “if for only whilst you are representing my image…” He has no choice left but to release his breath in a heavy sigh, the closest to accepting of some apologetic secret. “It’s quite all right, now that you know.” There is no worm wriggling inside of his heart to hold against her, a parasite of a different nature threatens its being instead, another in the form of whatever devil’s dose may entail.

His face looks exactly to one who has caught a lemon wedge in their mouth before having it lit on fire to breathe in its smoke. “If you’d allow me to say, it may be wise to consider why such a concoction would ever be named something as dreadful as that before consuming it. Surely, it must be as horrendous as it’s implied to be. I implore you to reconsider, Ms. Fehr. I would be more than willing to retrieve a glass of water for you, if necessary.”

“oh my god— you’re so right!” she pulled at the lapel of her own suit, trying to straighten her posture that had started to grow lax as the conversation continued. fabian would have never slouched, or said a bad word. she was totally letting the act fall, no way to win best costume like that. “totally falling behind here. what would you have said? maybe like great scott!” she thinks about it for the same ten seconds that she gives every other thought in her mind, and then dances on to the next subject. he accepts her faux paux, she has made the adjustment. 

“a horrendous concoction.” she thinks about the description that he gives the drink, it sounds perfect for halloween. they must have thought about that when they picked it. “well now we totally have to try it. allow me.” with a laugh and flourished gesture, she took off towards the bartop to order the drinks that fit the mood so well. “two devil’s doses, my good sir.” she requested, winking at her addition to the statement. that sounded exactly like something fabian would say. uncanny, even. “can’t drink water at parties, total foul. it’d kill the mood completely— and we’re having a great time!”

She cheered as if she had won some notable prize, but all there was to give was Fabian’s confused gaze, his nebulous expression that was caught straining for reason, the stiff body language of a man who could not climb around his concrete walls. There was nothing left to do but watch as his handkerchief was taken as decoration instead of intended use. “No, Ms. Fehr,” he began in desperate breath in face of her glowing smile, twisting the muscles of his face as if indicating pain. “Forgive me, but that was meant to be used to freshen your… Well, your choice of beverage has stained your… mouth.” The last word landed oddly, an embarrassment that had the strangest aftertaste, swept aside with a blink of the eyes before his arms crossed over his chest.

His brows knitted together, unsure of the name she spoke, even less sure of the touch to his shoulder. “I regrettably believe you’re mistaken, Ms. Fehr. Fraulein is now considered a mildly offensive term for a German woman.” His arms pulled in a little tighter, shrugging off the remnants of the feeling leftover from the tap, only to have his nose flare slightly at her last words. What was he meant to say back to such statements that clearly must have been coerced from her drink? He stood for a moment, eyes wondering where to land their focus before settling on her face after a belated moment. “That is…” they glanced off before returning, new breath in his lungs, “considerate of you to say, but may I find you a glass of water before those words belong to another who is less understanding of their true meaning?”

“always happens.” she made no attempt to try and do anything about the stain that he was referring to. there was no point in worrying about dying your tongue a particular color. if she stressed about that sort of thing she would have had to give up ring pops long ago, an unthinkable tragedy. “koolaid, snow cones.” the list could have gone on given time and attention span, but she took another sip of drink instead as though that emphasized the point better. “inescapable.” she nodded at her own explanation as though she was giving sage advice about her current state, that there was simply nothing to be done. 

“offensive? shit!” wide eyed with disbelief, she knew fabian would never lie to her and so had no option but to assume that she had been offending everyone the entire time. that she had committed some inexcusable thing that now bound them together, only processing binary thought. “don’t tell anyone— we used to say it in class like all the time.” there was no reason to think that harm could befall her in those few years spent running through fields and drinking dorm made wine and moonshine. really now, all that concerns her is that there is an issue for fabian really. though she isn’t sure which of the phrases has him turned around so much that he’s talking about water. “the party’s barely started! water would totally kill the buzz!” she hardly drank it as it was. when faced with all of the opportunities that awaited at every gas station and soda fountain, why would anyone settle for normal water. “they’ve got something called the devil’s dose i haven’t even tried yet.”

He was at a loss for words, stupefied into silence with no immediate answer that would do justice to what feeling he had. He was most certain that ‘like’ was not the key, but he also could not wrap around 'hate’ either. There was only one word bobbing from the wreckage of an expanded lexicon that could be grasped, the liferaft that was riddled in holes. “I’m flattered,” he muttered, shifting eyes to her fingers and the drink that dyed them before his own hand slipped to his breast pocket. “As it was intended to do so, Ms. Fehr, but not in those specific terms.” His handkerchief was held out for her, a wariness to the gesture, as if the worry of her touch was bleeding through as much as the punch would. “For the sake of the festivities, I’ve decided to emulate Immanuel Kant.” His brow furrowed for a moment before smoothing out with a nod, a memory coming to the surface. “I believe you mentioned to me before that you had studied philosophy, which is why you may have already recognized the direction behind the costume.–Although, that is not to say that mine reflects the same nature as yours, in terms of the motivating thought.”

“flattered! yes!” she cheered again as if this was the resounding success she’d been hoping for. and she had, really. why else would you dress up like someone if you didn’t want them to like it. she took another sip of her drink, letting the red stain her mouth although that was decidedly un-fabian like to do so. finally the handkerchief made its way into her vision, and she took it simply to tuck it in next to the pocket square that she already had. this one was more authentic though, she’d be happy to explain it to anyone who cared to ask. 

“ah! fraulein kant.” she tapped his shoulder as it it were the exact sound of two puzzle pieces clicking together. “i had to write a paper on envy once and definitely used him, totally remember.” remember the name at least, the content of the paper was lost to the ages. the kind of thing that was written in one sitting with the hopes of cohesion to never again be legible. “yup, i can totally see it now.” his line about the motivation didn’t make much sense to her, weren’t they all there with the motivation to dress up for the party. “that’s too bad about motivation. would have been able to say that you love kant as much as i love you!

Her hands rose up, and instinct overtook him, taking a step back in primordial uncertainty to what action would possess her next. To see that she was only showcasing the garment that she had donned was met with mixed finality, ultimately, although slowly, reclaiming the ground he had surrendered. The distance between them was maintained, and start of conversation redirected his attention, back to the matter at hand.

“I beg your pardon,” he began with confusion. “Am I correctly inferring that you have chosen me as the inspiration behind your costume? For what purpose?” Surely it couldn’t be left to ego alone to come to such a conclusion, but the resemblance was… unnerving in a manner, almost as unnerving as the idea of familial relations. “It would most certainly–” he paused, a short breath consumed to reroute, a blink to refresh, a nod to continue, “be… peculiar.” Wretched. Another blink, another adjustment of weight shared against his feet. “You and I… and Mr. Fehr… are better suited as we currently are, which is as radical as the three of us should be allowed to be.”

“do you like it!” she was delighted, the happiness apparent all over her face. he got it right and he was totally shocked. that was enough for her, giving him the little excitement for the night. “it was just meant to be.” she took a drink from her cup to prevent any further spilling, giving him time to decide if he wanted to be a member of the fehr family. “you are totally radical as is.” she nodded as though that was the purpose of the statement he made, and not the rejection that it in fact was. that was alright, she wouldn’t know what to do if he was her other brother— would she have to pick a favorite then? would theo get jealous? way too much drama for halloween. “you’ve got the wrong suit on anyways” she pointed at his costume, because it was a costume party and that’s what everyone simple had to do. the notion that he hadn’t dressed up didn’t cross her mind. “this one makes you look more philosophical, less lawyer-y”

“Had a hand in all that, Monet did, didn’t he?” He chuckles, lightness in his lungs, wonder in his breath. Something of flowers in a pond, a bridge, maybe. It stirs familiar images enough to stitch together into a masterpiece before it lands off to the side. Ophelia takes up more room. “All to do with Shakespeare, this one,” he goes on. “Has it hanging up in her wing. Standing proud, it is!” What did he need to know of tragic backstories? This was no suicide attempt; it was splendid peace, a dip in the water with fresh blooms surrounding her. “Wouldn’t mind her having a swim in it, flowers in her hair and all.”

He looks to be beaming, a proper sun to melt all the milkshakes at their booth while his arms fold atop the table. “Can’t have you doing all this for naught,” he tells her with a smile plastered on. “Has to be something you fancy, yeah?”

“totally. she’s like really smart.” the mention of shakespeare was some academic stamp of approval, as if all it took was the ability to read through a play. hamlet was long though, that had to count for something. “she’ll definitely get it.” lots of colorful flowers, most of them going in the pool.  “it’s like the pinnacle of romance, you know?”

she takes another sip of the shake in front of her— birthday cake maybe, and looks like she’s in thought. but when she speaks, the track is simple “it’s like an art installation. i’ve never done one.” and that alone is the reason to do one. her life is just an endless bucket list, where she takes on the challenges as they come and spurs the narrative on. if she could do it and the opportunity presented itself, why shouldn’t she. “i mean it’s just for two people but i like art. i’ll put up a plaque.”

@clemfehr​

“Ms. Fehr,” he begins carefully, eyes still processing what is displayed in front of him, a vague sense of familiarity in a blue suit and tie, the briefcase that is near, but is ultimately grappling with the answer. “Would you mind elaborating on whom it is that you are meant to portray?”

“c! found you!” she threw her hands up in excitement, showing off the suit that she’d found while thrifting. it looked so like the ones that she saw fabian in every day, and that was the end of it. she’d wanted to wear it anyways, halloween was a happy occurrence. the kind of think that happened when fate met blind optimism, sailing through guided by dim thoughts that it would all work out. “it’s like looking in a mirror right! how great is this!” she adjusted the tie with one hand, sloshing her glass of punch over already red dyed finger tips. “we could be twins, well triplets— that’d be radical.”

“Brilliant, that! Would’ve never thought to. All magic and mystery, that is.” Who is he to doubt the possibility of dyeing flowers? Sounds all right by him, can’t think of anything that would go against it, it surely is beyond him to know how, so why would there be a why not? “White ones, aren’t they? The daisies, yeah? Bet they take color like a dream.” And doesn’t that just settle it? Always with a plan B, they are.

“Leave it up to you! Have the run of the place, you do. Could leave it a surprise for the both of us, you could! Bit of a treasure hunt of sorts. Have to follow the scent to have a look at them, yeah? Could even have them floating in the pool. Would do some good with that, it would. Has a painting like that, she does.”

“totally.” she didn’t know for sure, or if it was the kind of fact that she’d known at some point, it was no longer made of anything concrete. his reasoning felt sound enough for her, white shirts to tie dye wardrobes, flowers in the same light. “daisies are a dream.” and just like that, the alliteration has shattered any pattern of thought, another milkshake is taken up with a long sip. 

she tends to have the run of any place she enters, the idea of boundaries or propriety never exactly solidified. the time in which it might have happened, those foundational years in virginia, had no roots. and so she nodded along at the idea of taking over cal’s house as though it were her own. a playground where in the only requirement was that there were flowers. “you want a surprise too! i can do that.” words said without any thought to back them up, but she was sure that it would come to fruition all the same. good things always did. “flowers in the pool! you’re a genius.” there was a dim recognition that the idea did come from artwork, but she could only think of one, “that’s so monet.”

His head twists around, as if the thought is too heavy for one side of his head, a lone marble that rolls a little too far right and makes the eyes shift to somewhere close to the ceiling just beyond her head. Somewhere the answer is up there, but he’s not able to make heads or tails of it. It leaves him with just a laugh before grinning back, the axis is restored as he looks at her with empty hands. “Don’t know! Bit of a mystery, innit? Could take her pick of the lot to take with her. Solves some of that, it does.” What a silly thing! But he finds nothing silly at all with her story, just amusement. “Shame, that! Didn’t get a single bite out of it neither? Smell all right, they do, yeah? Couldn’t be too much of a bother.” In truth, he doesn’t know what the difference between clementines and oranges are, was picturing glistening fruit all the same.

“Bright colors, yeah? Could do with a bit of that!” He’s nodding, taking the moment to picture them, slowly coming to the realization that her favorite isn’t really all that known. “Should get her a few of everything,” he goes on, still nodding. “Wears a splash of perfume, she does. Couldn’t tell you what flower it’s from. Nothing like a clementine, it isn’t,” he teases with a grin before pushing over another malt on her side of the table, slowly but surely putting all of them on a path to her. “House isn’t locked up any. Couldn’t have you sneak in to set it together, could I?”

“oh it was totally funny. they were great at first.” there’s no reason on dwelling in the aftermath, even if it had involved hard work on someone else’s part. it hadn’t been hers. dimly aware of the repercussions of her actions only in the moment. if she survived it then everything was fine. they were great at first, what else mattered. and look at that, she had her apartment back and now she was helping with picking out flowers. she doesn’t know the name of most flowers, retained by sight alone she only focuses on the common ones. 

“everything.” she nodded sagely, as if it was even a possibility to accomplish such a task in a single afternoon. she took a sip of the first malt that had been offered to her. to an outside viewer, they could have almost been convinced that there was a rational thought flowing through her head. but then her mouth opened, “if they don’t have everything i’ll tie dye a bunch of daisies. then you can have every color.” another sip is taken. “can i pick the room?”

He was all ears, even above the many glasses of fizzy concoctions that littered the booth they sat at. Not a one of them had a drop of alcohol in them, but they were undeniably delicious, adorably bubbly and creamy, choosing to treat them both to one of each on the menu board. Clem, for the moment, had his undivided attention with both of his forearms brought up to fold over the table, interested smile of curiosity surfacing. “Could have a room filled with them next chance I see her,” he added, painting the image in his head before tilting up. “Can’t have too much of them, though, yeah? Might just lose her in them. Pretty enough to blend right in, she is.”

flowers, blooming bright and bursting with colors that she can’t even label. there a rainbow spread out across her mind until she hits the color orange and then she takes a sip of her shake. “wait. how do you get them out then?” reality crashes in with a particular tone that isn’t hers at all, but rather one she’s adopted from a friend. “one time i had a room of clementines, totally rotted.” only remembered because she hadn’t really even fully moved out of tommy’s apartment. her stuff was scattered throughout the floors of the building. but she was a fehr, she landed on her feet, usually in slip on vans.“we had to call a guy.” 

and he definitely couldn’t lose her, that would defeat the whole purpose of the gift. “like a bouquet of flowers? i like sunflowers. and daisies,” thoughts rotated through the different options that would be available. funnily the mind didn’t alight on the possibility of roses, the most obvious of the answers. “and chrysanthemums.” punctuated with another sip, crafting a bursting vase of sunshine and light. she didn’t really know the woman, but who could turn that down. “any of those sound good?” 

“okay i’m thinking.” she was not. something about los angeles stopped the small degree of rational thought that her life on the east coast had been valiantly trying to ingrain in her. the smog seemed to be a trigger for a backsliding of maturity, leaving her swirling a straw in her chocolate milkshake, circling around conversations like girlfriends and what to wear. “does she like flowers?” if the question was what kind of gift made for a good surprise, her answers would have tended to be a little bit more extreme. but she was trying to be a good sport, “definitely a safe bet.”

His own words boomeranged back to him, forged and used against him in the kindest of daggers. It did not mean that it wasn’t capable of producing the same amount of damage as any other weapon of a more malicious intent. To have them be wielded by Clementine Fehr was danger itself. “It most certainly should not be taken as my acceptance to the invitation either,” he corrected, attempt of a dodge to avoid bloodsport, winding up with a nick instead. He hadn’t asked for anything from her, but she gave anyways. She opened her arms to him to share drinks, opened her past to share stories to pair with them. “Ms. Fehr, I don’t mean to amend your retelling of your own memory”–he was convinced, if offering him Italian mouthwash and tales of continuous drinking were any indication by themselves, that her recollection had been tampered with–“but you must mean your days at university; you were much too young to even purchase the alcohol required had you been any younger.” And yet, in his heart of hearts, he knew that she would, without fail, have found a way.

“Where on earth have you imagined them originating?” He was without breath, all of it huffed out in an exasperated sigh, arguing a topic he had no claim over its knowledge, except the very fundamentals that all were meant to possess. Common knowledge was not very common indeed. “They do not amass from nothingness.” Another sigh, and it was taken and twisted and released like a projectile, piercing him in the chest, enough to make him nearly choke on that spoken nothingness. “It is far removed from a great idea!” he protested. “What I mean to address, Ms. Fehr,” he continued, lowering his voice from its sudden inclination, “is that you are gravely mistaken. My apartment is furnished with only one bedroom. It would be completely unsuitable for you.”

The idea was unsuitable, unfathomable, and undeniably terrifying, similar to how driving a hole through the wall was a means for communication. “Of course I did not greet him! Encouraging that type of feckless behavior is strictly irresponsible! He has been nothing short of a menace, wreaking havoc in his rampages against society!”

“what? no. totally no.” although she gave his question a thoughtful pause, as though maybe he was the one who had the facts right despite not ever being there. it would have been funny if he had been, lurking in the corner of her llife the whole time without her ever realizing it. “high school for sure. because you had to drink it under the football bleachers.” no, virginia was to the best of her recollection, a fabian free state. and so was the memory. it would ahve been fun though, an addition to the group of ragtag artists and skaters that made up the core of the fehr friend group. he probably would have liked the wine. strawberry! who didn’t. “it was totally chill, the corner store guy didn’t really believe in checking id.” practically family by the time they graduated. 

“woah— nothingness. that’s deep.” easily guided from one topic to the next, readily commenting on anything that fabian might have found peculiar about her thoughts. amassed from nothingness. if she had a pen she would have written it down, but it was doomed to slip into the next of her memories, and then washed out completely with the dawning of the next day. the rejection of her wish to stay with him was glossed over with the same shrug of in difference, she couldn’t see why people needed more than one bedroom, but it was what he said. “you think i need more than one bedroom? me and theo shared forever.” and now shared again, the way some twins always tended to be. uncertain of where one ended and the other began, a likeness in so many traits that she didn’t see much a need for her own space even once it was offered to her.