aged / ageless

LIVING. How does one truly live? Perhaps it is simply a decision to be made, a change of the mind to see things in a brighter light rather than to wake up and feel lost. SILVER FEELS LOST. Had for near centuries now, JUST EXISTED simply for the reason to exist. He should get a fucking hobby, painting? Maybe music. Or maybe he should just find himself a partner who could paint the world with him. 

“Yeah, that might be a problem. I don’t really know how. Breathing is easy enough, but the whole living thing. Never really got a hang of it” 

THERE IT IS, the signature smile of John Silver. Charming, a way to try and make his own situation into a laughing matter. Pretend as if it DOES NOT MATTER, even if it bothers him more than he is willing to admit. 

her brows arch,   torn between amusement or skepticism.   for better or worse  ( given the state of the world these last few centuries, usually worse )  they’ve known each other quite a while.    she knows never to take silver’s smiles at face value   ;   he is never genuine unless he’s in pain, and even then, it’s usually against his better judgement.     evelyn laughs anyways, giving him what he wants, even if an eyeroll comes along with the package.

𝙸𝚃 𝚂𝙴𝙴𝙼𝚂 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙽𝙴𝚆 𝙵𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙳 𝙷𝙰𝚂 𝙰𝙻𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝚈 𝙻𝙾𝚂𝚃 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚃, 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙸𝚂 𝙼𝙾𝚅𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙾 𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙽𝙴𝚆 .  gustave hurries to catch up , he doesn’t want to be left behind , now the bottoms of his trousers have been rolled up , and are slowly drying in the sun .    he’s never heard of anyone describing bones as stubborn before ,  though he learned the names of all of them in his lessons .   in fact bones weren’t usually discussed at all ,   except on the unfortunate and rare occasion that someone had been given to breaking one .  “   –  I see . “  comes the polite response ,  he takes her word  at face value , he’s at the age too  , though the flower in his hair makes him smile .  it’s before the age of superheroes ,  he doesn’t have a reference either way .   “   then you’ll always be safe , even if you are very hurt  . “  and that , as far as gustave is concerned , is a good thing .  his face lights up now ,  soon he is on the ground with her too , which he finds much more comfortable , twisting off the stems of flowers , that catch his eye . “  look at these !  “  excitement colours his voice  , thrusting a few blooms in her face .   “  and these !  “ 

she is fickle in her fascinations,   the same way most children are.   it makes it easier to keep pace with them...  and petit gustave doesn’t seem to mind.   a steady broadening of her smile plays off of sparkling eyes.     evelyn strolls slowly through the flower fields, the hem of her long white dress trailing over the grass.   always, she keeps a watchful eye over the little boy.      ( so near the forest, anything can lurk out of sight   ----   dangerous things, creatures who love children for their youth and their flavour. )      perhaps evelyn will always be safe   ---   from age, from time, from the spectre of peril which looms over all other humans   ---   but the same cannot be said for an innocent child.    he should be kept away from things in the dark.           ❝  oh, how beautiful, ❞      she chimes, nodding with enthusiasm with each flower he shows her.        ❝  let’s see, what would look lovely together...    what are your favorites, gustave?   i’m sure a bouquet of everything you like best would mean very much to your maman when you give it to her!  ❞

        Different worlds, different worlds. For a moment he thinks of Shipwreck, and then the town they have left over their shoulders comes to mind. Somehow, that doesn’t seem right. He has not come from it, but neither has she. Different worlds indeed, but whatever one she hails from is not the one he’s been witness to, played at belonging to before. A strange look crosses his face for a flash; his fingers twist in her hold. 

         An impulse to pull her closer strikes him like lightning, a desire to catch what is dancing in the wind and take a closer look before it flies away completely. He survives it by luck. By the very redirection she has given.

        “What if I said it was more than a belief, hm?” The non-gesture of his hand becomes a teasing shake. His terrible knowing smirk sings it; I know something. I know something like the promise of holding it in your hand. He’s just as clearly yet to decide if he will speak a thing of it. “And for the record, saying that all sailors are superstitious is like saying…” Here he flounders, searching for the remainder of an analogy. “All sea creatures are fish- all clouds are silver. The sky is only blue.” Now he has too many– “Anyway it’s not that there are so many legends it’s.. that there are many stories for a lot of the same things. A dozen names for the same god and hundred versions of his or her journey. Though I suppose if you believe in none of them, that’s the same as being superstitious, isn’t it?”

        An allowance. A promise to one could be a rumor to another.

        “What do you think, then? If you will not die, then what is death?”

for all her skill at teasing,   evelyn has never liked being teased back.   he does it without remorse, and she hates the way she’s drawn into it   ---   falling into his orbit like the tides drawn to the moon.     he casts her out to sea, and reels her back in with ridiculous analogies.     ( are all sea creatures not fish?  what is he implying  ---  what has she missed, having never read a book on marine life? )

does he believe in the legends of the sea?   does he believe in the kraken, in davy jones, in ships that sail forever?

henry has a dozen answers for every question, and a dozen questions that take her breath away.   evelyn’s hand tightens in his own, subtly exploring the feel of him, the callouses and groves of his palm.   when she looks up to meet his gaze, the moonshadow has caught her.   it casts a veil between them, making her eyes dark and luminescent.

        such  an  innocent  question,  with  such  a  dire,  dreadful  answer.   giovanni  contemplates  a  lie,  just  for  the  sake  of  her  sanity  ———  but  even  lying  about  such  a  thing  is  too  difficult,  almost  painful.  it  would  show  in  his  stiffness,  hatred  seeping  through  his  tone  as  he  says  something  hopeful  about  life   &   desires.  

        so  he  does  not  lie,  but  frowns  instead.      ❛  not  exactly.  the  not  feeling  part  is  simply  what  i  am  doing  to  survive  ———  if  you  want  the  truth,  what  i  truly  want  is  not  to  be  here,  anymore.  nearly  four  hundred  years  is  far  too  many.  ❜      its  spoken  so  simply,  so  genuinely;  as  easily  as  someone  might  say  they  want  a  pet,  or  have  gotten  a  new  job.      ❛  that  is  the  only  goal  i  am  working  towards  ———  not  the  answer  you  wanted,  i  suspect.  ❜

she has enough self - awareness  to recognize when she’s being harsh . . .  and enough empathy to know he’d rather avoid the question, if at all possible.   still, his answer is forthright.   not a shred of optimism in it, but honesty is always better.     evelyn’s brows furrow, lips pursing.   deep contemplation always makes her look  ---  and feel   ---  like she’s just bitten a lemon.