Life keeps forcing cruel choices

She's still equally flattered and flabbergasted that Renoir would offer his aid to her. Estelle had suggested that she go straight to him to petition his aid before the council might be persuaded. She'd been right to suggest it, as is often the case.

As he places his hand on her shoulder, Julie returns his nod, a steely look in her eyes, unwavering. "Which is exactly why I believe we need to take action now. We cannot defend the wounded and those too young to fight if there's no shelter." She knows speaking the obvious, but lately she's been surprised by just how many people have needed simple truths. Renoir is not one of those people, but she cannot stop herself, regardless. Perhaps there is an appeal in it, when so little about their world feels easy and true these days.

A faint flush dusts her cheeks at his assertion of his own belief-- and Verso's. Julie shakes her head slightly, as if to erase the colour. Not the time.

Instead, she tucks her hair behind her ear and draws up the large portfolio in her arms. Wholly impractical, but it was the only one they could find last minute. Within its sleeves are numerous architectural plans drawn in haste, yet no less precise for it. Sleep is the only sacrifice she's given for them.

"I-- thank you, sir." It's still a habit to address him so. One that feels wrong to drop now of all times. But she can bring herself to take his arm, after a pause. "The plans we've worked through for emergency residences and medical facilities should be quick to implement, but we'll need people... those with skills in carpentry, masonry-- well, anything really. I'm sure people are willing, but I'd rather not go behind the council's back if I have to."

Bureocracy seems a trite thing to worry over now. But still, it persists. She gives Renoir a rueful smile. He likely knew, as well as she did, that bending the rules was something she would do if she must.

Carefully listening to his ideas, Julie lets her mind follow his words as he speaks. He describes... a protective shield of some design? A dome to encapsulate Lumiere. The lines and curves take shape in pencil and ink, imaginary but no less defined for it. "I think..." she begins, teeth worrying at her lower lip within a slight pause, "A dome could be possible. But with what material?" Or is he thinking of something else entirely? How fascinating. "Of course, I'll offer any help I can. Though, if I can ask... what theory needs to be tested exactly?"

Her mind is alight was ideas, possibilities. It hasn't slowed down for a heartbeat since the world split apart. There's no time for it to still. That is... until she hears Renoir's further suggestion.

A gentle smile. ❝ I think I know who is and who is not capable, Julie. I've selected you to stand at my side along with Verso. We have a job to do. ❞ He is a little firm, but not unkindly so. Renoir needs her and if he has to give a gentle push, he will. ❝ Now, you should select people you know best and know well. We will both take teams out into the continent. It'll be faster that way. ❞

In regard to the dome, Renoir stops and thinks. ❝ The fracture . . . there was an energy that was released. I think that our world is made up of this energy and there is a way we can use it to shield Lumiere. We just have to figure out how to tap into and control it. ❞ Devoting their time to understanding that power will give them the best chance at success. Renoir is certain of it.

She evaluates his plans, the ideas flowing at rapid pace — coming and going, a crazed swirl of ifs and maybes in her thoughts. He knows best, that's a given, and the girl convinces herself he must simply know her mother better than anyone else, to speak like that. She holds on tight against him as he moves, trying not to dangle her legs too much to give him more balance and steadiness. ❛ I do not want to skip lessons, ❜ she clarifies after a soft click of the tongue, craning her neck beside his head to look at him; ❛ But a free morning — that'd be nice ! ❜

A morning spent drawing what she pleases, perhaps — no rules or models, no guidance, no theory to follow. Or playing through the halls or the gardens, with her brothers and the dogs till lunchtime. ❛ And Maman would be so happy to receive her favorite sweets ! ❜ For Clea knows she personally would — brioches, croissants, chouquettes. They would only have to choose, and to hope. A part of her knows that would mean the lessons being simply postponed to the early afternoon, instead — for rarely would her mother forget or willingly skip them — but for that night, it's nice to dream.

Her father would have never subjected the two to the same classes, the same duties — not with the same rigidity, at least. Much more the accomplice than Aline, the children have always known exactly who to turn to for such requests.

❝ My apologies ----- you are not skipping lessons. There will likely be one in the evening. A longer one. ❞ Renoir corrects himself at her word as the door to her bedroom comes into view. ❝ A free morning you shall have. Especially if we stay up a little longer so to ensure she sleeps in. ❞

A twinkle makes its way to Renoir's eye. ❝ Now be thinking of what dessert you want tomorrow ----- I hear there are some lovely new pastries at the bakery. ❞ Apparently they had come up with a new recipe that has been quite the talk of the city these days. Renoir had been meaning to stop by the bakery on his way home but never found the time. Now was the perfect time to take Verso and Clea there to experience the new flavors of croissants.

The conversation shifts back to painting. ❝ Naturally. It will be far too cold for you to play outside and risk catching cold. You might wish to start practicing now for her lessons will only grow more complex. Especially in preparation for for your first entrance into a canvas. It is not easy. ❞ Renoir's first trip wasn't. He remembered how exhausted he felt and he'd only been in for a few minutes. Stepping into a canvas demands a different kind of strength than what it takes to wield a rapier. He thought he'd been ready and he was sorely mistaken.

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