Place: Some Golden Space

[professeurdeloi]

When he'd found the set of rooms, he hadn't been thinking of anything in particular, that he was aware of. But the resemblance of them to his college rooms in the year he had spent at Cambridge was striking enough that he had occupied them almost at a whim.

The main door is heavy and slightly too low for modern comfort. It opens onto a room that is high-ceilinged and grand; large, but not too large to lose its cosiness. The walls are panelled, the wooden floor varnished and mostly bare, the ceiling painted plain white. On the wall, opposite the door, there's a tall, arched window that reaches almost to the ceiling, heavy burgundy tapestry drapes pulled back, to reveal a snowy scene. There's a cushioned window seat at its base, and it always seems to be winter outside.

The wall to the left of the window houses the centrepiece of the room - a large, tall stone fireplace with a small fire in the grate that is lit most of the time - a pile of small logs stacked on the hearth beside it. There is a large mirror over the mantlepiece and  a small wooden carving of a green man propped up against a few leatherbound books of poetry. In front is a deep rug, an armchair, a small low table and a large leather sofa. The latter has a grey wool blanket thrown over it and a few cushions piled up against one arm.

Either side of the fireplace are heavy oak doors. One leads to a surprisingly modern bathroom and the other to a small study, lined with bookshelves and with an antique oak desk under the small, deep window - which also looks out on the same scene as its larger counterpart. On the desk are papers, a fountain pen, and a small laptop.

To the right of the window in the main room is a large wooden bedstead - the bed itself neatly made with a feather comforter and white sheets, a cover matching the burgundy of the curtains folded partly back over those. On one side is a nightstand, on the other, a rug and the doors of a small walk-in closet. On the nightstand is a small  vase containing three dark pink, heavily scented roses.

On the same wall as the door is a bookcase and a long, low cupboard that houses some crockery and a small, built in refrigerator. On the counter top is an electric kettle and yesterday's copy of Le Monde. It is always there, and always the most recent copy. He has given up trying to understand how it happens.

The bookcase is filled with a mixture of law, history, philosophy and poetry books - some were here when he arrived, and some he has borrowed from the libraries he has found here. There is also a small stereo and a selection of CDs.

There are no personal belongings, save for the books and CDs, and a few things he has been given since he arrived. Woodsmoke, floor polish, coffee and tobacco mingle with the scent of the roses and the air in here is always slightly cool, as if winter is encroaching from the view outside.

"Still may Time hold some golden space
Where I'll unpack that scented store
Of song and flower and sky and face,
And count, and touch, and turn them o'er,
Musing upon them..."  - Rupert Brooke

Comments

[rockinglawyer.livejournal.com]

[ Weeks, days, months... time seems to be of no consequence in this place, does it? Everything seems to have happened too soon and too late and it all comes down to the present.

He's alive, and he has to move ahead.

It's been hard to look at a guitar these last few weeks, forget playing one. He's been told to not allow himself to strain his healing hand-- he's young, they said, he'll heal fast.

He'll heal soon.

Everything seems like such a lie.

But today is different. Today he actually has some good news, because today, he's spent more time in his rehabilitation activity and found that his healing fingers can actually provide the sort of effort needed for his playing-- today, on the acoustic he willed to keep himself company, he actually finished playing an entire song.

There's some color back in his cheeks, the tan slightly faded but never entirely gone, and he looks mildly healthier. He hasn't exactly been in much of a state to have an audience-- having kept to himself after that horrific incident that had everyone, all his friends, in anger and worry.

He doesn't think he'll ever get over the guilt of that.

But he can try to make amends. So today, he actually walks out of that room that has become his hideaway, that room that smells of medicine and music and effort, and looks for another. And with the smell of the roses, he knows where to go. His guitar is in its case his footsteps are swift-- and he reaches out to open a door he knows will lead him to where he wants to be.

His smile is brighter today, and he ends up entering without a knock, but quickly closes the door behind him. Looking around himself, he sets the guitar against a wall and calls ]

Herr Professor! Herr Professor, Wo bist du?

[ The voice is gentle yet enthusiastic-- bearing no bad news to be detected within, and he moves a hand to his belt, stepping in and glancing about, looking for that familiar sight~ ]

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*The voice is both familiar and unexpected, and it startles him out of his studies, the laptop and the book left open on his desk when he opens the study door. He hesitates in the doorway, just for a moment, before stepping out into the room.*

Guten Tag, Klavier. There's no need to shout.

*The tone is arch, but it's belied by a quick and surprised smile before he looks away,

He'd visited as much as he'd been able, the first time only three days after it had happened. Then, he had been sick himself - still suffering the after effects of the tarantula bite, entirely unsure if the sickness in his stomach was due to the memory of the last time he had seen Klavier, or merely to the venom that was still working its way out of his system.

The visit had been mostly silent, Klavier drifting in and out of consciousness, still recovering from having his broken fingers reset for the second time, the bruises on his face and neck obvious even in the low light of the room.

Klavier had gradually begun to look healthier, started to regain the use of his hand, but he had not found it any easier to meet the boys eyes over the passing weeks, even despite that. The lurking guilt over what had happened, his utter failure to protect him, and the possibility that somehow, his involvement of the boy's older self in Kristoph's plan had been the root cause of what happened.

Even now, it's an effort to meet his eyes, and instead he nods towards the guitar case.*

Do I take it that you are playing again?

[rockinglawyer.livejournal.com]

[ A light chuckle escaping him when he's reprimanded about yelling (he had to get his attention!), the boy smiles up at the older man. He's certainly missed Edgeworth, to the point where it became an almost desperate attempt to improve. He hasn't been blind, the way Edgeworth had been looking at him during his visits was a way that had him feeling awkward in uncertainty. He's been grateful for the visits from Herr Wright too, but for the most part, the fact that Edgeworth's been the one who has suffered the most out of this isn't missed by him. ]

Es tut mir wirklich Leid, Herr Professor! I thought I'd wake you up in case you had fallen asleep. [ He spoke in a teasing voice, reaching towards his guitar case and then as Edgeworth addressed it, he motioned to him to enter his main living space, and headed ahead of him, looking over his shoulder. ]

I'm not going to agree or disagree with that yet, Herr Professor. You'll have to see it to believe it!

[ It's not easy maintaining an upbeat temperament, though the fact that he was able to play today helps. His fingers have mostly begun to set, though he's not allowed to do anything more strenuous than that, and he needs to sleep with his fingers in protective splints at night, but for the most part, he's glad to be rid of them.

As he makes himself at home (never having been one to ask permission for taking a seat, if Edgeworth had any problems with him, he'd tell him and he'd move), he flops himself down on a couch with enough room for Edgeworth to seat himself next to him and smiles up at him before setting the case to a side and removing his acoustic. It's a beautiful instrument with a soothing sound, but with a nice enough build to sound upbeat if he had to play it that way.

Once it's out, he turns the knobs to get the right pitch, and then looks up at his idol, giving him a slight grin ]

I'm sure you're not too busy to refuse listening to one song, ja?

[ He looks eager-- trying his best to conceal it, but with one his age, it's a bit of an impossibility to hide. Once the guitar is set comfortably over his lap, he chuckles to himself. ]

I thought... if I could play a song today, you would be the first to hear it! So I am here.

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

I have not yet become so tired of my profession that I could fall asleep while reading of it, Klavier.

*There's a mock svereity to his tone, and the guilt is still there when he looks at him. But there's a brief smile and he gestures to the window, to the green patches of grass visible in the courtyard where a month ago there had only been snow; to the snowdrops nodding softly in the cold but bright early spring sunshine.*

It has been a while since you were here, now. Perhaps you brought the Spring back with you.

*After a few moments, he joins Klavier, amused at being invited to enter his own living area, and sit on his own sofa. The boyish confidence that he exudes reminds Miles in a strange way of Phoenix - of the way he had been once, anyway. But with Klavier, he can't help but wonder how much of it is an act, either for his sake or the boy's own.*

I should hope that I am never too busy here that I cannot humour my guests, Klavier. It is hardly as if I can engage in any real work. after all, and research has the benefits of a flexible timetable.

*And the eagerness in the boy's tone is all too obvious, try as he might to look and sound casual as he rests the guitar on his lap and runs his fingers over the strings, unconsciously forming the shapes of chords against the frets.

It's a relief to see Klavier talkative - to see him hold a guitar without any apparent regret or distress, to watch him apparently happy again - and despite everything he returns Klavier's smile. Still, there's a slight shake of the head and a seriousness to his tone as he holds the boys gaze for the first time in weeks.*

I trust that your doctor approves, Klavier? I would rather sacrifice the opportunity to hear you play for now than to have you risk straining your hand or... distressing yourself further.

[rockinglawyer.livejournal.com]

[ The mention of spring makes him laugh softly, and he makes himself comfortable as he looks out the window, seeing what Edgeworth is referring to. Ah, snow... this places exterior was colder than a frosty Fräulein's heart, which he found didn't suit his idol at all. He'd change it for him, but while he does like to be at ease where he is, he knows better than to modify anything that isn't his right to do so.

Still, he can't help but do one little thing as he stares out at the patches of green, and smiling to himself, he focuses-- hard. He's not very used to creating too many things in this place, but he tries-- and within moments, he wills a bunch of coreopsis (http://www.panacheexteriordesign.com/plants/coreopsis.jpg) blossoms to grow out and sprinkle around where the green patches are in abundance-- but not one to ever do things with imperfection, he makes sure that the appearance of the yellow blossoms is orderly, fitting. With this place as it is, he hopes to have them bloom for Edgeworth as long as he can manage to have them. He looks over at Edgeworth then, smiling at his comment about Spring. ]

Now I have, ja? [ He winks, watching Edgeworth for his reaction, before looking back at his guitar with a chuckle. ]

Do you know, in the language of flowers... coreopsis signifies "Cheerfulness Always"?

[ He tilts his head back, almost lazy in the action, but he wants to send a message across-- one that his song alone won't do. However, when the older man makes a mention of the doctor... Klavier's smile flickers only briefly before he nods quickly, but not too quickly-- he wants to assure Edgeworth, not dismiss what he's saying. ]

I've already gone through the necessary physical therapy, ja? Fräulein Doctor, she said so long as I'm not shredding a tune, I should be good.

[ He smirks at that-- though the mysterious doctor that had come with this place's infirmary who wasn't one of the captives here had most certainly been helpful-- kind of static in her help, but helpful. He'd wondered about her, and attempted to will someone from his world here, but it seemed that just wasn't to be.

Ah, well.

Reaching down to the case by his feet and grabbing the plectrum, he strummed a few notes, the fingers of his left hand-- his injured one, against the neck of the guitar, a little more relaxed than he normally would have them.

But the song he was to play didn't require that much energy anyway.

Then, raising his gaze back to Edgeworth, he smiles quietly at him. ]

Ready, Herr Professor?

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*He settles back into the corner of the sofa in an attempt to appear relaxed, but he's aware that the tension he is willing out of his face and body is concentrated in the hands that are clasped tightly in his lap. He looks down at them, a slight frown, before looking up again, his voice quiet.*

Klavier, I...

*But the sudden look of concentration on Klavier's face cuts off his words and makes him turn his head to follow that look out of the window. He glances back at the boy with some surprise as the green shoots appear among the snowdrops in the courtyard, then suddenly blossom into small yellow flowers.

His eyes meet Klavier's for a moment when he names the flowers and then he looks out at them again, his expression thoughtful.*

No, I did not know that.

I wonder then, Klavier, is that a wish, or an instruction?

*And there's a long look at Klavier then, the longest that he has managed to look at the boy directly since it happened. There's no trace of the bruises or the cuts now - nothing, really, save for the mending fingers, to remind him of that dungeon or how they had found Klavier. And yet he knows that he would only have to close his eyes and he would still smell it and see it and feel it as if it were yesterday.

He doubts that Klavier is ever free from it for a moment, despite his cheerful exterior.*

Then I shall bow to the opinion of Fraulein Doctor - she seems to be a very... capable woman.

*And there's a glance to the side and a small smile at that, the fact that she also bore a passing resemblance to the older Ema Skyes having not escaped his attention during his visits.*

I am always ready to hear you play, Klavier, whether it be a new song or old.

[rockinglawyer.livejournal.com]

[ He knows-- he knows there's tension, that there's guilt on Edgeworth's end. That he's hesitant and worried about what has happened with him. That his own older alternate will now have this as a part of his history. At Edgeworth's first comment, Klavier can't help but grin, nodding his head. ]

Come on, Herr Professor. I bet you can tell already, ja?

[ He winks at him, plucking a string with the plectrum, and then tilting his head over at him ]

Everything turns out better when it can be smiled at. Don't look like the world's come crashing down around you.

[ And then he turns to look at his guitar, smiling at the words about the Fraulein Doctor, and then, he allows himself to inhale softly, closing his eyes, before he re-opens them. ]

It won't do well for my song, ja?

[ And he readies himself as he whispers ]

This one is called "Wandering Away From The Core"

[ And he begins to play (http://www.box.net/shared/static/h4levrm4lo.mp3)... ]