|jude. (thefixer) wrote in repose,|
@ 2017-05-10 20:31:00
|Entry tags:||*log, burden bell, jude coleman|
misha & jude: the capital
[Jude relaxed into the sounds, sights and broad-brush-stroke sensations of the city from the moment of disembarking at the bus station. Which, all things being equal, wasn't a terribly lovely set of sights, smells and visceral experiences given all and sundry who lurked around a bus station at dusk. But it was a livening, a turning up of the volume and the cacophony that he hadn't noticed the absence of, truly and now it all flooded back in. He had time to amble, betwixt bus-station and the steps of the museum. Dawdling time, really. He hadn't the knack of the Capital, none of the native-dweller capacity to waste time perfectly between one fixed point and another, and it was new and not, palimpest experience dragged in through deep breaths and long looks.
The museum steps were fringed by columns - Ionic, rather than Doric, if we're being especially specific, and Jude had a book tucked into the bag slung over his shoulders that labored on classical civilization as an alternative consumption to steady diet of fiction and books available at the secondhand store in town. He had a brand new book he'd been unable to prevent himself from acquiring crammed in on top, and a roaming look of fondness that verged on wistful for all those milling around the museum steps, living in plain sight and at full volume with nobody curtain-twitching to catalog what next.
It was a delight and it felt horribly lonely, and Jude didn't know when the two had become company inside his own head. He lurked for Misha instead of considering it overmuch, and shoved hands in jean pockets, a clean tee-shirt much faded under cotton jacket. He'd avoided the fiddler so much as a boy could when Oliver set out stall and said 'mine', clear as you like with avoidance overdue for nuclear waste and plague-riddled folk. But Oliver's 'mine' was balloon missing string to hold it firm and the faint tang of the odd clung to Misha in much the way it clung to Daniel, and oh, Jude liked odd terribly much. It was different, and it was beyond boxing up and for a boy as ordinary as Jude himself, he enjoyed dissonance. (Let's put aside the chords of similarity struck by past and present history, comparisons drawn between one and 'tother. The mission to the Capital was pure pleasure-seeking, Kubla Khan rather than odious desire to navel gaze.]