|Simon will just LIVE in this booth forever. (magienoir) wrote in yegods,|
@ 2012-02-18 11:09:00
|Entry tags:||!log, milo canonici, simon renaud|
Mars, the Bringer of War.
WHO Milo CANTSPELLHISLASTNAME & Simon Renaud
WHERE The Catacombs
WHEN February 18th, Late Afternoon
SUMMARY Bones may be picked...
Scruffy. This is not a word that one would usually use to describe Simon Renaud. However, there's no getting around it. Today, he is scruffy. It is the look of the young and lovelorn... or the university student. Unshaven, hair a mess, and clothing wrinkled. It's probably the bruised look of his eyes that makes the difference, because he has not been sleeping well. Not at all. It's always harder to sleep in the days following an episode, even a minor one. Each instance, however, tends to open up a floodgate of historical cosmic horror, and his dreams are plagued with memories of things that he doesn't even begin to know how to describe, but when leave him awake at 4 a.m. listening to the sound of Kuma running around, or Kat quietly doing whatever it is he does at that hour, in his room on the other side of the apartment. It's not like having a dream about zombies or ghosts or ogres or something like that, because the fear is so intrinsic. Like it's talking to some secret part of the human brain - a knowledge of what ought to be feared that is not learned, but known from before birth. The fact that things are not going well in terms of patching things up with Daisuke, but seem to be declining, even, makes this worse.
So he is not looking as dapper as he usually does this Saturday afternoon. He is even wearing the same outfit he put on yesterday, which is an extreme rarity for anyone who knows him: one of the sweaters Sunny gave him, his leather jacket, and jeans. Of course, since it has only been worn one other time since it's last cleaning, this fact is not really obvious. The sweater is a little wrinkled looking, but that's about all. It would require a very familiar eye to recognize the change in appearance (at least, in regards to his clothing). Giving up on himself entirely would probably be a sign of mortal peril for Simon, after all. So even if his hair is messy, he did spend the usual hour in the shower when he got up today. He just didn't bother fixing his hair or shaving, so there's shadow around his jawline and throat. More than these things, he looks pissed. Perhaps an apt simile would be, he is like a human rain cloud, reading to spit out rain and lightning and changing the atmosphere of whatever space he's in for the worse.
However, despite this, he is out and about, and he is trying to make the best of things. He was supposed to go to tennis today, but the thought of Daisuke's cold frown made him just... blow it off entirely. He'll go tomorrow. He'll go and he'll clean up the apartment like he promised to, and he'll just hope for the best. Today, though, he is trying to mend his brutalized self-esteem, and the best way to do that is to play. Because there are only two things he is really good at - that no one else can deny he is good at - and violin is one of them. And also the only one that is appropriate for public spaces. So he is standing outside the Arts Guild, Estelle in hand, playing up a storm to a small gathering. Not nearly as large as he thinks he deserves, but it is Saturday, and people have things they need to be doing. Plus, it's chilly outside, even underground, so there's that. He's playing a little Yann Tiersen* for his admirers. He does love Tiersen. His music always feels a little like going home for Simon. It's like comfort food for the ear.
Finishing the song, he looks up and sees a familiar head of silver passing by. Giving a little bow, smiling and nodding in thanks for the applause, he quickly puts Estelle away, puts the case under his arm, and hurriedly breaks through the crowd. "Milo," he says in the commanding sort of tone that he called forth Leonard with.