Captain William Laurence (betwixtsea_nsky) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2017-03-06 19:40:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !complete, temeraire, william laurence |
Who: Laurence and Temeraire
What: Getting to know one another
When: February
Where: Temeraire's apartment
Rating/Warning: Low/none
Status: Complete
It had been nice to see Alistair Griffith again, and to finally meet the wife that he’d spoken so fondly of. It took him back to a time when things were simpler. Back then Laurence had still been relatively new to his post as an officer, and a little more lighthearted than he was now. It was before he had all the responsibility of being a Captain and the lives he was responsible for in that post.
It was before he’d dreamed of meeting a dragon, and before he’d heard that the teenager in front of him dreamed of being said dragon. It was still difficult to wrap his head around that piece of information. It was hard to reconcile the bright young man with what he had assumed was a creature who wanted nothing more than to eat, sleep, and perhaps eat the occasional unwary human. Unless his dream self was entirely mistaken about the temperament and intelligence of dragons - which was entirely possible, as Temeraire was the only dragon he’d ever met face to face - it seemed impossible.
But with Alistar and the lovely Mrs. Griffith present, Laurence had been able to not think of such things, and it had taken some of the awkwardness out of the meeting. He had been sad to see the two of them leave again, though he couldn’t say that he was sad by Temeraire’s company. “It was quite nice for your parents to come all this way to see how you were settling in,” Laurence said. “You all seem very close.”
“Well, only child.” Temeraire said, smiling wryly and gesturing at himself. “I think they’re having a little trouble letting go.” He said it playfully, as they hadn’t actually had a problem with him going away to be an engineer with Boeing and then Lockheed, but he supposed after a spell back home for a few months they’d grown attached again.
Temeraire for his part was glad his parents had agreed to stick around to meet Laurence. He'd been wary of meeting him in person alone, old war buddy of his dad's or no, considering the older gentleman was kind of out of his age range for friends. Arranging for everyone to meet when his folks decided to drive him back after Chinese New Year's celebrations were done had been the right move in his opinion. He got to see his dad interact with an old friend which had been fun to watch, especially when his dad started sharing stories about their serving together. His mother was gracious and inquisitive in her eloquent way and seemed pleased that her son would have a sort of guardian by proxy - even though Temeraire himself chafed a bit at the idea.
All the same, watching them all gave Temeraire the opportunity to observe Laurence and get an idea of what this man was like. So far, he didn't mind him. He was quiet and polite like so many British officers Temeraire had seen over the years when old friends would stop by back when they were living in England. He was well read as he discussed books, history, and a touch of politics. And they’d all laughed when he did in fact ask Alistair to sign his DVD copy of one of his documentaries. Now with them both having gone, the house was unnaturally quiet.
“I’m glad you were able to see them. Dad seemed pretty excited.” Temeraire smiled and settled with his tea into the comfy white faux leather chair opposite Laurence who was on his couch. He'd rescued the chair from a neighbor who'd been throwing it out in the hallway. The couch was store bought, by his mother’s insistence. Very little else decorated the place: a simple throw rug, bare necessities for kitchenware, a French Press, tea kettle, and a huge flat panel television that hung on the wall behind him and opposite Laurence. It was stupidly huge, but Temeraire did like playing video games and watching movies with as much sight and sound impact as possible.
“Yes, I have heard that is common among only children,” Laurence said fondly. Being the youngest of three meant that by the time he came around, his parents had long since forgotten their overprotective ways, and that hadn’t been helped by his leaving for the Navy when he was sixteen, but he didn’t think he’d much like it if his parents had likewise had problems letting go. His mother was warm and caring, but at the same time she knew he valued his independence and did not impose herself unless she was invited. It was exactly as he would have prefered it.
Laurence had to admit that he liked the minimalist approach that Temeraire had taken. He had never quite understood people who filled their houses with unnecessary clutter. He thought the television may be a little overindulgent; he hadn’t yet bought himself a television for his apartment. He tried to remind himself that just because he didn’t watch much television - what he did watch was mostly limited to documentaries and the occasional movie - didn’t mean that it wasn’t a pastime that many people, especially young people, took part in.
“I can assure you that I was just as pleased to see your father,” Laurence said. Perhaps moreso, if he was being completely honest. While Temeraire’s father hadn’t been in the Navy, he had made Laurence feel quite welcome in Her Majesty’s service when Laurence had been much younger. “How have you been enjoying your time in California so far?”
“It’s not bad. I mean, I’ve been in San Fran for most of my life, but this place is definitely different. Got a different vibe to it. Especially with these dreams.” Temeraire’s British accent had never really gone away, only faded a bit. But it could still be heard softly with every word, tinged with the California accent he’d acquired. He’d been eight when they’d left England to come to the U.S. His penchant for tea also had not waned, though part of that was more due to his Chinese heritage than just the British.
“What about you? How’s the Navy been treating you?” He sipped again from the tea cup cradled in his hands, one of the handleless Chinese ones he’d taken from his parents when he’d moved out. He’d given Laurence the regular kind, just in case the man wasn’t used to that sort of thing.
“Yes, it’s quite unlike anywhere else I’ve ever been,” Laurence said. He didn’t want to live here; he’d much rather be out at sea on his ship. Despite that, he felt drawn to the Orange County in a way that he had never quite experienced before. The closest he could compare it to was the draw the sea held for him, and even that was not quite the same.
“The Navy has treated me quite well,” Laurence said, smiling. “Before being stationed here, I was involved in counter-terrorism measures with the CTF-150. It’s been a long time since I’ve served from the shore, so I suppose I will have to see how it compares. But what about you? I assume you’ll be attending University here once you get more settled?”
Temeraire nodded as Laurence described his previous mission. He knew about the CTF-150 thanks to his father. “Shore duty can't be bad, at least you get to have a wider selection of food and entertainment than you would onboard.” He grinned.
The grin faded a little and he rested the teacup on his knee, running his thumbs along the rim, a habit when he was uncomfortable about talking about something. “Eh, I dunno. I might. Depends on how long it takes for me to 'settle in’.” He shrugged noncommittally. “I was thinking of pursuing more of my art, see where it takes me. Mom's got a friend with a gallery nearby so.” He went back to sipping his tea.
“That is true,” Laurence conceded. “I do miss the theatre when I’m at sea. Have you ever been to the opera?” he asked, realizing that it may be something that the young man might enjoy if he hadn’t yet been introduced to it.
Laurence nodded. “That sounds like wonderful endeavour. I’d love to see some of your art sometime. I don’t suppose that you have any here, do you?”
Temeraire did his best not to laugh; the result was - to those who knew him anyway - his trademark smirk. “Yes but it didn't go well. My parents made that mistake once at the Royal Opera when I was five. I was bored to tears and kept asking loud, obnoxious questions. They never took me again and I never had any interest. I do want to check out Broadway again. I've only been there once. I'm more of a West End, musicals guy.”
At the mention, Temeraire smiled humbly and set his tea aside onto the low, oak coffee table. “As a matter of fact I do. My studio is in the spare bedroom.”
Laurence swallowed the wave of disappointment he felt. He shouldn’t have expected Temeraire to actually enjoy the opera - most people his own age didn’t particularly enjoy it, and Temeraire was still quite young - but he’d privately been hoping. He did brighten at the next though. “I too am quite fond of musicals. I hope that you’ll accompany me to one one of these days.” He would have to look to see how this years season looked.
Laurence laid down his own tea cup when Temeraire did. “Well then, I’d love to see them,” he said, standing.
Temeraire shrugged noncommittally again, not as an insult but more because he was used to going to the theater alone. The few times he had, anyway. “I guess. I mean, I don’t know what the local stuff holds, but it’d be a trip clear across the country to New York. If you thought America was different on this coast, yeah….you haven’t seen anything yet.” There was an amused twinkle in his eyes.
He rose then, their tea set aside and led Laurence through the small yet somehow spacious apartment. At the door to the guest bedroom he paused, almost dramatically, and with an air of warning said, “Just so you know, it’s contemporary. A lot of mixed media, found object kinda stuff. Just fair warning.” He had a feeling Laurence was the sort used to the paintings of William Turner rather than well...this. He pushed open the door and let the man go through first.
Scattered throughout the space - which was white painted walls against brown wood panel flooring - were several sculptures. It was difficult for anyone to tell if they were unfinished or supposed to look that way, but there they were. Some were papermache mixed with found objects such as starbucks coffee cups, bus passes, and random bits of things. There was a banged up crossing sign and a bicycle wheel half submerged into a block of concrete with half finished spraypainted art on it - bold chinese characters in multiple hues. A huge square canvas with bold strokes of vibrant red paint, and a crosshatch of black with thin lines of trimmed gold hung on the wall by the door. In the corner were chinese characters painted in gold leaf. “That one’s mom’s. For inspiration. The rest are all mine.” There were other canvases scattered about in corners and on the floor, some used, some in progress. Cans of praypaint, reused chinese food containers held brushes, water. Tubes of paint were piled on a desk against the far wall. Light streamed in through large windows, illuminating everything in glorious sunlight. Temeraire stood proudly over his little world, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.
While Laurence had always tried to see as much art as his career would allow, he had to admit that he’d never quite acquired the taste for abstract art. His own tastes were more inclined towards impressionism, and, indeed, William Turner. But even he, with his minimal knowledge of art, could tell that Temeraire was remarkably talented, and he had to force himself to remember that the young man was only seventeen.
He stepped into the room to further examine the art, pausing in front of the bold crosshatched painting near the door. “These are remarkable,” he said sincerely, turning toward Temeraire. “I’d love to know more about them, if you’d be so willing to tell me.”
Temeraire smiled. “Sure thing.” And proceeded to explain the works, getting the sneaking suspicion maybe they'd get along better than he'd thought.