poly_chromatic | accidental video

Entry tags:

oc - laruna troven

accidental video

[The video clicks on with Laruna sitting on the floor. She has some small braziers going on the coffee table with pots on them. The pots are bubbling and blooping different colored substances. Frowning she lifts up a string covered in bluish wax and sighs.]

No. No. This isn't right at all. The wax here is all wrong. It's never going to be done in time...

[The would be candle gets flung across the room and she picks up another string to try again.]

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Laruna? What are you doing?

[She looks startled and then realizes the device is being evil. Hah.]

Chekov!

I'm making candles. It's almost the longest night from what I can tell on the calenders around here.

[Hey. Hey Laruna. There's someone outside your window making a terrible racket. Is that yelling? Singing? No, it's worse than all of that... it's poetry. Dare you find out whose poetry?]

[The noise is distracting enough that she goes and she opens up the window. Peering down she sees Jimmy looking adorable]

Jimmy?

[Oh good. There she is. Now he can get back to reciting this lovely poetry.]

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...

[Oh yeah, he's going for old-school love poetry. This should be fun.]

[That actually flusters her. This is probably the first time anyone has read her poetry that has things like love in it. Her cheeks actually redden.]

[Oh, good, just as planned. Unfortunately, that's not a very long poem, so when he finishes up with it, he immediately has to come up with something else. Well, he's already in the sonnet mood, and you can't go wrong with Shakespeare, right? Women like Shakespeare.]

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate...

[By the way? He's reciting these from memory. Be impressed.]

{She is! If she knew that these were memorized. So she's going on the assumption that he wrote them. She puts her hands over her mouth, cheeks reddening even more into speechlessness.

She appears to like Shakespeare.]

[That sonnet is, sadly, the extent of the Shakespeare he has memorized -- he'd memorized it back in college to impress a girl, of course, but also because he has a secret love of poetry -- so once he's done with that one, he has to switch to something else. Something more modern, maybe?]

Passing stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you...

[Okay, Walt Whitman's more modern than Shakespeare, certainly, but still not modern by anyone's standards except maybe his own. He's really getting into this one, too, gesticulating wildly -- and only stumbling over the words once or twice, when he can't quite remember them.]

[When he finishes, she leans down and has to ask.]

Did you write these? They're beautiful!

[He laughs.]

Nah, I write poetry, but I ain't that good of a poet. Those're pretty famous poems, where I'm from. Y'know, sappy love poems...

[A big, sappy grin to go along with it.]

They don't seem sappy to me at all!

[It's adorable and wonderful.]

Y'know, if I stand down here forever, I might just recite one of my own.

I may make you stand down there just to hear one.

I'll do it, I'm warnin' you. Last chance to avoid bein' embarrassed by me...

[Truthfully, if she isn't embarrassed by him standing underneath her window yelling poetry from other people, she probably won't be embarrassed by him standing under her window reciting his own poetry. Now he just has to think of one to recite, one that he remembers, and one that wasn't written with a different woman in mind.]

I can't imagine it be horrible.

[You're going to have to recite. Sorry.]

Okay, well...

[Hey, he's cursed; he can't be held responsible for the dumb poetry he recites while under the influence of a curse. So he starts. And remarkably, it's not bad. In fact, it's actually kind of good. Not Shakespeare good, not Whitman good, but good. And heartfelt.]

That's beautiful! You can come up...

[She gives a squeek when she smells something burning and ducks back inside.]

[That sounds a lot like an invitation, which is nice, because it's really cold out here, despite the fact that he was enjoying himself reciting poetry. So he does come up, wondering what, exactly, had pulled her away from the window so quick. And he just lets himself in the front door, because, hell, why not?]

Lar?

[Well, it smells like burning wax. She's turning down the brazier's as he comes in.]

Sorry! I forgot I had something on fire! I mean... cooking... well bubbling. The wax. I'm sorry... I'm babbling.

[Laruna's cheeks are a bit red still but she is very happy to see him though.]

[He nods, making sure that nothing's actually on fire, and then strolls over to wrap his arms around her.]

What're you makin'? Candles?

[No. Nothing is actually on fire except for things should be on fire. She leans into him, he's a little bit cold but it's warm inside, so he'll defrost soon.]

I am. It's almost the longest night here.

Yeah, it sure is. That's good, right? Means it's gonna get lighter out soon.

[Although it probably won't stop snowing for awhile. He dusts a bit of snow off his coat and squeezes her a little tighter, just for the hell of it -- and the warmth.]

Back home it's a holiday. Sort of like the Day of the Dead that happened last month?

[He's very comfy. She doesn't protest.]

What d'you do to celebrate it? Somethin' with candles, apparently?

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