[ The fireplace hadn't worked since Will moved in. Turned out that adding more natural sources of light for evenings that were suddenly a lot longer was an adequate motivator to get it fixed.
Will's just at the edge of the warmth, in an armchair. He's also smiling before he frowns in considering silence before he guesses. ]
I thought Italy was where you got more notoriety. Not England. [ That's a guess for number two, so far. ]
{ if Ambrose is lucky, his guilty little wince can be blamed on Toast bumping her nose against his chin at this moment.
and then he really looks up to Will, nearly upside down from his position against a dog bed and a throw pillow, because the realization hits him: a moment where someone recites a piece of Ambrose's own past back to him, demonstrating the dedication to memory that it would require. he needs to pace the intensity of his look; that alone might give him away completely. }
Astute as I expect you to be. { about other things, at least, and Will has now proven that Ambrose isn't safe from Will's cutting eye. somehow, it doesn't feel like a dangerous place to be. } Although, I wasn't necessarily given many lead roles back home.
Not until Leon gained the privilege of making those decisions, of course. { said with a wandering gaze, hands idly scratching behind one set of ears, and at the back of another's neck. }
You're correct — I have never performed before any queen — at least...not to my knowledge.
I'm assuming that opera was like any other field, and you had to know people to get anywhere. Even if you had-- talent. [ Will's very okay with being snarky, but paying real compliments gives him a moment of pause. Learning the depth of Ambrose's singing voice has been hypnotic and humbling; it's surreal with his new powers, yes, but there's real talent in there that can't just be the magic of his species.
And it's always just a little deeper than Will's expecting, too. ]
Thought so. [ That he was right. There's a brief shadow of a smile before it fades back to thoughtfulness. Will watches Ambrose scratch at Buster's ear, feeling it thaw something in him. When it shifts enough, he manages to ask a question of his own. ] I'm going to guess you kept that last truth between yourself and god.
{ the slow climb to reclaiming his voice has been an endeavor of weeks, spent yards away from the house out in the darkness and untamed grass behind the house; now, Ambrose can exercise in a casual melody within the walls without feeling ashamed of the fractured quality, though he's still slowly resculpting what he has left of this talent.
a talent that, true enough, still needed vetting, and for an impossible price. }
I see the performance arts have not changed at their core. { Ambrose wants to be surprised, two centuries gone and all, but...he cannot find it in himself to express it.
Ambrose shifts to look at Will, tilting his back and neck now to settle a proper gaze on the living man, thoughtful — but also feeling a smidge caught. }
Until tonight. { he settles into this new position, Buster noticing the shifts and compensating with an adamant crawl up onto his shoulder. } Of course, I was perhaps...thirteen at the time, and he had more than twice my lifetime upon him.
But he was a pleasant, mild man whom I found great comfort in when I took more time with his church. I lead the singing during sermons, you see.
{ a man that lead him and his father through the loss of his mother, a man that...also recognized Ambrose's talent. his stare goes a little distant as he sees parallels aligning that he had never seen at before. }
[ Will's the first person Ambrose has told. That truth rings through him like he's been struck; and he has. Each time Will's reminded of Ambrose's loneliness prior to being awoken into this century, he feels an ache renewed. ]
Comfort. [ Will repeats it and finds his voice is a little weaker. He clears his throat and suddenly is aware of the way he looms over Ambrose's more casual form, supine on his floor. Will shifts at the edge of his couch and then, slow more for the moment than for his joints, he lowers himself to join the small crowd of vampire and dogs. ] It sounds like - out of all the things you didn't have a lot of back then - that might be what you had the least.
I can't blame you for it turning into desire. [ A soft scoff. ] Especially at thirteen.
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Will's just at the edge of the warmth, in an armchair. He's also smiling before he frowns in considering silence before he guesses. ]
I thought Italy was where you got more notoriety. Not England. [ That's a guess for number two, so far. ]
no subject
and then he really looks up to Will, nearly upside down from his position against a dog bed and a throw pillow, because the realization hits him: a moment where someone recites a piece of Ambrose's own past back to him, demonstrating the dedication to memory that it would require. he needs to pace the intensity of his look; that alone might give him away completely. }
Astute as I expect you to be. { about other things, at least, and Will has now proven that Ambrose isn't safe from Will's cutting eye. somehow, it doesn't feel like a dangerous place to be. } Although, I wasn't necessarily given many lead roles back home.
Not until Leon gained the privilege of making those decisions, of course. { said with a wandering gaze, hands idly scratching behind one set of ears, and at the back of another's neck. }
You're correct — I have never performed before any queen — at least...not to my knowledge.
no subject
And it's always just a little deeper than Will's expecting, too. ]
Thought so. [ That he was right. There's a brief shadow of a smile before it fades back to thoughtfulness. Will watches Ambrose scratch at Buster's ear, feeling it thaw something in him. When it shifts enough, he manages to ask a question of his own. ] I'm going to guess you kept that last truth between yourself and god.
no subject
a talent that, true enough, still needed vetting, and for an impossible price. }
I see the performance arts have not changed at their core. { Ambrose wants to be surprised, two centuries gone and all, but...he cannot find it in himself to express it.
Ambrose shifts to look at Will, tilting his back and neck now to settle a proper gaze on the living man, thoughtful — but also feeling a smidge caught. }
Until tonight. { he settles into this new position, Buster noticing the shifts and compensating with an adamant crawl up onto his shoulder. } Of course, I was perhaps...thirteen at the time, and he had more than twice my lifetime upon him.
But he was a pleasant, mild man whom I found great comfort in when I took more time with his church. I lead the singing during sermons, you see.
{ a man that lead him and his father through the loss of his mother, a man that...also recognized Ambrose's talent. his stare goes a little distant as he sees parallels aligning that he had never seen at before. }
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Comfort. [ Will repeats it and finds his voice is a little weaker. He clears his throat and suddenly is aware of the way he looms over Ambrose's more casual form, supine on his floor. Will shifts at the edge of his couch and then, slow more for the moment than for his joints, he lowers himself to join the small crowd of vampire and dogs. ] It sounds like - out of all the things you didn't have a lot of back then - that might be what you had the least.
I can't blame you for it turning into desire. [ A soft scoff. ] Especially at thirteen.