[ In a twisted way, there is something comforting in being stared at in such a fashion. There's a brutal honesty to it that almost every other interaction Clea's had since Verso's death lacked. It is comfortable. Expected. The correct response.
She nods. He is correct. Aline would not have painted him as able to leave her. That is the whole point of her false city: A perfect family that will never leave her. Not through death, anger, or any other means. Though Clea had denied her that much. It would never be perfect. ]
It was an inspipid question.
They stole from Maman.
[ There is always room for more anger. The man is not real. He is one of her mother's creations. One that Clea finds twisted. But Maman's nonetheless, and he is not a creation for public viewing. He is a private, personal thing, and for someone to place their claws in Maman's work and rend it so is infuriating. To take her mother's grieving heart and lay it bare.
The answer is enough, and it means she cannot stay. Clea pushes herself into a more proper seated position, then stands with a slight tremor in her legs. One hand remains in contact with the chair longer than strictly necessary, and instead of reaching for the glass of water, Clea's hand wraps around the bottle of wine.
If she drinks the rest quickly, she'll pass the embarrassing stage at the cost of a terrible hangover.
She's not a boor: She pours it into a glass with a surprisingly steady hand and slips the bottle back in her voluminous skirt. She lifts the glass to her lips and drinks the glass in an elegant motion, then refills it and repeats the action before setting the now empty bottle and glass back on the table. She steps forward and puts a hand to her temple, blinking as she's hit with a sudden sensation of nausea.
Aging is a horrific plague.]
Whatever it is, remember they stole from Maman.
[ It's more than she would ordinarily say, a remnant of the unfortunate self that appears only with a very specific level of inebriation is reached. A...warning? Or some expression indicating maybe she is considering his experience. She steps forward, rebalancing. It takes a few mores steps, but she starts to move more confidently towards the exit - if a bit less elegantly than usual. ]
no subject
She nods. He is correct. Aline would not have painted him as able to leave her. That is the whole point of her false city: A perfect family that will never leave her. Not through death, anger, or any other means. Though Clea had denied her that much. It would never be perfect. ]
It was an inspipid question.
They stole from Maman.
[ There is always room for more anger. The man is not real. He is one of her mother's creations. One that Clea finds twisted. But Maman's nonetheless, and he is not a creation for public viewing. He is a private, personal thing, and for someone to place their claws in Maman's work and rend it so is infuriating. To take her mother's grieving heart and lay it bare.
The answer is enough, and it means she cannot stay. Clea pushes herself into a more proper seated position, then stands with a slight tremor in her legs. One hand remains in contact with the chair longer than strictly necessary, and instead of reaching for the glass of water, Clea's hand wraps around the bottle of wine.
If she drinks the rest quickly, she'll pass the embarrassing stage at the cost of a terrible hangover.
She's not a boor: She pours it into a glass with a surprisingly steady hand and slips the bottle back in her voluminous skirt. She lifts the glass to her lips and drinks the glass in an elegant motion, then refills it and repeats the action before setting the now empty bottle and glass back on the table. She steps forward and puts a hand to her temple, blinking as she's hit with a sudden sensation of nausea.
Aging is a horrific plague.]
Whatever it is, remember they stole from Maman.
[ It's more than she would ordinarily say, a remnant of the unfortunate self that appears only with a very specific level of inebriation is reached. A...warning? Or some expression indicating maybe she is considering his experience. She steps forward, rebalancing. It takes a few mores steps, but she starts to move more confidently towards the exit - if a bit less elegantly than usual. ]