[ Grantaire falls silent as he listens, his head tucked into the crook of Jehan’s neck. He tries to find something worth mocking in those words, but his own words fail him. There’s a haunting quality about the verses that even he dares to think somewhat beautiful, and they hit him with staggering force.
So he remains silent for several moments after Jehan has finished, trying to work out some silent puzzle in his wine-addled brain. For all his fondness for the spoken word, he has never considered himself a man of poetry or verse. ]
What is it about, truly? Do you know? I feel as though it must be about a person. A person the speaker loved dearly, but words are such strange things. They have double meanings, especially in the ways you poets use them. It might be about a dog for as little as I can comprehend the meaning, or a missed meal, but I admit that they are lovely words. I have enjoyed hearing you speak them.
That was music, Prouvaire. Not the noise down the street.
Jehan Prouvaire
[ Grantaire falls silent as he listens, his head tucked into the crook of Jehan’s neck. He tries to find something worth mocking in those words, but his own words fail him. There’s a haunting quality about the verses that even he dares to think somewhat beautiful, and they hit him with staggering force.
So he remains silent for several moments after Jehan has finished, trying to work out some silent puzzle in his wine-addled brain. For all his fondness for the spoken word, he has never considered himself a man of poetry or verse. ]
What is it about, truly? Do you know? I feel as though it must be about a person. A person the speaker loved dearly, but words are such strange things. They have double meanings, especially in the ways you poets use them. It might be about a dog for as little as I can comprehend the meaning, or a missed meal, but I admit that they are lovely words. I have enjoyed hearing you speak them.
That was music, Prouvaire. Not the noise down the street.