Privately, she had guessed he would scoff, and she's equally pleased at how she predicted the jest would go over his head. It seems she's getting to know him, and what better way to test that presumption than by describing him to an artist who is supposed to capture his essence?
"The title of 'Moon Supreme' is fitting for Dongfang Qingcang," Rem begins her description with what he's already volunteered, and she rises from where she had been sitting, lowering her hand from the clasp at her cloak to smooth out the pleats of her skirt. Rem passes behind the young woman, stopping beside her left shoulder and leaning down a few inches as if to observe Dongfang from the artist's perspective. Her smile remains kind as her eyes observant as they sweep over him once, only to drop to the blank canvas set in front of them.
One cannot describe colors to one who is blind, not in the traditional way, and one also cannot describe a person's appearance in comparison to another's for the very same reason. Thus, Rem must only offer abstracts. This poses a new sort of challenge, but after a moment of thought, she finds that her answers come rather easier than she thought. "...Because he's as untouchable and pristine as moonlight."
Oh, she's well aware of how easily she can sabotage this, make it so that the artist has only the silliest, most pompous of descriptions, as Rem could certainly do for other of her friends. A playful roast is all well and good... but not for this man, which brings her to her next description. "Some might call him serious, and... I suppose that's an accurate description," her voice drifts to a thoughtful lull, and she pauses here, shaking her head once. "But it's more than that, Miss Grey, it is. Seriousness is the tempered iron in his voice, but that's how he sounds, not how he speaks."
Next to the canvas is a table neatly stocked with brushes, sponges, and other supplies. Upon its shelves are all manner of different mediums of art, from charcoal to watercolors to acrylic paints. It is difficult to guess which Dorina Grey might select, but Rem wonders regardless as she continues to speak.
"I think that you'll find that everything he says is honest, a refined sincerity you'll find in no one else. Sometimes, it is so sharp that it feels like a knife to your throat." She lets out a short breath. Impossible not to recall the times when he had been a little too blunt in his delivery or direct in his queries; nevertheless, she finds herself raising her gaze to behold him once more. "But more often, it's like... the sound of a hollowed crystal, pure, reflective. He speaks the truth as he sees it, and there's nothing more earnest than that."
Rem's smile turns fond, fleetingly, before it settles into something more reserved. Distance hollows the tone of her voice— "The moon's presence is known even when obscured. Beyond reach, it has no use for things that are not useful...."
—But then her head tilts to the side as her tone softens. "But you'll still find him giving light to the loveliest of plants, and when he so chooses... warmth." Rem places a hand upon the shoulder of the artist, leaning in once again. "And that warmth-- it feels like..." She appears to struggle with a description. How does one depict warmth to someone who cannot see the brilliant colors of fire, let alone harmonize it with the pale coldness of midnight light?
"...It feels," she continues slowly, looking at Dongfang, "...like how a cello sounds."
The description finished, she nods contentedly twice, a satisfied smile returning to her lips. Rem holds this expression for one, two seconds more before a playful glimmer appears in her eyes, and she quickly adds:
"Oh, and his ears tend to be just slightly more pink than the rest of his face."
no subject
"The title of 'Moon Supreme' is fitting for Dongfang Qingcang," Rem begins her description with what he's already volunteered, and she rises from where she had been sitting, lowering her hand from the clasp at her cloak to smooth out the pleats of her skirt. Rem passes behind the young woman, stopping beside her left shoulder and leaning down a few inches as if to observe Dongfang from the artist's perspective. Her smile remains kind as her eyes observant as they sweep over him once, only to drop to the blank canvas set in front of them.
One cannot describe colors to one who is blind, not in the traditional way, and one also cannot describe a person's appearance in comparison to another's for the very same reason. Thus, Rem must only offer abstracts. This poses a new sort of challenge, but after a moment of thought, she finds that her answers come rather easier than she thought. "...Because he's as untouchable and pristine as moonlight."
Oh, she's well aware of how easily she can sabotage this, make it so that the artist has only the silliest, most pompous of descriptions, as Rem could certainly do for other of her friends. A playful roast is all well and good... but not for this man, which brings her to her next description. "Some might call him serious, and... I suppose that's an accurate description," her voice drifts to a thoughtful lull, and she pauses here, shaking her head once. "But it's more than that, Miss Grey, it is. Seriousness is the tempered iron in his voice, but that's how he sounds, not how he speaks."
Next to the canvas is a table neatly stocked with brushes, sponges, and other supplies. Upon its shelves are all manner of different mediums of art, from charcoal to watercolors to acrylic paints. It is difficult to guess which Dorina Grey might select, but Rem wonders regardless as she continues to speak.
"I think that you'll find that everything he says is honest, a refined sincerity you'll find in no one else. Sometimes, it is so sharp that it feels like a knife to your throat." She lets out a short breath. Impossible not to recall the times when he had been a little too blunt in his delivery or direct in his queries; nevertheless, she finds herself raising her gaze to behold him once more. "But more often, it's like... the sound of a hollowed crystal, pure, reflective. He speaks the truth as he sees it, and there's nothing more earnest than that."
Rem's smile turns fond, fleetingly, before it settles into something more reserved. Distance hollows the tone of her voice— "The moon's presence is known even when obscured. Beyond reach, it has no use for things that are not useful...."
—But then her head tilts to the side as her tone softens. "But you'll still find him giving light to the loveliest of plants, and when he so chooses... warmth." Rem places a hand upon the shoulder of the artist, leaning in once again. "And that warmth-- it feels like..." She appears to struggle with a description. How does one depict warmth to someone who cannot see the brilliant colors of fire, let alone harmonize it with the pale coldness of midnight light?
"...It feels," she continues slowly, looking at Dongfang, "...like how a cello sounds."
The description finished, she nods contentedly twice, a satisfied smile returning to her lips. Rem holds this expression for one, two seconds more before a playful glimmer appears in her eyes, and she quickly adds:
"Oh, and his ears tend to be just slightly more pink than the rest of his face."