[ So... good at organisation and being taken advantage of. Serving others. Damn if that doesn't strike a chord with K. His sigh goes unheard before he clicks the walkie back on to reply. ]
Keats and Wordsworth, good choices. Can't go wrong with the Romantics. Coleridge, Shelley, Blake, Byron, Hugo, Poe... [ There's a wistful note in his voice as he lists them off; the sort of interest that can't be faked. At least not from K. In response to Martin's question, he recites a few lines: ]
Retake the falling snow: each drifting flake Shapeless and slow, unsteady and opaque, A dull dark white against the day's pale white And abstract larches in the neutral light. And then the gradual and dual blue As night unites the viewer and the view...
[ A pause, then: ] Was that... by choice? Only being around your boyfriend.
[Martin's eyes widen slightly. A blush touches his cheeks, and if he weren't spoken for... well. A man with a nice voice reciting poetry at him is wildly attractive.]
W-wow. That- Sorry. That was... You have a really nice voice for-for reciting poetry. Do you... practice?
[He'll get to the question about Jon in a moment. His mind is currently focused on one thing.]
[ Practise? K feels flattered. And a bit flustered, which is plain in his voice. ] Oh— thank you. [ Wryly: ] Listening to poetry would put most the people I've known to sleep.
[ Except for maybe Harley, if they're suitably romantic or amusing poems? Whenever he gets out of this he'll have to try. And maybe with Zephyr, too. Other likely candidates would've been Monty or Alphonse, but they're no longer in the Meadous. ]
I used to read some for my old boyfriend, but I think he mostly humoured me. Listened because it made me happy... [ He trails off. ] So— it's nice. Meeting someone who appreciates poetry too. [ Does this mean they can do poem swaps? He hopes so. ]
Your- oh! Um... hah. Jon doesn't much like my poetry, either. Or he- it's grown on him. Or I have. So, I think... yeah. He's better at reciting. Much, much better. His voice is really dreamy.
[Martin clears his throat.]
I think he was trained. Like in acting or something. But he didn't really recite poetry or anything. Part of his job was recording statements people gave us for our archive, though, so he did these snippets from them. I got to listen to them sometimes.
[All the time.]
But, yeah! A-any time you feel like... reciting something. I'll, um... I'll be around? Happy to listen.
[ Martin describing his boyfriend makes K smile to himself. Being a hopeless romantic, he can fully relate to the sentiments. And can't help feeling just a little envious of Jon, too, as he wonders if either of the people he's been romantically involved with have ever spoken of him like this. Probably not — he just can't imagine ever inspiring this kind of loving devotion from anyone. ]
He's lucky to have you. [ It's quiet and earnest, his smile audible in his voice. ] You're lucky to have each other. It sounds like you're very happy together. What sort of archive was it? [ He's picturing Martin listening to his boyfriend dryly reading the news with heart eyes. ]
And I'd love that. Same to you, if you ever feel like sharing poetry with me. Or just... talking. [ Does that sound weird? He hopes not. ]
Oh, ah... hah. This is going to sound pretty silly, but it's just stories from people who think they've encountered something supernatural. The place we worked dealt with, like... mythology and the occult? Publishing papers about superstitions and stuff. Social science things. It was one of the premier institutions in London, though, so it was neat!
Even if a bunch of stuff just sounds like someone was... not really in their right mind when they wrote it.
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no subject
Keats and Wordsworth, good choices. Can't go wrong with the Romantics. Coleridge, Shelley, Blake, Byron, Hugo, Poe... [ There's a wistful note in his voice as he lists them off; the sort of interest that can't be faked. At least not from K. In response to Martin's question, he recites a few lines: ]
Retake the falling snow: each drifting flake
Shapeless and slow, unsteady and opaque,
A dull dark white against the day's pale white
And abstract larches in the neutral light.
And then the gradual and dual blue
As night unites the viewer and the view...
[ A pause, then: ] Was that... by choice? Only being around your boyfriend.
no subject
W-wow. That- Sorry. That was... You have a really nice voice for-for reciting poetry. Do you... practice?
[He'll get to the question about Jon in a moment. His mind is currently focused on one thing.]
no subject
[ Except for maybe Harley, if they're suitably romantic or amusing poems? Whenever he gets out of this he'll have to try. And maybe with Zephyr, too. Other likely candidates would've been Monty or Alphonse, but they're no longer in the Meadous. ]
I used to read some for my old boyfriend, but I think he mostly humoured me. Listened because it made me happy... [ He trails off. ] So— it's nice. Meeting someone who appreciates poetry too. [ Does this mean they can do poem swaps? He hopes so. ]
no subject
[Martin clears his throat.]
I think he was trained. Like in acting or something. But he didn't really recite poetry or anything. Part of his job was recording statements people gave us for our archive, though, so he did these snippets from them. I got to listen to them sometimes.
[All the time.]
But, yeah! A-any time you feel like... reciting something. I'll, um... I'll be around? Happy to listen.
no subject
He's lucky to have you. [ It's quiet and earnest, his smile audible in his voice. ] You're lucky to have each other. It sounds like you're very happy together. What sort of archive was it? [ He's picturing Martin listening to his boyfriend dryly reading the news with heart eyes. ]
And I'd love that. Same to you, if you ever feel like sharing poetry with me. Or just... talking. [ Does that sound weird? He hopes not. ]
no subject
Even if a bunch of stuff just sounds like someone was... not really in their right mind when they wrote it.