lucetilogs | But they sound like a million colors in my mind

Entry tags:

But they sound like a million colors in my mind

Who: An

tehoniongirl and

noprevaricating

seventeensir

yrobtsvt.
What: A paint war ensues
When: Wednesday afternoon
Where: The boys' new house
Summary: Jilly tries to recreate her mural in the new house, Horatio is a neat freak, Bush is new, and Archie's just plain trouble.
Rating: Kittens and paint splatters

Jilly had spent the better part of one day and one morning carefully sketching ghost-like lines onto the living room wall. Now, sitting back a cup of coffee she'd gratefully accepted from Archie, she silently traced over the lines of the Indy with her eyes, looking for details she might have missed and setting up her plan of where to go from here.

Her wild curls had been semi-tamed, pulled back from her face so that only a few unruly strands insisted on dangling in her eyes, and she was looking even more ragged than usual in her paint spattered clothes. There was no thought to appearance or propriety. This project would quickly have made a mockery of both, even if she'd cared about upholding such a thing. Buckets of paint, sealed after their last round at this project, had been relocated to the new house and sat waiting to be mixed. Canvas was laid down to catch any stray drips. And Archie had even stocked extra bags of coffee grounds in the kitchen for emergency use. All that was left was to start.

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Ship life meant rats. Rats meant a ship cat. A ship cat meant Horatio Hornblower knew that there would be coloured paw prints everywhere if the creature was not contained, small as it was.

So, the little kitten was shut in a bedroom and mewling pathetically. It had everything it needed. Food, water, and even an annoying little ball with a very small bell in it. ~~The moment Archie wasn't around? That ball was going to find a corner of a drawer to be hidden in.~~

The captain had watched Jilly sketch, sipping his own cup of coffee. He said nothing about the potential for paint getting everywhere... but he appreciated the canvas on the floor. Painting was a messy business but one he could respect, both for its utility, for the finished look it gave a project, and because he'd seen Jilly's last work on a wall.

Politely, he offered, even if he couldn't imagine what use he might be, "If I can be of assistance, Miss Jilly, let me know."

Ship life means keeping everything as clean as possible at all times. William, at least, was itching to clean-- or get someone else to clean-- the mess that was sure to come. He can keep himself from it, though; they deserved their bloody mural, for all the headaches it'd cause later. William mostly keeps out of the way and wonders at the cat, locked away.

So he mulls around the kitchen, alternates between checking these journal things, and wondering at what, exactly, he's doing here and what's going on. He pipes in after Horatio: "Of course-- and if I can help, just holler."

It doesn't take long to drain her own cup to the dregs and set it aside. Wiping her hands on her jeans - an automatic gesture, even if she had yet to get paint on her fingers - she stood and stretched. She'd start with the sky. After the time it took to reach up and address the top of the mural, she'd be grateful for break of working on the lower areas.

Besides...she was pretty sure the Crow Girls would have agreed, if they were there to ask. Everything should start with the sky.

The blue wash, pale in the afternoon light, was already in place, so she moved to pry the lid off a bucket of white paint, lifting it to pour the thick liquid into a pan.

"You can both relax." It's said lightly, more as a reassurance than a reprimand. "I promise I won't do too much damage."

Archie was admittedly a little worried about the kitten shut up in the spare bedroom but was pretending not to be, since cats were cats even if this one was his cat. He sort of figured it would not be making all that noise if something wasn't wrong, so he kept glancing in the direction of the bedroom. When he heard scratching noises, he jumped up automatically with the intent to crack open the door and see if it was okay.

"...It's fine, Archie."

Were kittens anything like children? If they were, best to let it entertain itself. Learn to be self-sufficient. Otherwise, there'd be no peace in the house whatsoever. Or so he told himself.

He still glanced down the hallway, listening. It wanted attention. It wasn't in distress. ...Right?

Then, though, to distract himself, he nods to Jilly. "I'm sure you won't, Miss Jilly."

William is ignoring the cat. It's a cat. It can fend for itself. He had cats growing up, and they were all mousers, rough and self-sufficient; surely this one will be fine, but only if they can manage not to coddle it.

"Not the damage I'm worried about." And then he realizes how that sounded. "Don't want you to strain yourself." Isn't paint toxic or something?

She laughed at that, glancing over her shoulder briefly before turning back to the task at hand and dipping her brush into the paint. She ran the bristles along the side of the pan to remove the excess, but some still dripped down the handle and on to her thumb as she raised it. "It's not a strain. Or not one I'm unused to. This is sort of my job."

She shook her hair out of her eyes, moving to the wall. "Though, I will say this is more practice with murals than I was expecting."

Archie stopped at Horatio's word and turned back around to the couch, looking a little embarrassed. "I only wanted to stop him scratching."

Horatio (aside from ship cats that wandered at leisure) has had one cat. A rather mangy creature he'd plucked from a stream as a boy and taken home. Kittens, never. Such a small creature... and so curious. He'd learned that quickly enough. What with the claws in his his leg when it had, just yesterday, hopped off the couch and decided it wanted back up. It couldn't jump like a proper cat (granted, Horatio would acknowledge it was quite small, its legs might not be strong enough yet), no. It had to climb.

And with paint?

No. Better the animal stayed shut away until things were done.

"I do apologize that you have to redo it, Miss Jilly."

"You can sit in there with it, if you like. I'm sure the cat would thank you for it." He says, teasing.

"Don't apologize. I wanted to." It had been her gift to Archie, for getting her out of the snow and picking out paints for her. And it had been a way to make him feel at home. And this was his home now. It was only right.

Her brush strokes are light and loose, the beginnings of clouds taking shape on the wall. Not that they looked like much, for now. She painted in layers on canvas, and that's how she would work on the wall...albeit, at a much larger scale.

Archie rolled his eyes at William and sat on the couch "If it dies in there, you'll have to explain it to a very upset doctor who loves to attack people with sedatives." His expanding vocabulary shown off, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, quite finished.

"Mr. Kennedy is also not above drugging you, William. Or me, for that matter. So we'd best be careful." But his tone was light, and he flashed Archie a smile. He was also unaware, so far, that he'd been drugged a second time. "Give it five minutes, Archie. Then, if he's still making a fuss."

He watched Jilly paint, not asking about what she was doing. Best to let her work, he decided. After all, he knew how he took to being questioned.

"If it died because we've paid it no mind, it's likely defective and we've no want of it anyway." William Bush: Proto-Darwinist. The idea of Archie drugging people gives him pause, though. "You've acquired a free hand with laudanum, Kennedy?"

It took all of her willpower not to flinch at the talk of drugging, or to avoid glancing in Archie's direction. Instead, she made a small sound at Bush's comment, tinged with amusement. "It's lonely, not defective. It's used to Buffy and me spoiling it."

This, after all, is what happened when doctors were unable to quickly rid themselves of fluffy kittens.

If she knew she was being watched, there was nothing self-conscious about her movements. Art school and her regular habit of stopping in odd public places to draw had left her more or less used to curious eyes.

"You see there, William? Beasts have feelings." It was only half-serious, the remark, but he was glad for Jilly's remark.

"They're smart things." Horatio chuckled slightly. "Feed them once, and they'll never stop following you about." Not that he had learned this with Hotspur's cat. Not at all.

William rolls his eyes. "Ah, now I see why Kennedy loves the cat so." They have a lot in common, it seems.

"He doesn't have a choice in the matter. I'm fairly certain Leonard would make sure there were consequences if he didn't."

Archie sighed and stood up, dipping two fingers briefly in a bucket of blue paint and then reaching to drip a little of it onto William's head. William always brought out the mature side of Archie.

"William." A light scolding, no sign of temper.

Then Archie's up. And there's paint on his fingers. And. "Archie!"

Sorry, Captain, William's just flicked some paint into Archie's face, hope you don't mind. He is usually very rarely swayed by such childish tomfoolery, but... Well, Archie's special.

[Horatio's reprimand catches her attention, and she turns just in time to see Bush retaliate. And laughs] I thought I was the one who was supposed to make a mess.

Archie's face scrunches up as the paint speckles it, and he dashes forward to leave blue fingerprints on William's nose. It is a matter of honor.

"Mr. Bush! Mr. Kennedy!"

Horatio-- thankfully sans his uniform coat, as the threat had always been present of paint being a bit erratic-- thinks nothing of rising and approaching the men, intending to intervene.

He cannot see that this really is a disaster waiting to happen on his part.

William manages to smear Archie's hair with streaks of blue-- always go for the hair, it's what bothered his sisters most (which encapsulates entirely his current state of mind)-- before the sound of Horatio's voice truly catches him. Being called Mister Bush will always get his attention; having Horatio call him so will never fail to have him standing to it, too.

He looks to Horatio, suddenly entirely conscious of what he's done, a guilty expression on his face. He started it is not, in fact, the correct answer, though William is tempted.

For now, she is an innocent observer in all of this, white paint smeared on finger tips as she watches this and laughs. As Horatio moves to be the responsible captain, however, that strain of mischief she shares with Archie might just be forming ideas. After all, if some of them are to be covered in pain, it's only fair that all of them are.

...She doesn't immediately act, though, still outside their circle where she's standing by the wall. William has obviously fallen to Horatio's command, immediately straightening, but it's Archie that she watches.

By habit deferring to Horatio, Archie withdraws and looks reprimanded. "It's only a bit of fun, Horatio," he says lamely, but makes no further move to harass his fellow lieutenant.

"'Conduct unbecoming' is a phrase that comes to mind."

Yet, even as he said it, there was a smile tugging at his lips, a barely contained chuckle in every word. The reprimand came from a sense of duty but was not backed by any conviction.

William smiles, happy to see Horatio doesn't disapprove too much. He nods, clearly in agreement, but still very much amused, and sits back down, trying to smear some more of the paint out of his face.

It is an unavoidable fact that, if held long enough, a wet paint brush will drip, no matter the effort made to remove the excess. Quietly laughing, Jilly had only started to shake her head in amusement when she feels just such a drip fall into her hand, white streaking across the palm.

Shifting the brush to her other hand, she rubbed two paint-slicked fingers together...and then glanced at the soldiers. Thoroughly reprimanded, William and Archie had stepped back, leaving only Horatio to stand unmarked between the two. And...well...Jilly just couldn't let that lie.

It wasn't a thought so much as instinct as she stepped forward, closing the meager gap between them, and reached up to press one white palm to Horatio's cheek.

It was the touch that made Horatio stop first. He tensed, and his eyes went wide. He was not a man used to or generally welcoming of casual contact. Especially from women.

But then he realized that she wasn't just touching him. No. There was paint on her hand. Now there was paint on him.

He had to think for a moment about what the appropriate response was.

It came to him.

Horatio stepped back, looking stern enough. Then again, he'd mastered the art (generally) of looking completely solemn, even frighteningly angry, when he needed to, no matter what he actually felt. He turned his back to Jilly and knelt down, as if to close the can of blue paint Archie and William had been using. His hand hidden from Jilly's sight, though, he dipped his fingers in, stood carefully to let none drip that didn't fall back into the bucket for a second. Then...

He turned and flicked the droplets at her, impassive expression giving way to a smug smirk.

William watches, silent, but grinning huge. Horatio smiling is never a cause for concern or worry, only relief.

Not one to be easily frightened, she's already laughing, stepping back out of reach, when she's flicked. Her head turns away automaticaly, the blue droplets clinging to dark strands as it lands in her hair.

"Joining us after all, Horatio?"

"You see? He does have a sort of playfulness, you just have to pull the right string."

A string Archie has been able to find pretty easily ever since their midshipman days. The early ones.

"Simple retaliation, Miss Jilly."

He says it as if he has no more intentions of using the paint as a weapon, and he wipes his hand-- on the sleeve of Archie's shirt. William Bush is (temporarily) being spared.

That, though, is likely to last only as long as the man himself does not draw attention to it.

William sees himself spared the ignominy, and that is enough for now. He smiles, chuckling lightly, and leans his chin into his palm, looking on.

"Oh, very simple, I'm sure." There's still paint on her hand, and a glint in her eye as she grins in Archie's direction. Whether she's looking at him as an accomplice or a target is yet to be determined, however.

Archie catches the gleam and returns it, dipping two fingers into a bucket. Bring it on, or lead on, Jilly. Your choice.

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But they sound like a million colors in my mind

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slkdfjsl...did not realize it was my turn. /fails at everything.

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