Work Text:
Verso could hear Alicia crying from her room on the second floor. The sound was quiet, but distinctive: frantic, heaving sobs that demanded his urgent attention.
He had been painting in the atelier for about an hour. He had been as restless as the weather recently. Unable to sit down and compose, and not feeling up to joining Clea or their parents on their trip into town, Verso circled back to the hell he had always been most familiar with: painting.
His subject was a study of a chestnut hunter Renoir had owned a number of years prior. No portraits of the animal existed, just his name in the local studbook. Verso had to rely on his memory and a book balanced precariously on his legs for references.
The book toppled to the floor as he leapt to his feet. “Alicia?” he called, knowing she might not hear him. “Are you alright?”
There was no one else in the house that day. Clea was with Simon, the tall gentleman no doubt currently attempting and failing to woo her. Simon often came to Verso with worries that he was not doing well enough court the young woman. Verso had to reassure him several times that if Clea had not bitten him like an errant cur, he was already more successful than half her other suitors.
Maman and Papa were out allegedly shopping for a gramophone; however, Verso strongly suspected that they were snooping around some of the high-society areas to check for any eligible marriage candidates for either him or one of his sisters.
He didn’t want to think about it too hard; it hurt his head to do so.
He was not quite running down the stairs towards Alicia’s room, but fairly close to it as he jogged through the passageway. He followed her sobs like a trained dog, mimicking Monoco’s puzzled expression.
The family dog was sprawled out in front of Alicia’s door, his ears pricked but his expression bored. Verso knew the situation couldn’t be too serious if the old man wasn’t barking up a storm. Monoco would bay the house down if he thought his mistress was truly in danger.
Verso found his little sister still weeping softly, a handkerchief held open in her palm. She was examining it with an anguished gaze, grief glistening in her tears.
“What’s wrong?” her brother asked as he pushed the door open.
“I killed it.” She held the kerchief closer for him to see.
It was a dead wolf spider, its tan carapace upside down with all eight legs crumpled onto its belly. It had been no doubt squished to death, almost certainly by a spooked teenager with a large hardcover book and quick reflexes.
“Did it scare you?” Verso asked the obvious as he took the handkerchief from his sister’s hand. Truth be told, spiders sort of gave him the creeps, too, and he didn’t trust it not to come back to life and bite her.
“Yes.” Alicia let out a hiccupping sigh. Her tears had stopped, but she still looked aggrieved. “I thought my book was heavy enough, but then…”
Verso knew her well enough to understand the full reason for her distress. Alicia was a bleeding heart to all animals, even those she was petrified of.
“He suffered,” she admitted shamefully, as though confessing a terrible sin.
“You finished the job,” Verso commented approvingly. “That’s what matters. You didn’t mean to hurt him.”
“Next time I’ll just leave them be!” Alicia nearly shouted. “I shan’t ever do it again.”
She was starting to cry again. Verso had taken the spider’s body and placed it deep within the confines of a nearby wastepaper basket, but the action did not seem to console Alicia in any way.
“I’m sure whatever spider spirits or deities or what-have-you’s that live within these walls appreciate it,” he said, trying to make light of the situation. He’d do anything to make that girl smile, even if it was fleeting.
Alicia wasn’t having it. “Don’t laugh.” She sounded grumpy, made irritable by her own grief. Her eyes were dry again, but remained locked onto that basket. Verso moved it out into the hallway (having to lean all the way across Monoco to do so). Out of sight, out of mind, in his opinion.
“Don’t pout,” he told his sister as he stepped back through the doorway. “Come here.”
He held open his arms, half-expecting her to refuse. Instead, Alicia fell into him gratefully, pressing her face into his chest.
“You smell like turpentine.” Her voice was muffled by his clothing.
“I’ve been painting,” he explained. “Just a horse. Nothing serious.”
“Can I come see?” Alicia lifted her head to look at him.
Verso could lose himself in her eyes. Almost too big for her face, the irises were as blue as the ocean and full of cunning. He smoothed a lock of hair from her face, noticing the slight blush in her cheeks as he did so.
“Sure,” he agreed, taking her hand to lead her upstairs.
He quite enjoyed touching her, and could never entirely get enough of it. Verso did not understand the reasons for his desires, only accepting that he wished to act on them. Some days he had better control over himself than others.
Today would not be one of those days, apparently.
He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. The passageway was a bit too narrow for both of them to walk together side by side, but they made it work as they shuffled towards the stairwell.
Monoco followed behind them as they walked to the atelier, having been roused from his nap by the events of the afternoon. As soon as he saw his master and mistress were situated inside the massive room, he plopped himself right back down in the entryway connecting to it.
“Oh, that’s Foxy!” Alicia recognized what Verso had been working on immediately.
“I can’t believe you remember him,” Verso chuckled. “He must have died when you were all of about five.”
“I rode him once, I think.” Alicia leaned in to study his canvas more closely.
Acting purely on impulse, Verso stretched forward and tugged his sister into his lap.
“Oof!” Alicia exclaimed as she was dragged closer to him. “What was that for?”
Verso burrowed his face into the space where her neck and shoulder met. “Just wanted to hold you,” came his vague reply.
Just needed to, he thought but did not say. Not that they always needed words to know what the other was thinking.
Alicia craned her neck to peer over at him. “Well, I appreciate it nonetheless. Shall you paint while I watch?”
Verso had already applied his lighter colors and was beginning the process of blending some darker tones together. Alicia was equal parts critic and his biggest fan whenever he worked on something – be it art, music, or poetry – and today was no exception.
“That’s too much shadow.” “His eyes never had that much white in them.” “I loved his whiskers, you should add more of them!”
“How do you remember this much detail?” Verso asked her with a laugh.
“I’m better at paying attention to these things than you are,” she shrugged. “I remember the way his beard would get all full of icicles, and Papa had to knock them off with a hard brush.”
“What else?” Verso laid his chin on Alicia as she spoke. He rocked her slowly from side to side, feeling the vibrations from her voice resonate through him. He could listen to her talk any time, day or night.
Sometimes, when they were both smaller and less strictly supervised, he would sneak into her bedroom and wake her up. Brother and sister would curl up side by side on the mattress, just talking endlessly about everything and anything until one of them finally dozed off. Their governess would be furious the next day when they were too exhausted for their studies, not that either of them cared.
All that ever mattered was each other.
Verso wished he could have a wife just like her someday in the far-off future. They were a well-matched pair of souls, sharing their own language that existed beyond meaning for anyone but them.
In another world, he’d be courting her, rather than whomever their parents chose for him. It wasn’t unheard of, in the higher classes. Some of his more well-to-do colleagues at university were being wedded off to cousins and half-siblings. Maybe if he talked to Maman and Papa about it, they might approve. Perhaps he could even-
“Can you get me some food?” Alicia’s words broke into his thoughts, scattering them. “I’ve been reading for hours and now I’m starved.”
Verso began to actually guffaw, lifting her from his lap so he could grip his trembling knees. It took ages for him to catch his breath.
“Certainly.” He wiped away tears of laughter. “One minute you’re crying over a spider you’ve murdered in cold blood, and next thing you’re stomping your foot and demanding that I feed you.”
He mock-bowed, and Alicia rolled her eyes in response. “I love you, spoiled little creature that you are.”
“Don’t call me that.” He could tell from her expression that his sister was only pretending to be angry with him. As though peeking into his mind, she stomped her foot and huffed in annoyance.
“Fuck you.” She tossed her hair out of her face and thrust her chin into the air.
Verso flushed scarlet and had to turn away, so taken aback was he at her choice of words.
Alicia did not bother to hid her grin, smiling like a cat that got into the cream as she waited for her brother to recover. “Your ears are red,” she commented slyly.
“I’m shocked they aren’t burning,” Verso replied. “I’m going to wash out your mouth with soap if you don’t come help me in the kitchen.”
Alicia mumbled something rude under her breath but joined him, bumping him playfully with her hip as she squeezed past and skipped down the corridor to the stairs.
Monoco watched them go, sighing to himself and resting his head on his paws. The painting sat abandoned, waiting for its creator to return.
The only two witnesses to Verso and Alicia’s courtship were a much-loved dog, and a painting.