welcome to chimera!

[John Homme]

Watching this apparently easy transformation and seeming caught between impressed and bemused, John sat quietly for a long moment. He didn't even quite manage to look at him properly for some time, and seemed a little indirect about it when he did. "No, don't apologize," he returned, tone low and gentle as ever. Though tempted to add onto it, he resisted for quite some time, only awkwardly looking at his folded arms until he finally shifted a bit. "It's not really gossip, is it?" he said, and shrugged a shoulder a little. "If it's just a story."

With that, he bent to his bag, remaining that way as he withdrew his sketchpad carefully and resurfacing a few moments later. Keeping it in his lap, he did not quite change the subject -- it felt a little rude to do so, even if Foras seemed intent on moving on.

[Foras Rosier]

"I suppose," he replied, just as stiffly, though he was only barely keeping himself away from cringing. Resisting the urge to apologise again, dismissed as his last one had been, he suddenly remembered - again to his discredit - John's bandages. Very nearly drawing a sharp breath, he looked apologetic again. "I'm sorry," he offered, alarmed by his own inattentiveness. "I meant to ask - what bit you?"

[John Homme]

As though only just remembering the bandages, though folded arms had been irritating the itching, stinging wound for a minute or two now, John glanced down at it and tried to laugh a little at himself. "Oh, no, it's just..." He faltered, embarrassed, feeling a slight heat climb slowly up his neck. He shook his head a little, trying to be dismissive again, and forced himself to avoid getting so nervous that he rambled and told the whole story. "It was a plant from my dormitory," he replied, chewing a little at his lip and turning his arm out, laying it against the sketchbook and eyeing the bandages.

[Foras Rosier]

Raising his eyebrows slightly, watching the way he moved closely (and naturally telling himself that he was only interested in the other's health), Foras shifted slightly in his seat in order to fold his hands properly in his lap.
"A plant from your dormitory?" He repeated in what was not a conscious attempt to invite further discussion, but was certainly representative of his unconscious desires to extend their relationship beyond the painting. "What sort of plant were you keeping there?"

[John Homme]

Turning a bit toward him, to a position that was more inviting to conversation, he shook his head again, forcing another small laugh. "No," he said quietly, haltingly. "It's not my plant. I room with Isaac Carmichael," he explained lowly, and then hesitated before he continued. It all sounded much more dramatic than it was -- at least, he told himself that in order to keep from feeling horrified whenever he remembered what had happened. "It was some -- some sort of flesh-eating plant," he finished, and had to scratch his head in order to save himself from having to watch the other's (non) expression.

[Foras Rosier]

Feeling somewhat horrified by such a ridiculous and mildly terrifying situation, Foras took a moment to properly absorb that before he replied.
"A flesh-eating plant?" He repeated, as though it were likely he'd misheard, sounding faintly incredulous. "What was Mr. Carmichael doing with a flesh-eating plant in the dormitory?" He sounded, as he often did, like a particularly touchy professor.

[John Homme]

"Ehh," he said, and it was the most specific answer he could give him. John had heard Isaac explain it to Spleen and to Dippet and to Beery and to their own Head of House for an entire day -- he still wasn't sure what had driven him to keep something like that where he slept. "I guess it really wasn't aggressive before... Um, it ate a paintbrush of mine, Isaac said, and it was apparently allergic. It got...really big and, um -- it ended up biting me, and then it just got -- worse. It wouldn't let go, and then..." His story trailed off there, and he shook his head a little, dropping the healthy hand that had been gesturing throughout and looking away. "I don't know why he had it."

[Foras Rosier]

"Ah," was his only response to a story that could only possibly have come out of a school of wizardry. Pondering briefly on what an insane world they lived in where things like that could be permitted to happen, Foras took a long moment to actually reply again. When he did, he was so distracted by the story that he failed to catch the note of potentially inappropriate concern before it had left his lips. "Are you quite alright? Aside from the bite, I mean?"

[John Homme]

Not considering it inappropriate for a moment, perhaps because he came from a different circle than Foras entirely, he nodded almost automatically. "Beery told me," he began, and hesitated as though he wasn't sure he wanted to share any more. "He said that its sap, um... It leaves behind little -- um, seed -- things in its bite, so we had to get to the hospital wing very quickly," he told him, and scratched the bridge of his nose in a fidgety, unhappy gesture. "Whenever it itches, I still..." John shook his head and then waved a hand, as though dismissing his own worries. "I'm fine though, yes. Thank you."

[Foras Rosier]

Further alarmed by this revelation, Foras nevertheless did his best to remain neutral.
"I'm sure Professor Beery knows best," he commented in an effort to be reassuring despite his personal misgivings. It sounded more and more like a horror novel - seed things in its bite? Good God. "And I'm certain they would have been nothing but stringent in removing the seeds." Feeling curiously bad for him, however, he found himself further attempting comfort. "If you'd rather do this another day, I would not mind," he informed him, not examining too closely the fact that it was mostly true.

[John Homme]

Nodding for a moment, not saying any more about the precautions taken and treatments administered, he clasped his hands over the sketchpad. "Oh, no, sorry," he replied, regretting having shared all that with him. After all, the details were fairly gross -- and besides, he felt a little uncomfortable being the center of the conversation. "It's fine though. I can still draw," he told him. "I'm left-handed."

[Foras Rosier]

Surprised by this in a personal kind of way, Foras only inclined his head.
"So am I," he ventured, after a moment or two, not sure what prompted the fact-sharing but not particularly bothered by it nonetheless. It was harmless, after all. "If you're sure," he replied properly a moment later, inclining his head and deciding that it was no longer his business if John wanted to continue with it; he had to privately question whether this offer for him to leave was a measure of avoidance on his own part, anyway.

[John Homme]

Smiling a little, genuinely now and more brightly than his forced ones before, John glanced over at him again. "I can't stand quills," he said by way of response, reasonably certain that Foras could understand this aversion as well. Opening the sketchbook as he looked down at it, he flipped to the page he wanted before hesitating again. "I did some sketches," he added, at length. "Of what -- um, the portrait -- how it might be set up?" he said, and glanced toward him. However, he did not turn the book toward him yet, instead waiting for him to ask.

[Foras Rosier]

Almost tempted to tell him that he had been forced to exhaustively practice cursive from an early age in an attempt to get him used to writing with a quill, he nonetheless paused and forced himself silent. That invited nothing but over-familiarity, and the last thing Foras wanted was to have to interact with the Ravenclaw on a properly friendly basis; he didn't think he could stand having to suppress his desires in proper public as well.

Glancing at the sketchbook and then back to him, he felt a throb of alarm somewhere beneath his ribs. Honestly, he had no idea at all about art or composition, and the idea of having to decide something despite knowing nothing about it made him nervous.
"May I see?" He asked, anyway, supposing it was expected of him. He could always ask the actual artist after he'd pretended to consider.

[John Homme]

"Of course," he answered, and stood up after a moment in order to seat himself beside Foras instead. Despite his usual manner, he was sitting a respectable distance away, and turned it open to the page he needed, revealing what was little more than a gesture drawing with a background, drawn within the general dimensions of the canvas he'd brought -- to scale, of course. "The next -- three or four pages are sketches," he told him, and held the book out, reaching across himself in order to avoid using his bandaged arm. "Would your father want to decide, or...?" Characteristically, John trailed off.