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An entire day has already passed, and Spencer is no closer to being used to walking on these legs than he'd been when April had helped him reach the shore. Each step is pure agony and for that alone, he is admittedly relieved that his voice has been taken from him for the time being; but in spite of his fears that Joel would tire of him quickly, that the prince would send him on his way after seeing him fed and clothed, he's been invited to stay in the palace for-- well, for as long as any of the royal family sees fit, he supposes.
Joel had demanded--in as princely a way as possible, of course--that Spencer be seen to, and the workers in the palace had been quick about putting him in a shirt and trousers that he supposes fit him well enough, not that it matters much to him, seeing as he's never had to wear clothes before in the first place. Joel hadn't left his side once, though he'd been very gentlemanly about keeping his back turned while Spencer had been helped into his clothes, and though they hadn't been able to converse, Spencer doesn't think he's ever felt more attended to in his life. The way Joel had looked at him as the evening continued on, as he'd sat across from him at the table while Spencer had been unapologetic about shoveling the stew laid before him into his mouth, is unlike anything he's ever known.
Only the introduction to the king and queen had made him flush terribly, though they'd been nothing but kind to him upon discovering he had been the one to save their son from drowning the day before. Joel's father had laid a gentle hand on his shoulder while his mother had offered a near tearful thanks punctuated with a kiss to his cheek and that had been that before Spencer had been ushered off to a large room with a bed that could certainly fit three of him comfortably on it.
Worse than the pain in his legs had been when the time had come to bid farewell to Joel for the evening, though he'd been assured that if he needed anything, he could call for him anytime. Spencer had slept soundly, though, exhausted from everything that had happened in so short a time, and by the time he'd woken up the next morning, he'd been more than ready to face the day. Now, he's exploring the marketplace, brought here by carriage and equipped with a cane meant to assist him with his walking. Joel had promised to come find him after he'd finished with what Spencer can only assume are his princely duties, though he hasn't the faintest idea what that might entail, but he's content with that for now. He can almost grow numb, in fact, to each sharp jolt that shoots through him with every foot forward as he admires the jewels and fruits and vegetables that are all for sale here, smiling and shaking his head at every merchant who calls out to him.
He has thirteen days left to make being human count for something; but in this moment, Spencer just wants to allow himself the chance to enjoy it the best he can.
[OOC: Open to all!]
Joel had demanded--in as princely a way as possible, of course--that Spencer be seen to, and the workers in the palace had been quick about putting him in a shirt and trousers that he supposes fit him well enough, not that it matters much to him, seeing as he's never had to wear clothes before in the first place. Joel hadn't left his side once, though he'd been very gentlemanly about keeping his back turned while Spencer had been helped into his clothes, and though they hadn't been able to converse, Spencer doesn't think he's ever felt more attended to in his life. The way Joel had looked at him as the evening continued on, as he'd sat across from him at the table while Spencer had been unapologetic about shoveling the stew laid before him into his mouth, is unlike anything he's ever known.
Only the introduction to the king and queen had made him flush terribly, though they'd been nothing but kind to him upon discovering he had been the one to save their son from drowning the day before. Joel's father had laid a gentle hand on his shoulder while his mother had offered a near tearful thanks punctuated with a kiss to his cheek and that had been that before Spencer had been ushered off to a large room with a bed that could certainly fit three of him comfortably on it.
Worse than the pain in his legs had been when the time had come to bid farewell to Joel for the evening, though he'd been assured that if he needed anything, he could call for him anytime. Spencer had slept soundly, though, exhausted from everything that had happened in so short a time, and by the time he'd woken up the next morning, he'd been more than ready to face the day. Now, he's exploring the marketplace, brought here by carriage and equipped with a cane meant to assist him with his walking. Joel had promised to come find him after he'd finished with what Spencer can only assume are his princely duties, though he hasn't the faintest idea what that might entail, but he's content with that for now. He can almost grow numb, in fact, to each sharp jolt that shoots through him with every foot forward as he admires the jewels and fruits and vegetables that are all for sale here, smiling and shaking his head at every merchant who calls out to him.
He has thirteen days left to make being human count for something; but in this moment, Spencer just wants to allow himself the chance to enjoy it the best he can.
[OOC: Open to all!]
no subject
Date: 2015-04-29 02:54 am (UTC)It's a large enough mattress that he can keep his distance without it being too obvious, but Joel can't seem to help himself. He shifts until he's leaning back against the pillows as well, his shoulder touching Spencer's, and even just that one single point of contact is enough. He can't allow himself anymore, not unless he wants to risk either pushing Spencer too hard or being caught in an extremely compromising position. Not that this isn't compromising enough in itself. The prince is currently reclining in the same bed as the man who's only just arrived at the palace after saving the prince's life. He knows how that sort of scenario might spiral out of control when it comes to the gossip mill and he knows he shouldn't risk such a thing, but here he is anyway, completely unable to talk himself out of being here. There will always be something to gossip about, something for the villagers to whisper about and while Joel has never done anything to play into this insatiable need to create some kind of dramatic situation, he's also never really done anything to stir their interest. Not until now.
He thinks maybe he should do what Spencer had done the day before, find a story to tell him, something to pass the time, but for all the books Joel has ever read, he finds he can't actually think of a single story to tell. There are too many options, too many stories he's read over the course of his life and he finds himself so nervous in this position that they're all jumbled up in his brain. One leads into another in a way he knows can't be possible and he's frowning up at the ceiling, trying to find a single thread in all the mess, one single story that he can tell to pass the time and keep Spencer entertained, but none will come to him. He tries to think of the stories his mother told him when he was a boy, the way she'd huddle in his bed with him just before he drifted off to sleep, the words she'd quietly speak and the melodic way her voice would lull and soothe him. She'd told so many tales that he knows there has to be one or two he can recall for Spencer in this situation, but none come to him.
There's only one thing that does. One thing she used to do for him and without giving it much thought, Joel takes a breath and finds himself singing. He isn't as talented a singer as his mother, his voice is low and rough and quiet, almost as if he's faintly embarrassed by the entire thing, but he remembers all the words of the song unlike all the stories he's trying to grasp, and that's something. It's one of his favourite songs, too, one that reminds him of his childhood, one that he's just always known, one that has always caught him with it's gentle, slightly melancholy words in a way he's never quite known how to describe. There's nothing sad about this moment, but it seems fitting all the same, even if his voice never gets any louder or any stronger. He isn't a singer, he isn't particularly talented, but he likes it anyway.
He likes it at the moment, anyway, and he wonders how much of that is due to Spencer.
He stumbles over a few of the words and laughs even as he sings, not as embarrassed by that as he would have thought he might be. When he finishes, when it's over and he's still looking up at the ceiling, he inches his fingers toward Spencer on the mattress and finds his hand, threading their fingers together, holding onto him. For some reason he can't quite look over at him, but his expression is light, slightly amused, even as he continues to look up at the ceiling. He truly doesn't know what's just come over him, why he would have thought to do that, but now that it's done, the words dying away in the empty, quiet room, he doesn't know if he needs a reason. He doesn't think Spencer will mind much.
Still, he says, "I couldn't think of a story to tell you." As if that will explain why he chose the song instead.