You aren't that much older than me, sir. [a halfhearted reply, Silas blinking as his drink was refilled along with Oscars, despite him not asking. It's fine, he'll nod in thanks to the bartender. Silas was constantly judged for his appearance and age was apart of that. It was assumed he couldn't possibly last in the Order, having started so young. Even though he'd endured the training and then so many years of being a Druid so far, it still hung over his head like an axe waiting to fall.
Only a matter of time. Silas will take another swig]
[If you were young and stubborn you could outlive anyone who was waiting for that axe. Whenever Oscar's own swung down, he intended for it to be standing on top of a pile of bodies of his doubters. His entire existence was a spiteful display.]
Hm, contented. I can't say I understand contented at all. [Therefore, he would always be seeking out trouble. He drums his fingertips against the table. They'd been covered in clay, fancy polish, various bodily fluids, and eventually blood as he sought out more and more trouble.]
Well, I'll try to keep my trouble clear of your peace. [another sip]
You're insatiable, that's why. Nothing in this realm or any other could keep you busy. [Silas huffs, but there's a hint of admiration in there. It's not like he'd say it outright, but Oscar's constant striving was always an inspiration for him. They got along because they shared a certain momentum, always striving through adversities, enduring what came their way. Silas wasn't sure if he would have made it through his druid training, without Oscar there, making him want to prove himself.
So spiteful, the both of them.... Silas smiles into his glass to joke]
[Oscar doesn't seem ashamed of that at all. Insatiable was hardly a negative trait, no matter how much trouble it got him into. Besides, it was the only state he'd ever lived in. He wouldn't know what to do with himself if he were ever more satisfied than this, here, chatting and drinking.]
[That vaguest amount of contentment does fade from his face when Silas brings up painting though.]
Painting is from outside this realm or any other. It's an otherworldly torment designed to waste the time of idiots. It couldn't keep me busy because it's such an abject waste of time.
See, that's another thing that draws my ire! [he points his finger while not letting go of his glass]
"Artist," refers to all manner of art! The idea that it's directly associated with that drivel of painting is offensive. Writing is art, intimacy is art, sculpture is art, you can't assume one's only dealing with horrible brush urchins each time art is mentioned.
[never mind the middle where he basically called fucking an art over painting]
[Silas nearly spits his drink again, swallowing before chuckling into his palm. He mouths the term "brush urchin" without actually saying it. Riling up Oscar did make him particularly funny and crass. Silas speaks hushed and laughingly outraged]
Intimacy as an art... surely not. [he scoffs, taking a swig of his booze as he looked to the bartender, who was lighting up a cigar. Silas, again it's so hard to tell if he does it on purpose, gives those sweet, fluttering piggy eye to the man. Silas gets handed a cigarette a moment later, grinning in gratitude. It would be rude of him to outright ask, but the tender was being so kind and thoughtful. Not at all taken with Silas' cute appearance. Nope.]
[Oscar is left to his grumbling for a while, hardly taking any extra offense at Silas' muffled giggling. He swirls his drink- before realizing he only has a cup to swirl and needs to get filled up again. He's rather drunk at this point, refreshingly.]
[He watches Silas flirt his way to another favor. He, at very least, waits for there to be a gap between the two before he comments.]
Oh, you've certainly gotten that down to an art, haven't you?
[no way, Oscar, he is so wise to this game. He purses his lips, unimpressed by the baiting. What would an evening with Oscar be without some verbal sparring. It's the only kind of push back he'll get from Silas.]
There is satisfaction, but no, I would not call that art. [he puffs some smoke]
For all your posturing, you do so often romanticize the world. [given that most Springtide romances are also tragedies, Silas thinks he's on point]
[Well, if Silas was an easy victim he wouldn't enjoy it so much!]
I'd go so far as to say satisfaction is an art! [he smiles, wide and clear]
I've spent most of my life perfecting it. [Ironically, perfecting the art of his own satisfaction had taken him through so many different hobbies and arts. It has also resulted in him being here in the first place.]
[Still, if Oscar hadn't done that, he probably never would have given Silas the time of day unless he was bleeding his guts out.]
Perfection such as that is surely unobtainable. A man like you could own the world and still want more. [Silas wouldn't stoke the man's ego by saying I wouldn't put that passed you, even though it was true. Oscar was a man of unbridled ambition, if he wasn't a member of the Springtide, chained to their traditions as much as he chose to be, well.... Silas wouldn't be surprised by anything he could do with so much drive.]
[The great maker gave Oscar a compulsive need for trouble and a very restrained society because otherwise, Oscar would hunt down the very maker and try to overthrow them.]
[It's a shame that such attention was given to him, while the pink lily pig boy was ignored. They should know where the real source of cute evil was in this world.]
Well, if I own nothing then technically I already own everything. [he smiles, wryly, at his circular logic.]
All things in this world are mine... as a druid, a loyal steward of nature.
You are positively ridiculous, Sir Oscar. [Silas says, stern and somehow adoring. It was as affectionate as he could be with his friend without setting him off. He may have added something, but his nose catches scent of the food arriving from the kitchen and he quickly takes in two, snorting breathes before swiveling his attention to the plates arriving. He'll thank the bartender profusely, not taking the time to bat his eyelashes, wanting too much to dig in as soon as was proper. When Silas is eating, he'd a very happy druid.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Only a matter of time. Silas will take another swig]
I'm contented as I am, no need for trouble.
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Hm, contented. I can't say I understand contented at all. [Therefore, he would always be seeking out trouble. He drums his fingertips against the table. They'd been covered in clay, fancy polish, various bodily fluids, and eventually blood as he sought out more and more trouble.]
Well, I'll try to keep my trouble clear of your peace. [another sip]
Mostly.
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So spiteful, the both of them.... Silas smiles into his glass to joke]
Except painting.
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[That vaguest amount of contentment does fade from his face when Silas brings up painting though.]
Painting is from outside this realm or any other. It's an otherworldly torment designed to waste the time of idiots. It couldn't keep me busy because it's such an abject waste of time.
[and he shotguns back the rest of his drink]
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Mmn, though. Funny, that! Given the Springtide Renaissance is mostly remembered for it's artists.
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"Artist," refers to all manner of art! The idea that it's directly associated with that drivel of painting is offensive. Writing is art, intimacy is art, sculpture is art, you can't assume one's only dealing with horrible brush urchins each time art is mentioned.
[never mind the middle where he basically called fucking an art over painting]
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Intimacy as an art... surely not. [he scoffs, taking a swig of his booze as he looked to the bartender, who was lighting up a cigar. Silas, again it's so hard to tell if he does it on purpose, gives those sweet, fluttering piggy eye to the man. Silas gets handed a cigarette a moment later, grinning in gratitude. It would be rude of him to outright ask, but the tender was being so kind and thoughtful. Not at all taken with Silas' cute appearance. Nope.]
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[He watches Silas flirt his way to another favor. He, at very least, waits for there to be a gap between the two before he comments.]
Oh, you've certainly gotten that down to an art, haven't you?
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I don't know what you mean. I'm no artist. [he puffs]
C, certainly not by your definition.
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Is there not art in a well done job? [He rephrases it, surely intended to get Silas to agree to something less embarrassing and then swing it back.]
A bone can be set one way or another but there is certainly a better way to do it and that, I would argue, is an art as well.
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There is satisfaction, but no, I would not call that art. [he puffs some smoke]
For all your posturing, you do so often romanticize the world. [given that most Springtide romances are also tragedies, Silas thinks he's on point]
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I'd go so far as to say satisfaction is an art! [he smiles, wide and clear]
I've spent most of my life perfecting it. [Ironically, perfecting the art of his own satisfaction had taken him through so many different hobbies and arts. It has also resulted in him being here in the first place.]
[Still, if Oscar hadn't done that, he probably never would have given Silas the time of day unless he was bleeding his guts out.]
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[It's a shame that such attention was given to him, while the pink lily pig boy was ignored. They should know where the real source of cute evil was in this world.]
Well, if I own nothing then technically I already own everything. [he smiles, wryly, at his circular logic.]
All things in this world are mine... as a druid, a loyal steward of nature.
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