[It's the smell that gets him first. They've done nothing but go from one sick room to another, but lacking wipe-clean walls and bleach swilling orderlies this one tells of its decay. It smells infected, and the contagion's clear around the table. Prior lets his stomach turn and settle before he speaks, a twist of dramatic irony in the words (though they're gentle - there's no sneer to his tone.)]
How fortitious.
[Making a quick assessment of the room, it's easy to settle on the one pertinent fact: it's not a good place to be. Whatever's preceded this is still seething near the surface of this cold, quiet water. The younger Byerly's barely concealed agitation's clearly building to explode, whether he makes it to being excused from the table or not.
What's the saying about unhappy families? Prior's seen his share of familiar failings and yet there's something about the misery here that feels ingrained, dirt pressed too deep under the nail bed to ever scrub out. And it's Byerly's father Prior can't quite look away from. How he can preside over this without flinching is inconceivable to anyone with an idea of what a father should be - and Prior's own example's a poor enough study.
His hand in Byerly's curls tighter, and the step he takes forward's partly out of desire not to be here for this, partly putting himself, shoulder and side, between Byerly and that deathly tableaux. Between Byerly and that man.]
So that's the dining room. I like what you've done with the - [A beat.] walls. Very Gormenghast. Your room next?
no subject
How fortitious.
[Making a quick assessment of the room, it's easy to settle on the one pertinent fact: it's not a good place to be. Whatever's preceded this is still seething near the surface of this cold, quiet water. The younger Byerly's barely concealed agitation's clearly building to explode, whether he makes it to being excused from the table or not.
What's the saying about unhappy families? Prior's seen his share of familiar failings and yet there's something about the misery here that feels ingrained, dirt pressed too deep under the nail bed to ever scrub out. And it's Byerly's father Prior can't quite look away from. How he can preside over this without flinching is inconceivable to anyone with an idea of what a father should be - and Prior's own example's a poor enough study.
His hand in Byerly's curls tighter, and the step he takes forward's partly out of desire not to be here for this, partly putting himself, shoulder and side, between Byerly and that deathly tableaux. Between Byerly and that man.]
So that's the dining room. I like what you've done with the - [A beat.] walls. Very Gormenghast. Your room next?