Open Post: La savate et le chausson

[futaille]

Much to his satisfaction, Grantaire has been able to keep up with many of his hobbies unabated during his time at the mansion. Not all of them, though, mostly because they were ones he'd go to specific spots for, and with those spots not being here in addition to an abundance of his other hobbies, they more or less fell by the wayside.

However, a recent chat with Dionysus has reminded him that he has very much neglected his 'hitting things' level. Although he didn't find a crash test dummy, the thought being on his mind ended up in him stumbling upon a small gym tucked away, complete with some equipment including a standing punching bag.

So he's discarded his waistcoat and cravat over a bench and is practicing his savate¹.

¹French kickboxing! During R's time it was basically for streetfighting, and just beginning to get formalized, but there are some cool vintage videos on youtube (Here and here) to give the... vibe.

Comments

[sagramore]

"Oh, let's try that, because otherwise we're just going to have to stand here until it's done and I might kill myself."

[futaille]

"Let's get some water, then."

[sagramore]

"I'm in." They're right near the lake, too! "Let's see, what can we use--"

[futaille]

He holds up the now-empty bottle of vodka. "This should work."

[sagramore]

"Oh, yes, of course. Carry on."

[futaille]

Grantaire grins and nods, walking over to the pond and ducking down to fill the bottle up before heading back and dumping it over the fire.

[sagramore]

The fire hisses and gutters irritably before the water douses it with a sizzle. What's left is a goopy, hot pile of ash, unburned durian, and chunks of canvas.

[futaille]

He looks down at the morass left behind. "Clearly it will be mixed into the perfect pigment."

[sagramore]

"Clearly." He sounds, frankly, a little dubious.

[futaille]

"A shade never before seen!"

[sagramore]

"Art certain? I think it might be a general mud color."

[futaille]

"'General mud color' he says, as if mud doesn't come in as rich a spectrum as nearly anything."

[sagramore]

"Thou must admit this is particularly unappealing mud."

[futaille]

"May be better when mixed."

[sagramore]

"All right, let's give it a go." He squats down beside the mess.

[futaille]

Grantaire crouches next to him and starts to use the bottle as a makeshift stir stick.

[sagramore]

After a few moments, he observes: "It's not getting better."

[futaille]

"It's getting more of a consistent color, at least."

[sagramore]

"Greenish mud, aye."

[futaille]

"No, no, if you want it to be a viable pigment color, you need to give it a properly pretentious name. Deep sage, or something."

[sagramore]

"Burnt durian?"

[futaille]

"Burnt durian. Perfect. And has the benefit of accuracy."

[sagramore]

"Right. So we've got a name for our paint." Sagramore stands up, one hand on his hip, and affects his snotty Aziraphale accent. "And how much will the young master want of this bespoke blend? An ounce? Two ounces? I warn you, sir, it does cost a pretty penny."

[futaille]

He smothers an amused smile. "I'm sure it does, but it's a commission for the church itself, so I'll need the lot. I'll have to pay somehow."

[sagramore]

"Oh, you've no choice," he agrees. "Only the finest things for His Divinity. Are you painting the church doors?"