contact part deux

[bouchonne]

if this were modern times byerly would probably make you listen to total eclipse of the heart before you were able to leave a message

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[bouchonne]

[ The silence, though, makes him lose his nerve. He gives a short laugh, says - ]

What a dreadful topic.

[coquettish_trees]

You need not speak upon it, if you do not wish to.

[ A low murmur, meant to be soothing. She threads her fingers between his, curls them slightly. ]

We could return to our scrutiny of our new acquaintances who may indeed yet live, if this were to have been painted ten years or so ago. Or I could tell you of the morning that brought me home early, when the wind was so strong I felt as if I were a sail. As if I spread my arms wide enough I would fly.

But if you ever wish to, and to be held—

[ She turns her head against his like a cat or dog might; the simplicity of an animal's love— ]

Then I wish to hear and hold you.

[bouchonne]

I just...

[ He doesn't know what to say. Awkwardly: ]

I want to bring you happiness. That's all.

[bouchonne]

Hmm. A sad one.

[bouchonne]

Ha. Tempting.

[ But. ]

But I want you there. To give me courage. And to remind me not to be a shitass.

[coquettish_trees]

Happiness is only half a heart, and that if one is lucky.

[ Byerly Rutyer has not been lucky.

She wants to say this is why I envy him. You build walls with locked doors and give him the keys, then tell me to stay outside in the sun. What do you think that makes me feel I mean to you? But she doesn't know how to say it without it being a fight, and she doesn't want to fight, and so she is quiet instead. Quiet, and a little lonely. She rubs her thumb against his, to remember he is there, and then finally: ]

I want to be let to love you.

[bouchonne]

I -

[ There's a lump in his throat. He feels helpless. ]

I hope I am not preventing that.

[littlemissfutility]

...A sad one. Okay.

[ That still leaves a lot of songs in the world, more than she can count. And maybe the one she picks is about as typical as it gets, but it's not like he'll know that.

(It's on her mind, maybe, all the death and Biblical imagery and loneliness mingled together.)

Regardless, her voice starts small--soft, a little uncertain, but gaining strength and volume as the melody soars up: ]

Well, maybe I've been here before.
I know this room, and I've walked this floor.
I used to live alone before I knew you.
I've seen your flag on the marble arch.
Love is not a victory march--
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah.

[ And then the chorus, hallelujah over and over. Just the one verse and the chorus, and then it's quiet again on her end. There's no reason to make him sit through an entire karaoke session over the crystal. ]

[bouchonne]

[ There's a pause, and then -

A violin, played simply, imitating the melody. Byerly isn't lying about being talented: he gets it in his first go. It's unadorned, but the notes are clear. ]

Is that right?

[cozen]

[ This time the silence is several seconds. ]

Now, that isn’t fair. I had to try fifteen different points to convince you— [ hyperbole ] —and you managed in two.

[ He doesn’t sound bothered, though. He’s aware he’s a sucker. ]

But I have conditions.

[littlemissfutility]

[ Somewhere, in another part of the Gallows, her eyes light up. When she answers, maybe her voice does, too. ]

Yeah--that's really good. There's more verses, but the melody's always the same.

[bouchonne]

Name them.

[ He relaxes, relieved. The conditions - Well, they'll be reasonable. It's Bastien. ]

[bouchonne]

As with any good ballad.

[ He plays it again, this time expressively, lingering over the notes as needed for the drama. And he speaks as he plays: ]

Lost love, broken hearts, et cetera. What's that word mean, hallelujah?

[coquettish_trees]

[ If she doesn't breathe she is going to cry, and so Alexandrie closes her eyes and breathes as she was taught— slow, even, somewhere slightly apart— until frustrated tears are no longer a threat.

And then she does it a little longer, so that when she speaks it is steady. ]

Do you wish only happiness of me?

To know only what of me is charming and delightful, and that if I am ashamed and think there is something in me that would be painful, or sorrowful, or ugly for you to see you would be well pleased for me to show those parts of myself, of my heart, to another that I love but not to you?

[cozen]

The first is that if Monsieur de Foncé seems to think the cuckolding songs are funny, we have to stop. I like him.

[bouchonne]

[ He feels so utterly helpless. ]

That - That was not my meaning. I meant that I only want to give you happiness.

[bouchonne]

[ A disappointed cluck of his tongue. But: ]

As you wish.

[littlemissfutility]

Hallelujah's, like...for saying God is good. You'd say something like 'praise the Maker.'

[ Beth almost doesn't want to explain, since the alternative's sitting there and listening to him play. Already, she's making a mental list of other songs to teach him--if all he needs is to hear them sung to memorize them, they could do this forever. So much Tom Waits. Elvis Costello. Bob Dylan. John Prine. And all the songs her father would've loved on the violin, Irish ballads and drinking songs. ]

It's...kind of ironic, in this one.

[bouchonne]

[ A laugh, and then he sings along to the tune, his voice a pleasant (if not very remarkable) baritone - ]

You broke my heart, oh how could you
Do that dreadful thing you do
The Maker's quite a bastard
Hallelujah.

Something like that?

[coquettish_trees]

I do not want only happiness, unless you are only happy.

[ Still not tearful, for a blessing; but a little plaintive even so. ]

I want you.

[bouchonne]

[ He tries even harder to swallow. Still doesn't succeed. ]

You will blame yourself for the things that happened. [ And also - ] And I'm not that good, Lexie.

[littlemissfutility]

[ Which makes her laugh a little. ]

Yeah. But if you wanted to write your own version, it'd have to have more stuff from the Chant.

pencils essential missing "not" into last tag

[cozen]

Merci, chéri.

The second is that you come stay with me the night before. Then during the wedding, if there are times when you feel like you have to choose, you choose her, and you don't worry about me or look apologetic or anything like that, because you will have taken very good care of me the night before and I will still be up in the clouds about it.

Or the night before the night before. Or whatever night works for your schedule. I can keep floating at least three days.

[coquettish_trees]

[ It makes her want to pinch him viciously, and so she does.

In her mind.

Truly, the only reproof is a light squeeze of his hand. ]

You may say so all the rest of the day, but when the sun sets your love for yourself will still little determine mine.

[ The first she ponders a moment, and then sighs through her nose. ]

If you tell me I should not blame myself, then... I will believe you and try not to. If it is such that I should, why do I deserve to be protected from the guilt that is rightly mine?

[bouchonne]

Because it's not rightly yours. It's - You'll assign yourself too much of it.

[ But - All right. All right, then. He presses his eyes closed, and rests his forehead against her a moment, and takes a breath. ]

I was - I ended up killing her husband. Because of what she talked me into. A man who was no saint, but who didn't deserve that fate, either.