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

Comments

[bouchonne]

There is indeed. To be safe, call yourself a minstrel or musician. You should not want to be mistaken for a Bard.

[littlemissfutility]

Why not?

[bouchonne]

Ah, they're spies and assassins who just happen to play music as well.

[littlemissfutility]

...Oh.

[ God. ]

I mean, spying wouldn't be that bad. But I don't really want to kill people if I don't have to.

[bouchonne]

No. I...would not recommend it, if you can avoid it.

[ Anyway - ]

Besides which, they go through years of training. You could offend someone. How dare she! I worked long and hard to be called a Bard! And you don't want someone trying to beat you about the head with a mandolin.

[littlemissfutility]

Yeah. I know.

[ a n y w a y ]

So I'm a musician. Definitely not a bard.

[bouchonne]

[ Hm. ]

Just so. Nothing to see here. Just a girl and a song.

[littlemissfutility]

And maybe a lute.

[ She's going to have to save up for something she can play, if she's going to play for a job. ]

Do you ever play around the Gallows?

[bouchonne]

Sometimes. When I want to torture people.

[littlemissfutility]

I thought you said you were pretty good.

[bouchonne]

Oh, I'm excellent. But I also prefer to play at three in the morning.

[littlemissfutility]

...Okay, that might be torture.

[bouchonne]

Only for people who wake up early. Mad fools. Anyone who wakes before midday is demented.

[littlemissfutility]

If you're up by noon, you could play at three in the afternoon.

[bouchonne]

I could.

[littlemissfutility]

Then the rest of us could hear you play.

[bouchonne]

All right, all right, you've convinced me. I'll play in the afternoon.

[littlemissfutility]

And maybe you can teach me a song.

Or I can teach you one.

[bouchonne]

Teach me one right now.

[littlemissfutility]

[ Oh, that's sudden. She frowns at the crystal. ]

What kind of song?

[bouchonne]

Hmm. A sad one.

[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?

[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]

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?