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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[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?

[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?

[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.