[Closed] All The Old Words Cease To Rhyme

[Elias Mercucianno]

32nd Loshis, 2719
OLD ROSE | MORNING, POST COFFEE

MusicShow

There wasn’t really anywhere ‘quiet’ when it came to Old Rose, Elias was learning rapidly. Sure, there was the room he shared with the stunning Gioran, and the beach…but the Bastian needed something where he could play—and fail—without an audience. Not that Xavier would judge him—actually no he would but that was different. What the brunette needed was space to spread his field, without feeling like every human and wick in the room were glaring at him.
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​​So with Leandrah’s harpsichord in hand, the lanky young man picked his way along the harbour till he found Cassandra’s Oasis. It was quite the pretty cove, clearly a popular place for callouding couples to tuck in and get frisky, fortunately not at mid morning however. Some thoughtful soul had dragged one of the sun bleached and saltwater rotted tables from the Dove, and two empty small rum barrel as chairs. Cigarette hanging loose from a stubble dressed face, Elias set up the portable instrument and sat himself down.
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​​He'd been practicing, now and again, here and there. Now that he’d found a connection to the mona, and to his family, the galdor felt like it was a drug. Poking the keys, letting the songs of his childhood seep back into his very being. Muscle memory—and actual memory—played a large part in his motions. He knew how to read music, but he had none to read from, so his songs came from his past. Sometimes they were warm in his chest, and sometimes they burned.
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​​Seated on the barrel, Eli took the cigarette between two fingers, exhaling the smoke lazily and leaning his elbows on the dubious table. His gold-green eyes scanned over the view of the ocean from his vantage point, watching gulls hover over diamond scattered waters as he finished the rolled tobacco. Butting it on the side of the barrel and placing the left over nub in his pocket (he couldn't afford to waste tobacco at this point), the Bastian withdrew a pair of slightly bent wireframed glasses from his pocket. His attire was far from his tastes, but within the range of affordable for a broke galdor mooching off the charity of a too-kind wick. Black shirt, perhaps belonging at one stage to a dockhand, with sleeves rolled to his elbows and a pair of loose grey slacks. And brown boots with the heel coming away. It was an assault on his fashion focused soul, but it was clothing. Clean clothing at that.
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​​Lifting his hands with a deep inhale, Elias placed them on the keys, a loving gentle touch that was complemented by a cautious expanding of his field to the sentient particles around him. He didn't ask for anything, only sharing of himself as much as one would with a partner or family, vulnerable and open to the mona. The linger of his Static specialty seemed to lure those like minded particles, brushing curiously around the edges of his aura. What had once been able to fill a room, now only encompassed the table and chairs, with frayed edges reaching further with lovers fingers.
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​​He exhaled, and began his prayer of music. The notes were smoother than his first attempt, the song itself playing through the first few bars in an even pace and without a stumble. Slightly tinny, the decorated harpsichord plinked out his tune, heartfelt notes dancing in the air. His accompliment, the whice in the trees, chirping to each other about the magician in their midsts. Closing his eyes, Elias focused on the music and the mona, his aura ever so slightly chasing the warmth out of the air around him. It was cooler, and almost whispy, as the mona listened.

[Kit]

32nd Loshis 2719 | Morning
Old Rose

The susurrus of gentle waves on the shoreline had started to lull Kit into a comfortable doze, but he blinked hard, shaking off the lethargy that dogged his steps. He let his right thumb drop gently across the strings, sucking the crisp salt air deep into his lungs as the notes sounded softly into the morning air. This, right here, where the sea met the land, only the sound of the water and the bickering gulls in his ears. Here was somewhere he could find some peace from the raging screaming that echoed around his skull, those thoughts that had kept him tossing in the dark hours of the night until finally he had tugged on his boots and let his restless feet bring him here, guitar in hand, to walk barefoot on the rocks and sand, greeting the dawn with gentle notes.

No words, no songs. Somehow letting sound out of his own throat would sully the place, would taint its perfect stillness with the broken shards in him.

He lost track of the time he spent simply feeling the surf crawl frothing fingers over the skin of his feet, tall boots folded over and tucked into his belt. He had enough sense even now to know that some enterprising soul would make off with them if he left them anywhere.

Picking out a gentle melody, the galdor meandered through the surf, pondering how fortunate it was that the weather was so clear and bright today. A rainstorm brought with it its own kind of clarity, but it tended to be the kind where he wandered off somewhere to scream into the rain, and he just didn't have the energy for that. He found himself laughing silently at his own melodrama. In clearer moments he knew full well that he was a ridiculous creature, but…

Somewhere in the last few moments, the music his long fingers coaxed gently from the guitar had shifted, and Kit realised that he was playing a soft counterpoint to an entirely different tune, filtering through the salty air. It was coming from around the promontory, over the rocky outcrop, from that solitary spot known as Cassandra's Oasis, and the musician found himself following it.

He was sat on a rock, tugging on his boots to traverse the less forgiving ground ahead, when his ears finally parsed the music as a harpsichord. It wasn’t something one usually heard out here- a pipe, maybe, sometimes even a fiddle or a guitar like his own, but a harpsichord?

The sound was somehow plaintive, longing, so frail and out of place, and he couldn’t resist picking out a harmony, deliberate this time, but soft and gentle, eyes on his fingers and the uneven ground.

...meet me in the gutter, make the devil your friend...

[Elias Mercucianno]

32nd Loshis, 2719
OLD ROSE | MORNING, POST COFFEE

It was so easy to play the tune, even if he wasn't perfect, a memory wrapped in his very core to be let loose only for this purpose. Elias learned into the song, eyes closed and brow drawn, exhaling an ever so slight breath of steam as the air around him seemed to crisp like morning frost. It felt as though the very mona itself was demanding he give to them the heat from his aura in exchange for their attention. The Bastian allowed them their due, giving all he had to appease the sentient particles. Fire and heat had been his undoing, it was only fair that be his sacrifice. He inhaled, the chilled air burning his throat and making his nose sting. He exhaled, pushing his field further, reaching for the boundaries of his broken bonds and revealing his loss and remorse.
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​​For a moment, Eli swore the mona was replying to him, a faint harmony to his woeful ballad.
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​​Opening his eyes, the brunette looked down at the keys, a little slip of a note in the less familiar part of the song. He felt the chill in his fingers, in the tips of his ears, welcoming it ferverantly.
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​​He heard it now, clearer than before, the gentle strum of guitar strings just beyond the shelter of the rocky cover of the Oasis. Someone was playing Leandrah’s song, and they were coming closer. Elias carefully withdrew his field, letting the warmth of the day flood in as the mona danced away, though not as far as before, skin tingling where the heat touched. Annoyance touched his aura, disappointed to be interrupted so soon, sighing as he lifted his gaze to the crest. He wasn't sure what to expect as a figure came into view, but it was enough for him to stop his musical prayer and watch them approach with a half chuckle, annoyance fading immediately to be replaced with surprise.
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​​ “Am I ever fated to be found by handsome, wandering musicians?” Elias quipped, running a hand through his untamed curls and over the stubble on his face, scratching his throat as he looked at the red haired galdor.
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​​ “I’ll admit, for a moment I truely believed the mona were singing along to my terrible rendition.” Rubbing the back of his neck, the young man finally rested his elbow on the table and nodded in greeting.
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​​ “It’s been a while, Mister Edavene. Hopefully my…uh…attempt at musical conversation didn’t interrupt your own plans for this morn?” A small mote of awkwardness hung in his tone, recalling the last time they’d…encountered each other. It had been messy, desperate and somewhat pitiful on Elias’ behalf.
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​​It was, of course, expecting too much of a man to be quite his best in bed when full of so much high quality drink. That was Eli’s excuse anyway, and he would stick to it until Hurte released him from this endless life.
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​​ “You look…”
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​​ Good? Well?
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​​ “Tired.” He finished lamely, gesturing to the other barrel should Kit choose to sit.