finalflight | THIS IS JUST A PSL NOW I GUESS;

[And so, a few days pass. The town is a-buzz with preparations, excitement fueling the interactions behind every meeting, every conversation. The Sapphires shine in the morning light, nigh glowing in the evening beneath the swell of the moon.

And one morning, as dawn breaks, the Sapphire Festival of Turner's Vale begins in earnest.

It all takes place in the marketplace square, of course. There is where the real entertainment is, where vendors have set themselves up to their fullest, their stock overflowing. Draped between each stall, above the heads of milling crowds, are textiles of the deepest, flower-blue to provide shade for those wanting to take their time browsing.

And there is so much of that blue color, that royal azure that the town is so proud of. There are so many flowers, bundled together and given freely (why pay for them when they are everywhere in town already?), and many wear them pinned in a tunic or a jacket or tucked behind an ear. There are textiles sold with flowers embroidered delicately in the material. Dresses and shirts and scarves and even trousers dyed in that blue. There are little glass sculptures and little knick-knacks made of stone, carved into the delicate shape of a blossom.

There is just so much heckin’ blue.

Music draws the crowd to the middle of the town square, eventually. There, musicians play their effusive warm-ups, just a teaser for what’s to come. There are murmurings from the crowd that there is a visitor from beyond the town today — a rarity indeed, another musician invited to play along with the already-planned set. People titter about it. They look forward to it later.

And Weir? By gods, Weir thinks this is far too much. He had provided the game that the butchers would chop up and the townsfolk chefs would turn into dishes for later; that is the extent of his contribution to this entire event, though even he is not immune from… curiosity. He’s never experienced this before, of course; this is the first time in the new Vale that he’s ever seen such a celebration, and they even tell him that it is “annual”, a notion he had scoffed at initially.

Regardless, he moves through the crowd—hard to miss, given he’s the only one not wearing even the smallest shade of blue (yet) and wearing his usual dark leathers—with the careful consideration of someone intrigued but not intrigued enough to participate. So many effusive, smiling faces. So much activity all around him. It is nearly an overstimulation, honestly.

Maybe he runs into Lucinda at some point, huh!]

Edited 2023-07-20 23:18 (UTC)

[Lucinda had left the lodge after Weir. To say that being in proximity to one another was rather awkward after the two forest incidents and the following revelations is... An understatement. But the medium was set in her decision to leave as soon as possible.

During the days leading up to the festival, she would go out into town each morning and help with preparations wherever extra hands were needed. Only casually would Lucy ask about when the merchants would leave and how long it would take to reach the capital using their route. If that gave the villagers any hint about what she was going to do, most of them were too polite to ask why she was curious.

Working amongst the Vale's residents lifts her mood somewhat. Their cheerful and friendly attitudes have a way of rubbing off of Lucinda who tends to slide the opposite if she was alone with her thoughts for too long, even with her familiar's constant presence. As if sensing her persistent melancholy, some of the women who were putting the finishing touches on the textiles, dresses, and tunics, dyed with Sapphire blue, pull Lucinda when she arrives in town, excited to use her as a model...

It's hard to miss Lucinda with her raven black hair, loosely tied back and decorated with a few Sapphire flowers and even more surprisingly, dressed in a blue gown, embroidered with small blossoms. The sheer sleeves display Feather and the bolder inked flowers and patterns on Lucy's arms and Flora would always be hard to ignore, especially with the pinks of the peonies contrasting with the blues.

Currently, she's holding out her arm as the seamstress clicks her tongue as she adjusts with some extra thread.]

"Oh Miss Lucinda, if only your arms weren't so busy with paint! You'd look more like a dream... Not that this dress still isn't very flattering on you!"

[Lucy chuckles, shaking her head.]

I'd feel more naked without the ink, believe me.

"If you say so... Oh!"

[oops, hi weir, the seamstress is waving to the huntsman eagerly.]

"Weir! Come over here! Take a look at what we did to your guest!"

[Lucy glances over... She waves casually to Weir. Today's a festival so she isn't going to let him make her mood drop.]

[Well, figures he would run into her sooner or later. Turner's Vale is far from a sprawling city, and though they crowd is thick and bustling and excitable today, it's not as though it isn't full of familiar faces -- of course she would be one of them, eventually.

Weir stops when he's called over, his gaze cutting over to the seamstress and... Lucinda. Even he's caught off-guard by the sight, eyebrows hitching up. The seamstress and her helper nearby seem to laugh a little at that.

Again, HE IS RUDE AND NOT BLIND, and Lucinda is very striking in that gown, that blasted color. No doubt she'd turn heads if she wore it the entire time if it's even enough to give Weir a start.]

"Well! What do you think?"

[-the assistant chimes in, and though Weir could dole out a very pleasant compliment, the strain between hunter and medium overrrides all else.]

She looks fine, I suppose.

[wow. To Lucinda:]

Are you wearing that all day?

[And then to the seamstress:]

And before you get it into your head, too, no. I'm not in need of a new outfit.

𝓞𝓱? 𝓗𝓮'𝓼 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰, 𝓱𝓮'𝓼 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰! 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓵𝓾𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓯𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓲𝓼𝓷'𝓽 𝓲𝓽?

𝓗𝓲𝓼 𝓮𝔂𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓸𝓷 𝓱𝓮𝓻, 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓸𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾.

𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓘'𝓶 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓮𝓭!

[Always count on Flora to set aside all ills just to preen. Lucinda smiles at Weir and shrugs.]

I'm modeling for them. A walking advertisement to get others interested in their work.

[The seamstress, shakes her head in amusement as Weir denies her the chance to try and convince him to wear a new outfit. She ties off the thread and snips it off with her scissors before stepping back, nodding proudly.]

"It's one thing to let this hang on a mannequin, it's another to let the work live and breathe as intended. Now Weir, were you planning to escort her around?"

[Lucy's pursing her lips trying to hold back a laugh. These villagers, man.]

[Yeah, these villagers, man. Too keen, too kind. Still going against the grain of what Weir is comfortable with, for reasons he still cannot quite understand.

But. Way to put him on the spot, too.

No thanks. He's going to throw Lucinda under the bus with this one, and he glances at her, features sharpening into an almost sardonic skepticism.]

Well? Does the lady want an escort?

[Lucinda, having been raised to not show her true emotions on the surface, just continues to smile as though she's amused by how he's trying to evade her.]

I would be positively honored if you were my escort, Weir.

[The seamstress beams and gestures at Lucy as if telling him, "See?"

Lucy even moves closer to him for good measure, closing in on him so he can't escape.]

I'm afraid I'd have a harder time shaking off everyone's gazes on me. I'd feel more comfortable if there was someone to peruse the rest of the festival. There's so much to see and find out and only so many hours of daylight.

[And just to really cinch it and with shamelessness that Flora would approve of...]

I'd rather you'd have the first claim on me Weir, instead of someone else.

[8')]

[LUCY PLEASE

The way the seamstress and her assistant giggle at her words has Weir doing his best to stop his eyes from rolling out of his head. Instead, he gives her a look as though to say Really? and turns on his heel.]

Come on, then. Don't get lost in this crowd; I'll not make an effort to find you a second time.

[He stalks off first as though he simply expects for her to follow. To be fair, though, he doesn't move at a quickened pace, though that could merely be because it's impossible, having to weave through the marketplace as he does.]

If you keep saying such things, the whole bloody town will start to think you mean it.

How shy of you Weir.

[Lucinda walks behind Weir after she gives her goodbyes and thank yous to the seamstress and her assistant who wave her off with knowing looks. She's careful with the dress as they make their way through the marketplace and already she's earning fascinated glances.]

And I can't imagine how much harder your life will be by having to dismiss questions and assumptions about our special relationship.

[Is she... Finally being petty...?? Wow.]

... Anyway. I'm assuming you're curious about the festival activities?

"Special" relationship.

[Oh. She is being petty. Something snide in Weir rises, pulled out ever more when he's around her, and he turns to walk backward for a few steps. A tricky notion considering the crowd, but he has enough faith to fire off what he wants to say before running into anyone, spreading his hands sardonically:]

Lucinda, if you want to lay with me, you don't have to dance around the subject so. You need only ask.

[A faux smile, before it falls off his face and he turns around again, continuing to lead way.]

You assume correctly. I told you, this is the first I've ever seen it.

[Normally, that's the kind of response that would get a person slapped or garner an indignant reaction. Lucinda, however, goes against the grain in sometimes off-putting ways.

Weir's snark has her raise her brows and she replies without missing a beat.]

So everything else is closed off except for the bed? I see.

[Thankfully, everyone around them is too busy with their own merrymaking to overhear this questionable exchange and her follow-up.]

Maybe after I return the dress then.

[And that's all. It's festival time (and her ignoring Flora and Feather's wriggles of disgruntled disapproval).]

There are the usual eat, drink, and be merry components to these sorts of events. What might be interesting to find out is what kind of games or competitions will be held.

Edited 2023-07-25 21:46 (UTC)

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]

[HE IS JUST GOING TO ASSUME. SHE IS MESSING WITH HIM. ~~if not then they can circle back around to that later~~

And so, just a grunt of noise to acknowledge her "returning the dress", easing through the crowd with a slight angle of his body here, or moving around a stall there. So much of the market scents of Sapphires, not unlike what they experienced in the forest, but that's not surprising given it's the whole theme of this bloody day.]

Eat, drink, and be merry. Aye. [Said dryly. But then, a bit more helpfully.] If there are competitions to be had, you'd need to ask around. Besides that? I've heard talk of someone out of town performing today.

[Which is unusual; the town's not had a visitor in the few months since this world has been remade.]

And fireworks at night, or so I also hear.

[Lucinda's levels of IDGAF can lead to... Places. ~~so yeah they'll probably circle back who knows~~

Lucinda is able to follow him without much trouble since the beautiful gown and the way she wears it has the crowd automatically part for her. She gains a compliment or two from other festival guests and she responds with a nod and a smile before returning her attention to Weir.]

An outside performance? Well, that should be illuminating if nothing else.

[She wants to know if there's musical theater or what kind of story the performance will depict. It may give her an idea of what's beyond the Vale. Lucy's eyes light up at the mention of the last part.]

Fireworks? I love those! WHat a perfect way to end a festival!

[~~don't make bad decisions, too, lucy~~

Let Lucy gain all the compliments and all the attention. He supposes that's one good thing about her being dressed as she is, and Weir himself refuses to be distracted by that dress.]

A musical performance.

ᎦᏒᎧᎷ ᏗᏁ ᎧᏬᏖᏕᎥᎴᏋᏒ ᎧᎦ ᏖᏂᏋ ᏉᏗᏝᏋ, how STRANGE and new. We are curious, too.

[Ah, the swelling, static-y voice in his head finally speaks. Weir ignores him for now.]

...I'm interested in attending it.

[~~whaddya mean 'too' her taste is slightly better probably than a witch's~~

This keeps getting more and more interesting. She gets to dress up nice, eat and drink, and see a play?]

Oh, musicals! I have those where I'm from too.

[Lucy's actually beaming, heartened by something that reminds her of home.]

Musical theater is an art form of storytelling through song and dance. It's difficult to balance them all but a good musical will remain in your memory for a long time.

And it should suit you too, in terms of participation. All you'd need to do is watch.

[~~HE TRIED TO MURDER YOU LIKE 3 DAYS AGO~~

He glances aside at her sudden excitement at the notion, and Weir... isn't sure what to say. Music has always been a rare case for the huntsman, perhaps the one thing that draws his interest beyond the pragmatic, straightforward nature of his work. Were his pride not so swollen and the current status of their relationship not so strained, he would have asked Lucinda more about her world's music just to see how the strands of melody differed from what he was used to.

But he didn't. And now he finds himself wondering how to talk on the matter again.]

Yes, I know what musical theater is.

[Rude and dismissive as always. But then-]

I have only seen a full performance once, from my visit to the capital all those years ago.

Edited 2023-07-27 12:42 (UTC)

[~~consider this lucy is a freak — nvm i'm not making a good case for her~~

What Weir tells her is something to consider. After leaving Vietnam and focusing on her training, in the moments between that, Lucinda had River to help her fill in the gaps in popular Western culture that she missed out on. Arts and music from the low to the high brow became entwined in the fabric of her new life to the point where it was just natural to turn on a device in order to fill up the silence.

It's why she would sing while doing chores or cooking during her time at the lodge, softly and quietly, and they were rarely repeated. But Lucinda had kept it mostly to herself, thinking that Weir was apathetic to it.

So it's odd for her to hear otherwise from him, the mild interest and his limited experience with music.]

... Maybe there will be more in the future for you then. More music that is.

[She doesn't say this unkindly.]

Did you like it? That performance you saw previously I mean.

[It isn't as though his life has been completely deprived of it, as tunes from afar would still make their way into Turner's Vale, even before it was remade into something idyllic. Melodies hummed and sang in strained tones even as Dredgers descended into the depths of the Pit, to ease their nerves as they collected flora that they could take back up with them.

(Not a thing that Weir did, however, unwilling to attract the attention of creatures that may lurk in the shadows with a wayward song.)]

Yes. [To say otherwise would be lying, and there's no point in lying about this.] It was a tale about slaying a dragon to steal its eyes, and bringing them back home to the hero's hometown to save his lover.

A trite tale, perhaps. But they spare no expense in that district of the capital, and it was unlike anything you would ever see in this town.

Edited (i saw a typo shh) 2023-07-27 17:39 (UTC)

[His description of the musical` actually makes Lucinda smile.]

That doesn't sound trite at all. I would have loved to see it.

[Even if it was from the previous world. But the sentiment is sincere all the same.]

On the opposite coast of the continent where I'm from, there is a city where musical theater is big business. But only every decade or so, is there a story that is truly enduring and will be performed multiple times.

The longest-running show has been performed over 10,000 times for over 30 years. Astounding, isn't it?

[Maybe it still exists in this world? He has no way of knowing; or rather, he's never thought to ask around and verify. That was a faraway memory, one he rarely revisits, only dug up because Lucinda's circled the conversation around to musical theatre.]

Maybe you can if you visit the city and find yourself on the arm of a wooing noble or debutante that can buy you a seat.

[Ah, that sarcasm again. But at least it's less sharp than before.]

10,000 times? [That's unlike anything he's heard of.] What manner of show is it?

It's called "The Phantom of the Opera." The story isn't all that complex. If anything, it's overwhelmingly simple; a young singer is caught between her childhood love and her mysterious and dark music tutor who cultivates her talent but has an obsession with the young ingenue, and it leads to dire consequences, culminating in the highest of melodrama.

[There's a gleam in Lucinda's eye as she explains the musical, an enthusiasm which hasn't been seen before around him (not that the past few days especially warranted it but ever since they've met, the medium always seemed to favor a neutral and placid demeanor).]

The way the music tells the story and the performers express such strong emotions through the lyrics is captivating. I think I remember most of the songs by heart.

[He listens, of course, but as he glances at her while they walk, it's as though he's seeing another side of Lucinda. A part that either truly, truly enjoys music or theatre -- or the obvious combination thereof.

He isn't sure what to think of it.

And he isn't sure what to say.]

In that case...

[He eases his eyes forward through the crowd, and the market opens up once more to a clearance of festival-esque games once they've trudged past merchants trying to hawk their wares. Dexterity, strength. Pure silliness. They run the gamut, and their prizes are all small, but all very blue.]

You can sing one for me. Before you leave town.

[Weir's response of all things is what finally makes a small crack in her composure. The woman who acts with pleasant indifference and willingly neutralizes strong emotion as one of her few strengths pauses. Swallows. Tries to make a self-assessment and make sure it doesn't show on her face. None of her familiars speak, giving room for her to try and desperately sort out her thoughts internally at least for a moment.]

𝓢𝓾𝓻𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓰.

𝓨𝓮𝓼. 𝓨𝓮𝓼! 𝓐𝓷 𝓸𝓭𝓭 𝓻𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽. 𝓐 𝓼𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓸𝓷𝓮? 𝓘𝓷 𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪𝓽 𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓽.

[The flower and bird fall silent again. Lucinda thinks the smart move, the witty one to keep him at a distance would be to tease. Bring up the inherent passion and the torrid romance of the Phantom musical, oh Weir, didn't think you of all people would have a notion of such things!

But she doesn't say anything as she continues to follow him. The noise of the festival sounds muted around her as she considers her reply.]

... I can do that. Before I leave.

[The words leave her mouth before she can craft a more sophisticated response.]

[He hardly means for it to sound "sweet". Gods, if he could hear the voices beneath Lucinda's skin call it such, then he might have retracted this request in the next breath.

But as it stands? Yes, he's interested in the melodramatic tale; the music that might accompany it. He commits such things to memory in ways that no one truly realizes, because no one is close enough to realize.]

Good. We'll arrange for it.

[As though this is something that needs... arranging.

Anyhow, they've reached the part of the festival where a few games are sorted. He pauses, remembering her comment on it, then asks-]

Did you want to amuse yourself with a game, then?

[Lucinda smiles to herself.

Her eyes move toward the games looking for one that won't put the dress through too much turmoil.]

Sure. It might be worth seeing if there's anything similar to what I'd find at home.

Though I'll have to be careful because, you know... [Lifts up her arm where the sheer sleeve shimmers subtly in the daylight.]

a flower festival.

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i'm not deleting this

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