THIS IS JUST A PSL NOW I GUESS;

[fossick]

(( used the wrong method with the wrong technique ))

Comments

[luciole]

[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.

[fossick]

[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.

[luciole]

[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?

[fossick]

[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?

[luciole]

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.

[fossick]

[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.

[luciole]

[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.]

[fossick]

[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?

[luciole]

[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.]

[fossick]

If you ruin that dress, I somehow think they'll not have it in their hearts to blame you for it.

[For how well everyone seems to like her.]

Take your pick, then.

[There's a ring toss, as well as a bobbing for apples-esque game (Weir will refuse to be dragged into that one), and a couple that appear a bit more intensive: archery, a sign proclaiming that there's horse racing just outside the bulk of the village, and a faux dueling ring where participants are trying to hit each other with wooden weapons.]

GAMES, we would like to see River-child participate, too.

[luciole]

[Lucinda glances at the ring toss with some consideration and then at the archery range. Well, she did just say she didn't want to ruin her dress.]

Ring toss then. That's something I'm familiar with.

And I may not look like it, but I have a decent aim.

[fossick]

Decent enough to win a useless prize?

[He's such fun to be around. But he turns and leads in that direction all the same; clearly he's not going to dissuade her from killing time before the musical show, because what else are they going to do? Walk around and talk the whole time? Gods forbid.

When they draw near, it's clear that the booth is set up for two people to throw rings competitively, if they so desire. Tall glass bottles are arranged at various distances, presumably to catch the rings that are tossed at them, and the man running the game smiles widely as they approach, bright blue rings hanging at the crook of his elbow.]

"Ah, hello, Weir. And Lucinda -- you look marvelous in that dress. Are you both looking to play? See who has the better skill and aim?"

[He teases gently, but Weir answers.]

That would be a waste of time, considering it would be no contest.

[he's so confident]

[luciole]

Oh, thank you so much! You'll need to give your compliments to the seamstress too.

[At Weir's remark, Lucinda was more than ready to shrug it off. But unexpectedly...]

... 𝓗𝓾𝔂𝓮𝓷. 𝓛𝓮𝓽 𝓶𝓮 𝓹𝓵𝓪𝔂.

[It's Feather and she seems to take what Weir says as a challenge. Lucy glances down at her right forearm with a raised brow before turning back to look at him.]

Alright, then Weir.

[She holds out her hands for the blue rings and the man gives her a few to start with.]

Beat me.

[fossick]

[Watch this brow hike up higher as he watches her take the rings, then flicks his gaze back up to her face.]

You don't think I can?

[He is not a prideful man, but he is a logical and pragmatic one. And his logic and pragmatism dictate that he is a hunter, and once a Dredger, and if he cannot hit a few targets of oversized milk bottles, then he does not deserve to call himself either.

To Weir, it's a foregone conclusion that his hand-eye coordination is far superior than most, and he isn't inflating this assessment just because it centers around himself.]

Perhaps you've forgotten what it is I do for a living.

[That isn't a "no", however.]

"Come now, Weir. At least humor the lady. She clearly wants to enjoy her time spent with you to the fullest."

[no one asked for your opinion, guy]

[luciole]

Well. To be honest, you have a higher chance.

[She twirls one of the rings around her fingers. And even though the sleeves of her dress are sheer, it still obfuscates the slight movement of the wing on her right arm.]

But the point is to have fun and exercise that eagle eye of yours.

[hint hint

Though really, if it wasn't for Feather's nudging, Lucy wouldn't have presented the challenge to Weir. She finds it funny that the winged spirit wants to one-up him more than she does. Very minor, and very petty revenge for the forest debacle.]

[fossick]

[A long, bland look.

But then he relents.]

Fine. Give me a set.

[He steps forward, motioning at the man, who smiles and hands Weir his own set of throwing rings. Weir loops the extras around his wrist, while his other hand holds one at the ready.]

You start, then. But I will only aim for the farthest target.

[Just to make it harder for her to win.]

[luciole]

Just accumulating the most points at the get-go? If that's what you really want —

[So you see, Lucinda has been standing at an angle toward the milk bottle targets. Her view of them as such is only from the side. But all of a sudden, her right takes hold of one of her blue rings and tosses it sideways and it lands perfectly at the farthest target. She didn't even look at it much to the awe of the man in charge of the game.

Thanks Feather.]

Ah. Well. Looks like I'll be doing the same.

[fossick]

[The action is so sudden that he nearly misses the way her arm flies out and tosses the ring, and it's only because he's quick on the uptake that his eyes manage to follow the whirling ring as it arcs and hitches itself on the furthest bottle on her side.

Are you fucking kidding.

Now, Weir doesn't know exactly how dexterous he is, but he isn't an idiot. He looks at her squarely, shifting to move in front of his "lane" of bottles.]

Thought I was playing against you, not one of your friends.

[luciole]

[That makes Lucy let out a laugh. The game manager steps to the side thinking, "These two are enjoying themselves, better not get in the way."

She situates herself in front of her lane of bottles and faces forward properly. ]

I mean. Technically, it's still me.

[One hand moves up to feign a whisper to Weir.]

Feather can be rather competitive.

[fossick]

Does Feather hold a grudge, then, I wonder?

[For the murder. (Feather would be valid.)]

Fine. Then if you won't play, then let's see how I fare against a spirit.

If only I had granted you the ability to move objects in such a way, TOO.

[Weir wastes no time; he tosses his first ring and it arcs in a straight, unwavering flight, landing with a clink across the neck of the first bottle. Easy enough; though consistency is key.]

[luciole]

Perhaps. She's very peaceable otherwise.

[Her eyes track the ring as it lands and then she readies herself. Lucy's not too hung up on whether she'll win or not but she doesn't want to be too apathetic since Feather is doing this for her sake.

Her arm moves though this time it looks more natural since she's facing forward. The ring flies and lands on the second bottle.]

Do you like games, Weir? Or do you focus too much on work to give it much thought?

[He likes music though, so Lucy muses on what other things the man does enjoy when he's relaxed enough to not scrutinize things around him.]

[fossick]

[He frowns deeper as her second throw meets its mark. The attendant of the game is watching from a distance, vaguely impressed but also uncertain of this competitiveness from the huntsman. He's always so intense, this man!]

I enjoy winning, if that's what you're asking me.

[That is not, in fact, what she is asking him. But she might be able to glean a spark of competitiveness from him with such a reply, though he rarely lets it get in the way of anything important.]

...When your friend uses your arm in such a way, does she still require use of your eyes? [Hand-eye coordination, and such.]

[luciole]

I would argue it's fun to win or lose, at least in a game with very little stakes except pride.

[Weir versus Feather, the battle of the century... His brings up a good question as Lucinda twirls a ring around her index finger (her doing, not her friend's).]

It's probably easier for us if I face forward. You'd think their positions on my body would indicate their point of view.

[Flora on her chest, Feather on her arms, and Fang on her back — Out of all three of them, Feather's position is the one that seems most awkward if one were to assume her point of view was stuck there.]

But it's not a hard limitation. Everything I see, they see, everything I hear, they hear.

[fossick]

[Interesting. It's knowledge one could take advantage of, if one was in the position to. Not that Weir thinks to do this any time soon, or close to ever, after their little bout in the forest.

But... he is not against cheating a little, if she's going to do the same. (Using Feather is cheating, okay.)

To those perceptive, Weir's eyes glow that telltale green again, though it's hard to see in broad daylight -- one might assume it's just the keenness of his usual gaze, reflecting in sunlight. Lucy, of course, would know better.

The sound of very distracting static fills her mind, should he be successful; it's far from an attack, but it does disorient one's perception of the world, as though prepping to bend one's will to Weir's own desires. He doesn't go that far, of course. This is just to make her miss!! So he can win!!]

Try it now, then.

[luciole]

𝓗𝓶𝓹𝓱. 𝓒𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓽.

𝓑𝓸𝓸𝓸.

[Lucinda frowns as the sound of static fills her mind but Flora's scent softly fills her senses slowly. Still, it is somewhat disorienting and dizzying. Her sight is fuzzy around the edges, thanks, Weir.

However, Feather is the one who wakes Lucinda from her deep slumbers for a reason. Even when her eyes are closed, the winged spirit is more than alert to its surroundings.

So when Lucy's arm throws out the next ring, it lands on the same bottle as her previous try, barely scraping the top of it. The medium glances at Weir and shrugs.]

She's a determinator Weir.